He woke in a cold sweat, the echoes of monstrous forms and unsettling whispers still clinging to the edges of his mind. The dreams were becoming more vivid, more real, and the changes in his body were mirroring their terrifying implications. He couldn’t ignore it any longer, this creeping fear of becoming something inhuman. Ether had held back the truth for too long. Today, that changed. He dressed quickly, his jaw set with a steely resolve, and headed out to find answers.

  The archive’s entrance, deceptively small and unassuming, did little to betray the sprawling depths that lay beneath. As he stepped inside, he reached out to Ether through the familiar warmth of his ring. “Ether! It’s time you told me the truth about the Hunger!”

  A beat of silence hung in the air. Then the Archive spoke, its voice echoing within Kor’s mind. “Come, Kor. Yue will bring you. There are things you need to see—things that must remain between us.”

  Kor’s stomach clenched. Ether’s silence, a stark contrast to his usual banter, pressed down on him, heavier than any joke. Yue waited at the reception desk, her expression unreadable. She turned and led him to the back room and down a spiralling staircase, descending into the depths of the archive.

  “I see you can at least restore your mana now, Kor. Have you reconciled the differences with the Hunger?”

  “Partially. I’m making progress, but there are side effects…”

  “To be expected of something so potent. The power we wield changes each of us.” A pointed glance over her shoulder as they continued their descent. “Though perhaps you suffer that more than most.”

  Kor acknowledged her words with a slight nod. Around his neck, Lentus twitched in his slumber.

  Yue pushed open the guardian’s door, leading Kor deeper into the heart of the library’s sanctum. Darkness swallowed the vast stone chamber, the low-hanging candelabra casting long, dancing shadows that barely illuminated the space. Yue conjured a globe of light, its soft glow guiding them to the side.

  “Where are we going today?” His voice cracked, any attempt at levity lost in the oppressive silence.

  Yue’s usually fluid movements hitched. They stood before a gaping maw in the stone. The opening in the stone wasn’t a door, but a jagged maw that seemed to exhale a breath of icy air. The air thrummed, the power vibrating through Kor until his teeth ached. Runes, ancient and alien, scarred the stone around the opening.

  “The heart,” Yue whispered, her voice barely audible as she led him into the maw.

  Down and down they travelled, the cold, dark stone barely illuminated by their meagre lights. Kor conjured his own orb, only to find it significantly diminished, as if the very atmosphere sought to smother it.

  “The deeper we go, the more ominous it gets,” he muttered. “Couldn’t the library have chosen a more… welcoming room for its heart?” The question echoed in the oppressive silence.

  Yue shook her head. “Don’t ask me about the anatomy of a living library.”

  “Who else should I ask?”

  A sharp glare from Yue was enough to silence him.

  Minutes stretched, each one an eternity as they passed through thin veils of magical energy that hummed in their wake. Traps? Barriers? Whatever their intent, it was far from friendly.

  Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a pressure, both physical and magical, settled upon him. It was almost imperceptible at first, but it grew, pressing against him, a tangible force in the stillness.

  At the bottom, a grand chamber awaited, vast and echoing, its scale dwarfing them. The air bit at Kor’s exposed skin, a stark, unnatural cold. A faint, almost metallic scent hung in the stillness. At its centre, a colossal orb pulsed with an ethereal, deep blue light, like a miniature star captured and held in stasis. It throbbed with a slow, rhythmic beat, radiating an almost overwhelming power that seemed to press against their very beings. The light, the colour of the deepest ocean trenches, cast an azure glow upon the chamber walls, revealing their unsettling composition.

  The Heart.

  The walls were not of mere stone, but a strange, obsidian-like material, polished to a mirror sheen yet somehow absorbing more light than they reflected. Intricate, vein-like patterns of silver ran through the black, pulsing faintly in time with the Heart’s throbbing, as if carrying its energy throughout the chamber. Six massive arms, sculpted from the same unsettling material, extended from the orb to each wall: four reaching out to the cardinal directions, and two more, one pointing straight up towards the unseen ceiling, the other plunging down into the unknowable depths below.

  With each throb of the Heart, the silver veins pulsed with a vibrant light, tracing the paths of energy through the obsidian arms. The light flickered across the growths, highlighting their grotesque shapes like blemishes on a flawless surface.

  The Heart spoke directly into Kor’s mind, bypassing the ring entirely. It was Ether’s voice, but deeper, stripped of its usual levity, replaced by a profound seriousness. “What you see here cannot leave this chamber, Kor. My safety, and the entirety of my repository, depends on it.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  Pulsating growths scarred the pillars, their surfaces glistening like festering wounds. Kor scanned the chamber, unease crawling up his spine.

  Yue’s voice was hushed. “With the Voidling incursions, the library has grown more susceptible to the warping influence of the void realm.”

  “Why is it the only one suffering from this?”

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  Yue sighed. “It’s Ether’s nature to seek knowledge, even forbidden or dangerous. With the weakening boundaries between our realm and the void, its explorations have grown more extreme.”

  “How does it even explore another realm?” Kor squinted up at the large pillars, his curiosity piqued.

  “That would be Andrast’s job. He and some of our colleagues have made the journey, there and back again.”

