Kor took measured steps across the stone floor of the Archive, his worn boots muffled by the thick carpet. An unfamiliar stillness replaced the usual student bustle, a silence that felt heavy in his ears. The familiar scent of aged parchment and leather, usually a source of comfort, now only amplified his disquiet. The reception area’s subdued illumination stretched shadows from the handful of remaining students hunched over their work, mostly second and third years, unable to tear themselves away. Behind them, the towering library stacks loomed, receding into the upper gloom, an immense, watchful presence.
He settled at an unoccupied table near the centre, his palms damp against the smooth, cool wood. A familiar weight materialised in his mind, a silent, inquisitive presence. Ether. “I’m in a bit of a predicament,” he admitted, the words catching slightly.
Ether’s curiosity washed over him. He inhaled deeply, the scent of old paper filling his lungs. My mana pathways... they were compromised during the expedition. The professors say I need a wizard-level meditation technique to heal, or... He couldn’t bring himself to utter the word ‘crippled’. Or I’m effectively finished. The air seemed to thicken around him, each breath laboured, as though the unspoken words had taken on a physical weight, pressing down on his shoulders.
“I know I already owe you a favour, but... I need to ask for another.” His voice dropped to a whisper, cracking slightly as he spoke, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. “Could you help me locate such a book? Dean Velleth has... he’s restricted my access to any of the academy’s resources on this.”
A prolonged silence ensued, punctuated only by the distant rustle of turning pages, the soft scrape of quills on parchment, and the occasional muted whisper from the remaining students. Each sound abraded his nerves, each passing moment stretching into an eternity. His chest tightened, and a cold knot formed in his stomach, twisting with every passing second of silence. Is Ether going to refuse?
“I’ll do anything you require,” he offered, then quickly added, “Within reason, of course.” A surge of something pulsed from the library spirit, almost too eager. A ripple of... anticipation?
The response was ambiguous, tentative, like a wisp of smoke he couldn’t quite grasp. Before he could formulate another query, a figure materialised beside him with startling abruptness. Professor Yue. He nearly bolted upright, his heart hammering.
“You have certainly piqued the library spirit’s interest, Kor,” she stated, her voice a low murmur.
“Professor, I—”
She silenced him with a raised hand. “What you’re requesting is significant. There are regulations governing student access to certain materials. You understand this, don’t you?”
“Yes, Professor,” he responded, his voice subdued, deflated. The fragile flicker of hope threatened to be extinguished.
“Ordinarily, we would deny this request,” she continued, her gaze unwavering and inscrutable. “Particularly from a first-year.”
Kor nodded, a slow, leaden movement. His gaze fell to the worn table surface, his fingers tracing the faint lines in the grain.
“However...” Yue paused, her lips curving slightly, an unfamiliar glint in her eyes that made Kor’s breath hitch. “The library spirit has perceived something within you. Has requested that I present you with an option.”
His head jerked up, his eyes widening. An option? Hope surged, a sudden, heady wave. He leaned forward, his earlier dejection forgotten.
“What option?” he blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d just sprinted up the stairs.
Yue surveyed the nearly deserted reception area, her gaze lingering momentarily on the few remaining students. “Follow me,” she murmured, “and I will elaborate.”
Kor rose swiftly, the chair grating against the carpet. He followed Yue as she moved with surprising swiftness for her small stature, her robes rustling against the floor as she glided towards the reception desk. She dismissed the student on duty with a curt gesture, then ushered Kor through a door he’d never noticed before, into a small, dimly lit chamber behind the main counter. The aroma of dust and old paper was even more potent here, intermingled with the faint, metallic scent of ink.
Open books and strange, unidentifiable magical artefacts were scattered across tables. The air thrummed with a faint, residual energy that tingled on his skin. Yue approached the far wall without hesitation, pressing her hand against its surface as, with a subtle click, it yielded. The wall revealed a concealed door and Kor followed, his gaze sweeping the unfamiliar space.
A narrow stone staircase spiralled downwards, vanishing into the darkness below. His breath caught. A hidden basement? In the Archive?
