The dining hall of House Auren'del shimmered with candlelight, their golden glow reflecting off polished silverware. Warm laughter filled the air — Theron's loud, unrestrained voice against Selene's measured calm. Father listened, as he often did, with quiet amusement. Mother occasionally smiled, though her attention never left the gentle hum of the mana lamps above the table, ensuring they stayed balanced and bright.
Hector sat between his siblings, his fork barely touched. He wasn't uninterested in the meal; he simply found the conversation more filling than the food.
"Theron, you always eat like you're preparing for battle," Selene said softly, her tone calm yet slicing.
"It is a battle," Theron replied with his mouth half full. "If I don't eat fast, Hector will finish the meat before I do."
Hector blinked, startled.
"I wasn't—"
"Relax," Selene interjected, eyes lowering to her plate. "He's teasing you."
Their mother gave a small sigh, elegant and tired. "Both of you, less noise at the table. Hector, dear, you've hardly eaten."
"I'm fine, Mother," he said quietly. "Just thinking."
"Thinking?" his father echoed, arching an eyebrow. "At your age, that's dangerous."
Laughter rolled down the table again. Hector smiled faintly, though his thoughts were elsewhere — the shimmer of magic, the invisible breath that filled their home, the feeling of something vast hiding beneath ordinary things.
---
That night, long after dinner ended and the manor fell silent, Hector lay awake beneath the canopy of his bed. The moonlight slipped through the curtains, tracing pale shapes across the floor.
Sleep wouldn't come. Not after what he'd heard earlier — his mother mentioning "mana fields" while speaking to Selene. The phrase had caught him, like a hook in his chest. Mana… the word itself pulsed in his mind, alive, whispering.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Maybe a walk would help.
The corridor outside was dim, shadows stretching like ink between the tall pillars. The silence of the manor had a voice of its own — a low hum, like the house itself breathed. His bare feet made no sound on the polished stone as he walked.
He didn't know why, but something tugged at him, leading him toward the far eastern wing — a part of the mansion he'd never explored. The scent there was different… old wood, parchment, faint traces of dust and candle wax.
A door stood there, half-hidden behind a curtain. He hesitated, fingers brushing the brass handle.
"This house hides too much," he murmured, pushing it open.
The hinges whispered softly.
A library.
---
Rows of shelves stretched before him, reaching toward the ceiling, their tops lost in shadow. Books — hundreds of them — lined every inch. Dust motes drifted lazily in the moonlight, like tiny spirits dancing. The air was thick with old magic, gentle but present, humming in rhythm with his pulse.
He walked past the first row, reading the spines aloud.
> "Tales of the Heroic Seven."
"The War of the Great Demon."
"Legends of the Silver Age."
He sighed. "Fairy tales. The wing is just filled with fairy tales…"
He turned the corner — and froze.
The titles changed.
> "Foundations of Mana."
"Runes for the Young Magus."
"The Gentle Flow."
"Basic Household Magic."
His eyes widened. "Now this… this is an interesting wing."
He pulled out Foundations of Mana. The cover felt warm under his fingers, pulsing faintly like it was alive. As he opened it, soft blue light shimmered between the pages.
The text was written in looping runes, yet somehow, he understood.
> Mana is not conjured, but remembered.
It flows through all living things, like breath. To sense it is to awaken the part of the soul that never sleeps.
He sat cross-legged on the carpet, reading line after line. Words that once seemed impossible began to make sense — how mana moved through the veins, how breathing aligned it, how calm was the gate to all control.
Hours passed without his notice.
---
Night after night, Hector returned.
It became his secret ritual.
He read of elemental theories, of runic circles, of how sound and thought could shape fire or wind. And one night, a slim green book caught his eye: "The Light Within."
He opened it — and found himself staring at diagrams of human figures traced with glowing lines.
> Healing magic is the art of restoration, not creation. It draws upon the caster's own vitality to mend another's flesh. The stronger the spell, the greater the cost.
> Mana is life. Too much given, and the healer's own balance begins to crumble. Thus, all healers walk a thin line between mercy and self-destruction.
He frowned, fascinated.
So that's how it works… the reason mother always looked exhausted after tending to the injured. It wasn't weakness — it was sacrifice.
He turned another page.
> Advanced healing requires a stable flow between heart and mana core. Interrupting this flow can reverse the effect — turning restoration into decay.
"Turning… into decay," he whispered. "So even healing can harm."
He sat there for a long time, staring at the glowing lines, lost in thought. Then, quietly, he placed his hand over his chest and closed his eyes.
"Let's see…"
He inhaled. Slowly, deliberately. The world grew still. He concentrated — not on breathing, but on the space between each breath. A warmth stirred inside him, faint at first, then spreading like mist. His vision shifted — and for the first time, he saw it.
Soft, pale light flowed around him, curling like smoke.
He opened his eyes. "So… you're back, huh? This white steam… it's mana."
It wasn't bright or fiery — it was calm, serene, familiar. The sight filled him with quiet awe.
He spent what felt like hours, tracing that energy in the air, trying to move it with his will. It flickered, responded faintly, then vanished. Still, it was enough. He smiled to himself. Progress, however small, was still progress.
---
Another week passed before it happened.
He was back in the library, lost in a tome about elemental conversion, when a voice came from behind him — calm, low, and cold.
"So this is where you've been sneaking off to."
Hector froze.
Selene stood in the doorway, moonlight glinting off her silver hair. She wasn't wearing her usual composed smile. Her eyes — calm, unreadable — locked onto the open books scattered around him.
"I… couldn't sleep," Hector said quickly. "So I thought I'd—"
"Learn forbidden theory on your own?" she interrupted gently. "How diligent."
He swallowed. "You're… not angry?"
"Should I be?" She stepped forward, her footsteps soft on the carpet. "Mother keeps these books sealed for a reason. They're not dangerous — but they can change how one sees the world."
Hector hesitated. "You've read them too, haven't you?"
She stopped beside him, gaze falling on The Light Within. For a moment, the faintest smile touched her lips.
"I have," she said quietly. "Once."
"Then… do you know how healing works?" he asked.
Selene's eyes softened — just slightly. "Healing is not kindness, Hector. It's control. You can't mend what you don't understand, and you can't save someone if you don't know what it costs."
He blinked. "Costs?"
She turned toward the shelves. "Everything worth learning has one. You'll understand soon enough."
Before he could reply, she turned and walked toward the door. The light caught her for a moment — calm, radiant, but distant, like a flame behind glass.
"Next time," she said, pausing, "bring a candle. Reading in the dark ruins your eyes."
Then she was gone.
Hector sat in silence, staring at the fading glow of the library.
A quiet thrill stirred in his chest — fear, yes, but also excitement. She hadn't stopped him. That meant something. Maybe she saw what he saw.
He looked down at the open book once more, his hand hovering above the page.
"Everything worth learning has a cost," he whispered.
The candles flickered, the air shifted — and for a moment, he could swear the library itself was listening.