He had answered as many questions as he could.

  The truth was, he didn’t have many answers. Deep down, he suspected others knew more about his powers than he did. River could feel the exhaustion settling over his friends, the way their minds struggled to grasp the impossible truths he had laid before them.                                    River glanced across his friends. Albert’s eyes met his—soft, a little sorrow in them. But when his gaze reached Amalia, hers dropped instantly.                                    He clapped once, sharp, forcing their attention back to him. He forced a smile. What would happen next?                                    Opening his mouth, he spoke carefully, the words heavy in the air.                                    “I won’t blame you if you don’t want to talk to me again,” River said. “But I beg you, don’t tell anyone about this. If they can’t find me, they might come for you instead.”

  They nodded—slow and silent. Seemingly still too stunned to speak. The three of them sat on the bed in a quiet, uneasy stillness. Minutes passed. Maybe more.                                    Finally, Albert stood, brushed off his clothes, looked back, and flashed River an apologetic smile. Then Amalia followed. Without a word.                                    Callum slumped into bed with a loud sigh. “They’ll get over it.”                                    River strained his eyes, forcing the words out. “Are you okay with it?”                                    Callum chuckled, half amused. “I already knew something was fucked up about you.”                                    That left River standing there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, he made his way over to the bunk and climbed back in, the springs creaking quietly under his weight.

  He closed his eyes, letting the events of the day replay in his mind.

  Still no answers. Still no clarity.

  He would have to find them himself. Tonight.

  Patience wore thin as he lay there, listening to Callum toss and turn in the bunk below. Minutes dragged by until finally, soft snoring filled the room.

  Carefully, River swung down from the bed, moving as silently as he could.

  At the desk, he opened the red book—and immediately, essence flew out of it. Heavy. Glowing. Alive. His heart leapt in panic. He slammed it shut, snapping his head around to check Callum. Still snoring. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, punctuated by the occasional grunt.

  River exhaled slowly, calming himself. He needed to be somewhere safer if he was going to read this. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he wouldn’t risk waking anyone. The library.

  He covered his eyes in essence again, shielding his appearance in case anyone wandered the halls at this late hour. Pulling the door open just enough to slip through, he stepped out into the corridor. The path back to the library was still burned into his mind: down the corridor, third right, two flights of stairs, straight ahead. But before he moved, he hesitated. Today had already shown what could happen if people saw him sneaking around. He couldn’t afford to let anyone else know. And yet… he didn’t really have a choice.                                    So he stepped into the corridor. The building was nearly silent now, save for the hum of magical lights along the walls. When he reached the familiar brown door, he slid the card into the slit.

  The door swung open with a deep, resonating voice: “Welcome back, River.”

  He flinched, glancing nervously over his shoulder, but the corridor remained empty. No one had followed. No one had heard. He relaxed a little. This floor didn’t house any dorms, he was safe, for now. Crossing the threshold, River made his way to the librarian’s desk. He pushed aside the heavy Glossary and scattered papers with a quiet scrape. Then, with a soft thump, he placed the red book at the center of the table. The search for answers would begin.                                    River swallowed hard.

  These were the answers he had been seeking—but were they really the ones he wanted? He wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t stop now. He turned the page.

  The next section was titled A History of Primordials.

  "Primordials were not born as others are born. Their souls touched the raw Weave of the world, the river of life and death that underpins all magic. They drew essence without need for food, without the frailty of sleep or age. Yet with such connection came hunger for power, and madness. For no soul is meant to bear the Weave unfiltered for long."                                    River’s stomach twisted.

  It explained the changes he had gone through.

  But he didn’t feel mad. Or power-hungry.

  At least... not yet. He pushed the unease aside and kept reading.                                    "Originally, Primordials were the first among humans to gain the ability to wield essence. They were attuned to the world around them. The essence was as much a part of them as they were a part of it. The strongest of them, those who resisted corruption, ascended, becoming something more. Today, some are worshiped as gods."                                    River’s eyes widened.

  Blasphemy. Even hearing such a thing could get a man whipped, or worse.

  A shiver ran down his spine. Still, he couldn’t tear himself away from the pages.

  He turned another page.

  "Those Primordials who remained found themselves struggling to protect humanity alone. So they sought out humans most sensitive to the elements and taught them, founding the first schools of magic. For a time, this worked. The Shadows were pushed back to the wastelands. But fear began to fester among the mages, that their teachers would take back the power they had given. The mages turned on the Primordials, outnumbering them greatly. A brutal power struggle followed."                                    River leaned in closer, suspense rising. Then he turned the next page and jumped back, nearly falling out of his chair. Hovering above the book, formed entirely of glowing white essence, was the head of a young man. He was clean-shaven, with long dark hair, and a large, crooked nose that gave his sharp features a hawkish look. But it was his eyes that rooted River to the spot, white, just like his own, shifting with flecks of elemental colors.                                    That had to be Emery. The apparition spoke, its voice clear and steady: "I am a remnant left behind by Emery Loudiel. My purpose is to assist the next generation of Primordials, should no living mentor remain." River exhaled slowly.

  Well... that was helpful.                                    River hesitated, then blurted out the questions tumbling from his mind:

  What are Primordials? How do I stop this from spiraling? Can you help me… get stronger?                                    He barely finished before the glowing head cut him off.                                    "Young Primordial," the apparition said, voice low and firm, "Patience will be your greatest weapon. Impatience will break you before you begin."