“What you are about to learn must remain confidential, even if you decline the option,” Yue stated, her voice echoing softly in the confined space. “If you value your continued access to the Archive.”
“Yes, Professor!” he replied, his voice a little too loud, a little too eager in the echoing stairwell.
They descended for what felt like an age. Down, down, down they went, the constricting steps seemingly without end. The air grew colder, denser, the aroma of dust intensifying with each downward step. His calves burned, a dull ache that mirrored the growing apprehension in his gut.
Finally, gratefully, the stairs ended. They emerged into another grand hallway, even more imposing than the reception area above. His gaze immediately fixed on the far end; there, a set of doors stood, so colossal they dwarfed even the towering bookshelves of the main Archive. Two figures flanked the doors, immense, armoured, and utterly motionless. Guards?
Yue continued forward, her compact form unfazed by the imposing scene. “Come along, boy,” she instructed, not even glancing at the silent sentinels.
He quickened his pace, his pulse racing so fast he could feel it in his temples, each step echoing loudly in the cavernous hallway. As he drew nearer, the heads of both armoured figures turned, tracking his movements with unnerving precision. Their eyes, or what he assumed were eyes beneath their visored helms, seemed to glow with an inner light.
Animated guardians, he realised, even as his stomach churned. The mana radiating from them was almost tangible, a distinct pressure. His gaze lingered on the halberds they held, weapons easily twice his height, the polished metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. The sheer, raw power compacted within those weapons... A cold shiver ran down his spine as his mind conjured images of those halberds slicing through stone or flesh with terrifying ease. Even the dreaded Karex would likely face obliteration if struck by one of those.
He forced his gaze from the terrifying weapons, concentrating instead on Yue’s retreating back. Even his own fractal magic, unleashed at its full potential, wouldn’t stand a chance against such might. A cold sweat dampened his palms.
Yue reached the doors and placed her hand on their surface. Instantly, intricate runes and sigils flared to life across the massive expanse, pulsing with a vibrant, otherworldly light. A surge of mana, raw and potent, washed over him. Then, with a low groan that seemed to vibrate in his very bones, the doors swung inward.
A draft of stale air, bearing the dust of ages and an odd, almost metallic scent, rushed over him. It carried an energy that felt archaic, almost overwhelmingly so. The chamber beyond was circular, dimly illuminated by a colossal chandelier suspended precariously from a thick chain. The flickering light revealed an ornate stone pedestal in the centre, upon which rested a large, shallow basin also crafted from stone. A plush, crimson carpet extended towards it like a path through the encroaching shadows. He strained to see into the gloom that clung to the edges of the room, but the darkness seemed to resist his gaze, an almost tangible obscurity.
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The air vibrated with the echoes of ancient rites and long-held secrets, secrets that felt perilous, forbidden. The mana within his own body thrummed in response, a frantic, almost panicked pulse. His legs trembled faintly, a subtle tremor he fought to control as he followed Yue into the heart of the unknown.
Yue reached the basin and turned, her features illuminated by the flickering chandelier. In the dimness, her face was cast in shadow, lending her an air of solemnity.
“Y-you aren’t about to kill me, are you?” he asked, attempting a nervous laugh that emerged as a strained squeak.
Yue’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile.
The presence of the library spirit was overpowering here, a tangible weight. It felt as though he’d drawn nearer to the Archive’s sentience than ever before, its will a tangible force in the chamber. Then, a subtle shift. A hum of mana, a silent exchange between Yue and the surrounding environment. His eyes widened. They were communicating! The exchange was brief, a fleeting ripple in the stillness.
“Kor Penman,” Yue addressed him, her voice assuming a formal, almost ceremonial tone.
“Yes, Professor?”
“You have requested of the library spirit a favour that contravenes his duties as a signatory of the Voidflame Edict.” The words hung heavy, laden with an unspoken significance that sent a fresh wave of apprehension through him. The Voidflame Edict... That was the very reason they had drafted him into the academy, a cornerstone of their world’s defence. His breath caught.
