“Luckily, that explosion from earlier blew most of my food away…”

  Ayn glared at the Tribefolk, before quickly shoving the remaining mashed potatoes into his mouth. The rest of the prisoners were starting to get up and head to the washroom.

  After standing up and stretching his limbs, Jacob smirked at him.

  “Aye, saved you a lot of trouble. Can't stand that bloody slop.”

  “Hmm.”

  The elf looked down at the now empty bowl. On a second, no, third thought, those mashed potatoes really weren't all that bad. Maybe Arthur had affected him somewhat, because he could swear he heard his stomach rumbling.

  Was he really getting used to prison food that quickly? Rather, was he really starting to enjoy prison food?

  Well, it was definitely Arthur's fault. He figured out that much. If it was him, he'd never stoop as low as to enjoy eating that mushy, overly salted mix of mysterious and possibly evil vegetables. He looked up at Jacob while standing up.

  “I don't know, they're not that bad. Well, they could ease down on the salt…”

  Jacob tilted his head.

  “Sal…t? Is it that stinging powder?”

  An expression of dreadful, bewildered surprise washed over Ayn's face. As if he had just heard someone reveal one of the elf's deepest, darkest secrets in front of a crowd. This couldn't be.

  At first, he tried to make sense of it in his mind. Then came the realization, and with it, an irresistible urge to laugh. He started taking heavy, deep breaths. He couldn't let himself fall to temptation. He couldn't let his laughter out.

  He had just wholeheartedly announced they were friends, and that they could work together. He couldn't stab Jacob in the back and laugh at his face like that. He had to hold himself back. He could feel his diaphragm starting to tremble.

  Holding his stomach, he bent over forwards, while trying to keep a serious face.

  “You… A Montaignan… You don't know what salt is… Oh Gods… I can't laugh… This is… It's too perfect…”

  The T'lwayth Archipelago, but specifically Montaigne, was known for many things. Most of them were positive facts, such as the beautiful landscape and friendliness of the people, or the safety of the Kingdom.

  However, they were also known, quite negatively, for their lack of food spices and edible salt. Due to the airborne nature of the islands, the land wasn't suitable for certain herbs and plants to grow, and salt had to be imported. Considering the protective barrier placed on the Island, the cost of salt was incredibly high.

  Still, Ayn thought that the stereotype of Montaignans not even knowing what salt was, was just that. A stereotype. It took the entirety of his strength to keep himself from laughing, and sounding like a douchebag.

  A smirk escaped Jacob's lips, and he lightly hit Ayn on the back of his head.

  “I'm joking, you bum. The food here's just too salty. Trying to give me a bloody heart attack…”

  Ayn let out a sigh of relief, he no longer had to hold back his laughter. Still, Jacob managed to fool him in a pretty funny manner, he could laugh at that.

  After shoving his bowl back into his ragged clothes, he cast a glance at the ground. He was looking for something. Then, his confused eyes landed on Jacob.

  “Where’s your bowl?”

  Jacob responded by tilting his head. “What do you mean? It's right…”

  His index finger aimlessly traced lines through the air, trying to find something to point at. It wasn't at his feet, nor was it at Ayn's. He looked back to the spot where the fight took place. It wasn't there either.

  Then, a faraway snicker caught his attention. The three Homunculi he tried to beat up quickly left the premises of the mess hall. One of them, suspiciously, had two pairs of bowls and spoons. Jacob's eyebrow twitched.

  “Those… My bowl… They stole my bloody…”

  Seeing as sparks of Ark filled the air around his palms, Ayn quickly grabbed Jacob's wrist. “It's fine, I can buy you another. It's no biggie.”

  Jacob turned around. Ayn was hiding his mouth with a closed hand. His breaths were rhythmical and deep. His lips were curved upwards, and his eyes glimmering.

  “Laugh, and I'll blow your sorry ass into tomorrow.”

  Soon after, more explosions echoed in the mess hall.

  By the time they reached the washroom, Ayn's clothes were stained with burn marks, while Jacob kept spouting profanities under his breath. The elf was still trying to catch his breath, having laughed the entire way there.