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  River looked down, shame prickling at the back of his neck.

  Maybe he should calm down.

  But the questions clawed at him. The need for answers burned like a second heartbeat inside his chest. The head of Emery floated in silence for a long moment, then spoke again:                                    "While Primordials are different to everyone else. They are just people more deeply attuned to the world around them."

  “Most can’t wield magic at all. A rare few can command a single element — a stream, narrow but strong. Others, like you, with multiple affinities?”

  Emery paused. “You’re more like an ocean.”                                    River leaned forward. “So my reserves are larger?”                                    Emery didn’t respond.

  Then there was a brief moment of silence as River tried to digest what that meant for him. There had to be a catch. Nothing was this good. Then, the talking head began again "The difference isn’t just power. It’s capacity. Range. The ocean can hold far more than a stream ever could — but it can also drown. As much as this is a gift, it is also a curse. Something you need to be wary of."                                    River swallowed. It was strange, somehow comforting, that luck, and not just power, had played a role.                                     "As for control," Emery continued, "soul training is your safest path. Strengthen your soul, and you will find your powers obey you more willingly. If you wish, I can watch over you during your training... to shield your soul from damage if it falters."                                     The head’s expression grew stern, the voice deepening slightly: "But hear this: I will not teach you shortcuts to power. That road is a dark one—and it devours those who walk it." River sat frozen, absorbing every word.

  There were answers, but also warnings.

  He had to be careful. Maybe there were worse things than moving too slowly.                                     River looked up at Emery’s remnant and spoke to it for the first time since it had appeared.

  It felt strange—like speaking to a book, yet somehow more alive.

  "Could you help me with soul training?" he asked quietly. "I’ve been unable to practice since a... friend of mine died."

  The floating head gave a solemn nod.                                     River closed his eyes and sank inward, sending his mind back into that inner world, the endless room, the forest, the rushing river, the distant storm, and the crackling fire.

  It was all still there, but something had changed. The essence of fire, earth, and water hung heavier in the air, denser, thicker. The soul duels must have left a mark, strengthening his bond without him realizing it.                                     Breathing slowly, River reached out and channeled the elements one by one.

  First earth, steady beneath his feet.

  Then the storm above, roaring in answer.                                     He split his will—lightning above, earth below—held, then reached for fire. Pain cracked him open. The library snapped back around him. “Patience,” Emery said. River gasped, blinking back into the quiet library, the floating head of

  River felt ashamed and disappointed in himself. He had already heard those words and knew he should have taken it slower. It had been instinct—something within him was screaming for power. River nodded to Emery’s remnant.

  Then, suddenly, the library door behind him creaked open.

  With a jolt, River slammed the red book shut, cradling it against his chest.

  Panic flashed through him. Was it morning already? He thought he had only been here for a few hours. He turned to see an older student step inside—a young woman he recognized.

  She was the one he’d seen earlier, just after the entrance exam.

  Lightning, he recalled. She had an affinity for lightning.                                     The girl gave him a confused look.

  "What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be sitting at that desk. It’s for librarians," she said, glancing meaningfully at the desk piled with ancient tomes.                                    River scrambled to his feet, awkwardly shoving the book under his arm and turning his body to hide the vivid red cover from view.

  "I couldn't sleep," he said, forcing a yawn into his voice. "Didn't want to wake my roommate, so I came here to read."                                     She studied him for a moment, then sighed and pointed down the vast rows of shelves.

  "There are study rooms further down and to the left. You're supposed to use those, not the front desk."                                     River nodded quickly. "Sorry about that."                                     Without waiting for more questions, he hurried out of the library, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t see anyone else on his way back to his dorm, and yet he felt like he was being watched the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His instinct kicked in, he picked up his pace. He didn't breathe easily again until he was safely back at his dorm, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

  Setting the red book carefully in the desk drawer, he exhaled. That had been too close. Way too close. But he hadn’t gotten into more trouble than necessary.                                     “Thank Lady Luck,” he muttered. But the words seemed hollow.                                     Across the room, Callum looked up from his bed, one eyebrow raised.

  "Where’ve you been?" he asked, voice rich with exhaustion.                                     "Couldn't sleep," River said smoothly. "Went to the library."                                     Callum frowned, sitting up. “How’d you even get in there?”                                    River wordlessly pulled out the card Professor Archibald had given him, holding it up between two fingers. Callum stared at it, then gave a tired shrug.

  Too exhausted to argue, he just flopped back onto his pillow.

  "We should get to breakfast," Callum mumbled, rubbing his face. “Come with me. Skip again, and people’ll start asking why the freak’s missing.”                                     River hesitated. He wasn’t hungry—he knew why now.

  But he couldn’t afford to stand out any more than he already did.

  "Let me clean up first. I’ll meet you there," River said, grabbing fresh clothes.                                     Callum smirked. "You do stink like shit."

  River laughed under his breath and headed into the bathroom.

  He hurried through the motions—he probably should have savored the luxury of hot water and clean clothes, but his mind was racing ahead.

  When he finally stepped back into the hall, it was with a clean set of robes and a plan to blend in as best he could. He made his way toward the mess hall. Maybe he could remain in the background, just this once. Invisible to everyone again. The thought comforted him