“However,” Yue continued, her voice softening slightly, “there is a way around this limitation. The order of the Archive, known as the Tome-Wardens, is not beholden to any such restrictions.”
“Tome-Wardens?” The word felt unfamiliar on his tongue, foreign and intriguing.
“We are the library spirit’s eyes and ears, its hands in the material world. The limitations on sharing knowledge do not apply to us, as we are an extension of its will. In order to grant your request, you will need to bind yourself into the library spirit’s service.”
Work for the library spirit? The idea wasn’t inherently unpleasant. He’d spent countless hours in the Archive since arriving at the academy. But... He glanced around at the shadowy chamber, the ancient, powerful magic that thrummed in the very air, the silent, towering guardians, and the solemn gravity in Yue’s voice. This was no ordinary commitment.
“What will be expected of me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yue nodded, as if in approval of his caution. “A blood contract,” she stated, her voice low and serious. “Sworn on the very foundation of your mana.”
He swallowed hard. “That means I wouldn’t be able to use magic if I broke it.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. The ancient oath will tie you to the library spirit, and him to you. This isn’t a master-servant relationship, though at times it can feel that way.” She gave a small, wry smile, and a feeling of mock indignation, quickly stifled, pulsed from the surrounding air. The library spirit.
He considered his options, or rather, the lack of them. He’d come to the library spirit prepared to bargain. It just seemed that the price he’d need to pay was higher than he’d anticipated. If I don’t succeed here, it could spell the end for my magical potential, anyway. The thought was a cold weight in his stomach.
“Okay,” he agreed, the word barely audible.
In a flare of energy, a large scroll, a knife, and a quill appeared on the rim of the basin. Yue gestured him closer, presenting him with the contract.
He stepped forward, his legs feeling unusually heavy. He accepted the scroll, unfurling the thick leather parchment. It was no ordinary document; the very fabric seemed to hum with latent mana.
His eyes scanned the archaic script, his heart pounding.
By the ink of ages and the breath of knowledge bound, let this oath be etched upon thy very soul. Before the witness of the silent tomes and the ever-watchful spirits of this sacred place, do thou, Kor Penman, swear fealty to the Archive, the Keeper of Wisdom, the Heart of Learning, and to his order, the Tome-Wardens.
I. Loyalty and Service:
Thou shalt hold the Archive as thy paramount charge, its well-being thy highest duty. Its commands thou shalt obey without question, save where they contradict the deeper laws of this oath. Its safety and preservation thou shalt champion above all else, shielding it from harm as thou wouldst thy own heart. Thou shalt serve the Archive and his order, the Tome-Wardens, for a period of eight years, or until such a time that the scales of service and value rendered are tipped in thy favour, as judged by the Archive alone.
He continued reading, his gaze tracing the elaborate script. II. Secrecy and Respect. III. Non-Maleficence. IV. Protection of Knowledge. Consequence of Breach. Each section detailed further obligations, each word a load settling on his shoulders.
Finally, he reached the end:
Acceptance:
So swear thou, Kor Penman, by the blood that flows through thy veins and the spirit that animates thy being. Let this oath be sealed, now and forevermore, by the signing of thy name in thine own blood.
He lifted his gaze, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Several hooded figures had silently emerged from the shadows, lining the edges of the basin, their faces obscured, their presence adding to the solemnity of the moment.
“So, I will join the—” he glanced down at the contract, “Tome-Wardens?”
“Yes,” Yue confirmed. “Are you willing?”
He swallowed, a hard lump in his throat, and nodded.
Yue presented him with the knife, its polished surface gleaming in the dim light. She gestured towards the basin. “You need to sign with your blood.”
He took the knife, his fingers shaking so faintly that the blade caught the light in a quivering gleam. A memory flashed through his mind – his father, performing the same ritual for him at the testing crystal, what felt like a lifetime ago. He pressed the blade against the side of his thumb, a sharp, stinging pain. A bead of blood welled, then another, and another. The blood seemed to coalesce in mid-air, hovering magically above the basin. He extended the quill, and the blood, as if drawn by an invisible force, flowed onto the tip, soaking into the shaft.
