The bone cage is a cold embrace. I run my fingers over the bars; they are smooth and hard as ivory, vibrating with an energy that repels all physical force. Every attempt to break or find a weak spot is met with an inert, absolute resistance. My Level 5 strength is as useful as a breath of wind against a mountain.
The Guardian remains motionless, her blue eye sockets fixed on me. She is not threatening. She is a final refusal. A wall. I am an insect trapped in a jar, and she is simply waiting for me to give up and starve, or to understand my mistake.
Panic, that old companion, tries to creep in. It screams at me to strike, to bite, to use my hunger to devour this prison. But another, calmer voice, the one I cultivated in Whisper-Rock, holds me back. Elric's words echo in my mind. You think like a sword. You need to learn to think like a river.
To strike this cage is to be the sword. And a sword shatters against perfect armor.
The bird cannot break the rock, but it can fly over it.
I cannot fly. But perhaps the obstacle is not the cage. Perhaps the obstacle is my approach. I have treated the Guardian like a monster, a dungeon boss. But Elric said she was duty incarnate. You don't fight a duty. You respect it. Or you go around it.
I stop testing the bars. I sit cross-legged on the cold floor of the cage, my dagger placed beside me. I don't sheathe it, but I no longer hold it. It is a gesture of de-escalation, a sign that I am no longer seeking a physical fight. I look up at the Guardian.
"You've won," I say aloud. "I cannot break this cage. I cannot defeat you by force."
The voice resonates in my mind, devoid of triumph. "This is not a victory. It is a state of being. Force is a crude key that fits none of the locks in this place."
"Then what is the right key?"
"The right of entry. A right you do not possess."
"Because I am not a scholar? Because I am an adventurer? A killer?"
There is no reply. Her silence is a confirmation.
I think. I am not a scholar. I am a survivor. My life has been a constant struggle, a quest for power not out of ambition, but out of necessity. This is the only truth I can offer her.
"I did not come to steal secrets to conquer the world," I continue, my voice calm and measured. "I came because I carry a power I do not understand. A hunger that consumes me. It makes me stronger, but it also pushes me toward darkness. I have killed to survive, and I have devoured to become stronger." I hesitate, revealing a part of my nature I have never told anyone. "I need to know. I need to understand. So I do not become the monster everyone has always believed I was. Your library contains the knowledge of magic, of power, of the soul. It is the only chance I have to control myself."
I look at her, my soul laid bare. It is the purest truth I can offer. It is my only key.
The Guardian remains silent for a long moment. The blue lights in her sockets seem to flicker, as if she is pondering a complex question.
"Your hunger..." her voice says in my head at last. "It is ancient. A relic of a devouring magic this world has tried to forget. To seek to control it is a noble quest. But the nobility of a quest is not enough to open this door. The road to hell is often paved with the best of intentions."
She takes a step forward, the clatter of her bones on the stone echoing in the hall. She stops just in front of my cage.
"The knowledge you seek is a double-edged sword. It can save you, or it can destroy you utterly. How can I know if you are worthy of wielding it?"
It is a test. My answer will determine everything.
"You can't know," I answer honestly. "No one can. I don't even know myself. All I know is that to do nothing, to remain ignorant, is the certainty of being consumed. To try is my only option. Worthiness is not earned before the trial. It is proven by overcoming it. Let me prove myself."
"Clever words," she says. "But words are wind. I will ask you a single question. Your answer will decide your fate. This sanctuary holds the knowledge of creation and of annihilation. Spells to heal the world, and curses to break it. If I were to grant you access to only one of these knowledges, just one, which would you choose? Creation, or destruction?"
The trap is obvious. If I choose destruction, I prove my monstrous nature. If I choose creation, I am lying. My entire life has been a series of destructive acts. I have killed beasts and men. I have devoured their essence. To pretend to be a creator would be the worst kind of lie.
I think of my skill. Devouring Hunger. I destroy to absorb. I absorb to build myself. One cannot exist without the other. It is the very nature of my power.
"That is a false question," I say at last.
The lights in her sockets intensify. "Explain."
"You cannot choose one without the other. To build a house, you must cut down a tree. To forge a sword, you must destroy ore in the fire. Creation is born from destruction. And destruction is often the prelude to a new creation. They are not two opposing knowledges. They are two sides of the same knowledge." I look at her, hoping she understands. "The knowledge I would choose is neither. It is the knowledge of the balance between them. To understand how one thing can be both."
The silence that follows is total, absolute. I feel as if the entire universe is holding its breath.
Slowly, the Guardian raises her hand.
I brace myself for death.
But she does not attack me. She simply lowers her hand. And the bars of the bone cage, without a sound, retract into the floor, vanishing as if they had never been.
I am free.
"You think like a scholar, though you wear the clothes of a killer," her voice resonates, softer this time, almost... approving. "You have passed the test. The key was not strength, nor cunning. It was understanding."
She turns and gestures toward the great library doors. With a low rumble that shakes the floor, the petrified wooden doors pivot inward, opening for the first time in decades.
A gust of dry air and the scent of ancient parchment and dormant magic waft out from the opening. A soft blue light emanates from within, both inviting and intimidating.
"Enter, Reinhardt, he who seeks balance," the Guardian says. "May you find what you seek within these walls, and not your own damnation."
She steps aside, resuming her place in the center of the hall, once again becoming a silent statue of bone. Her duty is not over. She has let me in, but she will be watching.
I get to my feet, my heart pounding wildly. I pick up my dagger and sheathe it. I will not need it in here.
I cross the threshold.
The interior of the library takes my breath away. It is an immense, circular hall, rising for dozens of floors. The walls are endless shelves, filled with thousands, millions of books and scrolls. Spiral staircases made of magical light connect the different levels. In the center of the room, a sphere of blue light floats in the air, casting a soft, constant glow on this temple of knowledge.
I have found the treasure. But the real trial is only just beginning. How do I find a single answer in an ocean of knowledge?
I am alone, a seventeen-year-old boy who learned to read in the slums, in the midst of the greatest knowledge the world has ever assembled. The hunger for power led me here. Now, I have an even greater hunger. The hunger to understand.