  ‘Completely worth it.’

  Lacking any bowl or utensil to wash, Jacob simply leaned onto one of the walls. His gaze shifted from Ayn to the neighbouring washing rooms, while making idle chat with the elf.

  “By the way,” He suddenly asked, “You're looking for something, right, mate?”

  Ayn turned his head towards the other, with a slightly surprised expression. He put down the bowl in the sink, closing the water faucet.

  “Why do you think that?” His expression was slightly more serious than usual, as if Jacob's question gave him a tad more respect towards the boy. Jacob placed two fingers in front of his lips, thinking.

  “People like you and that bloody bastard, you don't make ‘friends’ just for making friends, I guess. So, what is it? I told you my goal, mate. How about you share yours with me?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  At first, Ayn made an offended expression, being compared to Sol. However, it quickly grew into a genuine smile. He didn't ask that question to accuse him. It was more of a statement that he could trust Jacob.

  “Alright. You see, he's…”

  —

  The young boy hopped off of the bed, Arthur's white hair framing his grey skin. In front of him, a Homunculus nurse wrote something on a sheet of paper. Her gaze flickered between the paper and the elf, before nodding at him.

  “Hmhm. If you feel fine, then, you're free to go. And remember, come back before the working hours end.”

  The boy nodded with a smile. After a pat to his back, he left the room. “Alright, thank you for your time.”

  It felt good to stretch his legs properly, after all that time spent sitting and laying down. His body was in a better condition, and while he still felt weak due to the damages to his Ley Lines, he could at least walk around.

  After exiting the medical bay, he produced the tin container from his garments, throwing one of the medical pills into his mouth. He immediately put it back in his pocket, to avoid looking like he was eating smuggled food.

  He glanced at the air, prompting a window of the Archive to appear.

  ‘You don't happen to know where the library is, right?’

  The Archive stayed silent. Arthur sighed. Earlier that day, while he was meditating to try and enter the Dipping state, a nurse broke into the medical bay.

  Completely throwing his concentration off, and almost making him fall off of the bed, she announced that Arthur could leave the room any time he wanted, albeit temporarily. He was in a good enough condition.

  But more than that, Sol had given the order to treat him as an honorary cadet, despite him not having yet accepted the offer. Well, he didn't even know what that offer entailed, yet. This was, surely, a scheme to win his trust.

  Regardless, he wasn't going to let this opportunity go. As soon as the nurse told him, it was as if energy flooded his body. Immediately, he remembered the library that Irene talked to him about, and wanted to go there.

  He had most of the information he needed at his fingertips, thanks to the seemingly all-knowing Archive. However, there were some pieces of knowledge that it deemed too dangerous for Arthur, withholding them.

  The Archive was supposed to be his Gift, so it wasn't unlikely it was doing that to truly protect Arthur. However, his curiosity wouldn't be sated like that. He hoped that he could find relevant books at the library, on topics such as Archêometry.

  That, and spending the entirety of his day doing nothing but trying to figure out how to enter the Dipping state was incredibly boring.

  The corridors of the prison were all similar, but eventually, he managed to find his way to the library. He had to ask a few guards, and despite the glares, clearly looking down at him, he reached his destination.

  The entrance to the library was more sophisticated and aesthetically pleasing than the rest of the doors in the prison.

  A pair of large, wooden doors stood before him. There were intricate decorations and carvings framing the entrance, adorning the entrance with golden and silver colours. In the middle, he could spot the symbol of the upside down arrow.

  Curiously, the symbol was split down the middle, with one half on each door. He tilted his head. If he remembered correctly, that was a holy symbol. Wouldn't dividing it in half be blasphemy?

  “Ah, wait, no, that's pretty smart, isn't it?”

  He lightly slapped his own forehead. The name of the God the Teiwesians revered was the Lady of Wisdom and Desire. In other words, by splitting ‘Her’ symbol in half, they were separating the Wisdom and the Desire.

  That place, the library, was a place of only wisdom.