The chamber fell utterly silent. Even the faint currents of mana seemed to still, holding their breath. He brought the blood-soaked quill to the parchment and, with a deep breath, signed his name.
Kor Penman.
The moment the last stroke was complete, a jolt, like a surge of energy, resonated through his very core. For a fleeting moment, his mind was flooded with images—endless rows of books, whispers of forgotten languages, and a presence so vast and ancient it made his breath catch in his chest. A being driven by an insatiable curiosity, a boundless thirst for knowledge. Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation vanished, leaving him breathless and slightly dazed.
“Kor Penman,” Yue addressed him, her voice echoing in the sudden silence. “I welcome you to the order of the Tome-Wardens. Ever turning, ever learning.”
“Ever turning, ever learning,” the hooded figures chorused, their voices a low, resonant murmur. Then, as silently as they appeared, they melted back into the shadows, leaving Kor alone with Yue in the centre of the ancient, powerful chamber.
Yue turned from the basin and strode back towards the staircase, her movements brisk and purposeful. Kor followed and questions swirled in his mind like leaves caught in a storm, each one vying for attention as he struggled to make sense of what had just happened. What would be expected of him as a Tome-Warden? What was the true nature of the Order? What kind of meditation technique would he receive? And would this new position grant him access to everything within the library spirit’s vast repository?
As they ascended the seemingly endless stairs, the silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic tap of their footsteps and the soft rustle of their robes. The air, still heavy with the residual energy of the ritual, seemed to press against him, a tangible reminder of the commitment he had just made.
The concealed door clicked shut, the sound immediately absorbed by the stillness of the back room as they emerged from the stairwell. Yue turned to face him, her features difficult to discern in the dim light. She held out her hand, a small silver ring resting on her palm. A delicate image of a quill inscribed on its surface.
“Put it on,” she instructed. “It’ll serve as proof of your membership.”
Kor accepted the ring, its polished, cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his own flesh. It was a simple band, unadorned, yet a faint hum of energy throbbed within it, a subtle vibration against his skin. He slipped it onto his ring finger. As it settled, a reservoir of energy, separate from his own, unfurled within him - a novel, unfamiliar presence.
“I knew you were going to be fun, Kor! Ever since you picked up the Logos.“ a voice chirped in his mind, youthful and bright, like a mischievous sprite. Its attention danced, here one moment and gone the next. The voice let out a peal of laughter before returning.
“Thanks for all the help you’ve given me, Ether...” he responded intuitively, his thoughts directed towards the ring.
“You’re welcome!“ the voice replied, brimming with enthusiasm. “But I’m going to be running you ragged from now on!“
Kor swallowed, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. “Ragged?”
“Just kidding,“ it giggled. “But, stay interesting.“ The voice, and the presence tethered to it, vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
The atmosphere around Yue shimmered. The subtle distortion of mana was barely perceptible. Her gaze was distant, focused inwards as she engaged in a silent conversation. This silent exchange continued for a few moments longer, a subtle interplay of energies that Kor could sense but not decipher. Finally, she turned back to him, her expression clearing.
“Meditation techniques, then.” Her voice was brisk and businesslike once more. “I can think of a few locations that shouldn’t be too difficult to access.”
“Difficult?” His voice wavered slightly, the words catching in his throat. “Can’t Ether just make them appear magically, like the contract?”
“It can, but the more powerful the item, the heavier it is, metaphysically speaking. Also, when you factor in the distances involved...” She shook her head. “So far as dimensional magic goes, the more potent the target, the more costly it becomes to move. Part of the reason for the Archive’s vast size is that the more potent magic a book contains, the more it clashes with other potent sources of mana. It stores many of the most dangerous books in the most distant parts of its archives.”
Yue exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping slightly as she rubbed at her temples, the faint lines around her eyes becoming more pronounced. “Come on, then,” she said, turning towards the door that led back into the main reception area. “Let’s see if we can get you sorted.”