  “Heh, I wonder if bedrooms also have that symbol, then…”

  He chuckled at his own dumb joke, before swinging open the doors. Or rather, trying to swing open the doors. Unsurprisingly, they were heavy. He swallowed hard, a grim thought appearing in his mind.

  That prison seemed to have a lot of Ark relying appliances, like the faucets and gemstone lamps. However, surely, they wouldn't have Ark relying doors, too.

  He looked down at his hand, and then back at the door. He repeated this for a few times, before running his hands through his hair, annoyed.

  “That Fern asshole, he's lucky to have died a few centuries ago… Curse whoever invented magic doors…”

  He walked circles on the spot, trying to calm himself down, before raising his fist. Even if this was just to let out his anger, he slammed his fist against the left door.

  The next moment, his face slammed against the hard, cold floor. Alongside the smell of iron from a bleeding nose and a stinging pain spreading throughout his face, the smell of old books invaded his nostrils.

  “Er… Ya good, Arthur?”

  A familiar voice greeted him, with a hint of awkwardness in her tone. Grabbing him by the neck of his clothes, Irene helped Arthur back up, not unlike one would grab an animal by the scruff of their neck.

  Arthur massaged the bridge of his nose. It didn't seem to be broken, but it sure hurt a lot. Then, he looked back at the doors. They were wide open. Did someone pull them open right as he tried to hit them?

  “Divine retribution… Praise the Lady…”

  He muttered under his breath, a clearly sarcastical prayer. He wondered if ‘She’ would smite him with heavenly lightning or something along those lines for bad mouthing ‘Her’, but shrugged.

  Irene tilted her head, confused at his angered expression and overall demeanor, before giggling. She covered her mouth with her free hand, and set Arthur down. Then, she produced a handkerchief from her pockets, handing it to the boy.

  He hesitantly took it, muttering some words of thanks under his breath, and wiping the blood away from his nose.

  “I'll, er, I can wash it and hand it back to you whenever. Sorry for the trouble.”

  He lowered his head, still embarrassed. Irene smiled at him. “No worries! Ya should stay in bed as much as you can, I can wash it myself!”

  With a thumbs up and a hand placed on her hip, Irene's constant positivity and energy was enough to blind Arthur. Metaphorically, that is. She snatched the handkerchief from his hands, folding it a few times, and putting it back in the pocket.

  After closing the library doors and signaling for Arthur to lower his voice in the room, she guided him to a secluded corner. It had a few, very comfortable looking one seaters, as well as a wooden table.

  Various books were stacked on top of each other, with varied titles and genres. Most of them, Arthur noticed, seemed to be fiction or storybooks. Irene tapped the couch to her left. Arthur sat down.

  “So, are ya looking for something in particular? Or do ya want some recommendations?”

  He shot another glance at the stacks of books. Chances were, most of the recommendations coming from her would be fictional stories of dragon-slaying heroes, or something along the lines.

  ‘Ah, maybe not dragon slaying…’

  “Don't worry about it. I'm just here to take a look around, see if anything piques my interest. It's a big library, hm?”

  He smiled at her, before standing back up, and moving towards the bookshelves. The books were neatly organized and ordered, with name tags above each row to label their genre. Additionally, they were ordered alphabetically.

  He picked up various books with interesting names, mostly about history, or Archêometry schools of thought. However, one book caught his eye as soon as he spotted it.

  When the Tribefolk woman came into his room and started preparing the medicine, Arthur was woken up not by her working process, but rather, by the sound of the Archive recording her actions.

  This confused him slightly, but he didn't bother thinking about it too much. Maybe it simply meant that the Archive didn't know too much about medicine making, or similar practices.

  However, up until that point, the Archive seemed to know the answer to all of Arthur's questions. Whether it would provide them was another story, but the Archive knew a lot more than it let him on.

  If it had to record that woman, she either possessed truly incredible skills, or the Archive, for whatever reason, didn't hold information about medicine. He quietly asked the air,

  “What can you tell me about ritualistic medicine?”

  The Archive remained once again silent. Arthur smirked, and headed back to the couches, with a book atop the stack he had picked out.

  Its title, [Apothecary's Archives of Medicine].

  ‘How fitting.’