  “That’s enough for now, Yue!“

  “Fine, you can explain it to him. I’ve got work to do.” Yue turned, her light receding as she retraced her steps, leaving him alone with the heart.

  “So, books like the one you had me learn corrupt you in some way?”

  “Not usually… but the Voidlings have opened wide the connection between our worlds, and now their influence has grown hard to resist. If possible, I’d have you soak up a few more forbidden grimoires…”

  He brushed past that unsettling suggestion. “But they haven’t attacked for months now?”

  “That is perhaps the most concerning thing of all. Though, a problem for another day. Now, I need Lentus to do some cleanup for me.”

  The silent conversation between Lentus and the heart sparked. Fragments of their exchange reached Kor, a speed of thought he could now, for the first time, begin to follow.

  “We need Kor to grow stronger, and you’re still holding back on him…”

  “I gave him the Hunger! Don’t you know how hard it was to secure that from the Voidlings?”

  So, it was a Voidling technique after all. The dreams of turning into something monstrous, not just a figment of his imagination. A coldness spread through him, settling deep in his bones.

  He missed the last exchanges as Lentus stirred, slithering from his neck to glide through the air. He landed atop the heart, his magic reaching out to probe the first of the chaotic growths.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kor’s voice was low, each word precise and edged with steel. He didn’t shout, but the controlled intensity made the question more potent. “What else aren’t you telling me, Ether?”

  The purplish mass slowly dissolved under Lentus’ focused attention, though it seemed resistant even to his companion’s entropy. A flicker of unease, a subtle shift in the Heart’s light shifted subtly, its beat skipping once.

  “I... I needed to know, Kor,” Ether admitted. The usual playful lilt was absent, replaced by a strained seriousness. “I needed to know if it was even possible. If a human, even one as exceptional as you, could withstand the corrupting influence of the Void.” He paused, the Heart’s light dimming slightly.

  Kor’s usually stoic demeanour fractured. Part of him, deep within, stirred. The Hunger, a primal force, resonated with a rising heat within him, a faint pulse beneath his skin. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles went white. “You could have warned me, Ether. Don’t I have the right to know? Or am I just another pawn in the games you play? Do you even care?” He took a step back from the Heart, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the chamber floor, looming over the pulsing light.

  Even Lentus seemed to pause in his work, his serpentine form turning slightly, a silent observer to the raw emotion now filling the chamber.

  Ether’s response was immediate, the Heart’s light flaring briefly before settling into a softer, almost mournful glow. “Kor… that’s not… It’s not a game.” His voice, usually so confident, held a tremor of vulnerability. “I do care. Perhaps… perhaps in ways you don’t yet understand. My existence is bound to the pursuit of knowledge, yes, but… not at any cost. I misjudged. I should have trusted you more.” He paused again, the silence heavy with unspoken regret.

  “Then tell me now.” Kor’s voice was tight, edged with hurt.

  Ether relented, the Heart’s light dimming, a visual echo of surrender. “Very well, Kor. You deserve the truth. I do not believe humans are fundamentally compatible with Void-derived magic. It is inherently corrosive to life in our dimension.”

  “So, is it going to consume me?” Kor’s voice was barely audible, a rasp against the silence. “Transform me into some… monster?” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he averted his gaze for a moment, a flicker of the terrifying dream – twisted limbs, insatiable hunger, a loss of self – flashing behind his eyes.

  “If you were a normal mage, perhaps,” Ether conceded. “But you are not. Surely you’ve realised that by now?”

  Kor didn’t respond. He felt the truth of Ether’s words, the unique power that flowed through him, but the sense of violation remained, a bitter taste in his mouth. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

  Ether sighed, a mental exhalation that rippled through the Heart’s energy. “Your fractal magic, your unusually large mana pool, and Lentus’s… unique abilities… presented a confluence of factors too significant to ignore. The potential… it was simply too intriguing.”

  “Intriguing?” Kor repeated, the word laced with bitter disbelief. He stepped closer to the Heart, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You risked my life, my very being, for what? To satisfy your… curiosity?”

  The Heart pulsed, a hesitant beat, as if struggling to find the right words. Ether, the very embodiment of knowledge, was momentarily speechless. The realisation dawned on Kor – he had hit a nerve. This wasn’t just about the Voidlings. It was about Ether’s fundamental nature.

  “It… is a factor,” Ether finally admitted, his voice strained. “But not the sole reason. The threats we face, the dangers that lie ahead… they will require… unconventional solutions. Extreme measures.” A chill permeated the air, colder than the stone, as the weight of Ether’s words settled upon Kor.

  “If you can truly master the Hunger, Kor… if you can harness its power without succumbing to its corruption, you will become something… unprecedented. Your abilities will transcend anything we currently understand.”

  Kor, his breathing now slow and controlled, though his hands remained clenched, observed as Lentus methodically dissolved the strange, resilient growths on the Heart’s extensions. He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the slowly shrinking corruption. “What kinds of powers will this Hunger give me?” He asked, his voice even, the internal storm masked by a facade of calm.

  Ether’s tone remained serious, the earlier levity entirely absent. “I do not know, Kor. Truly. But I strongly advise you to delve deeper into the nature of your own specialisation. I believe there are depths to your fractal magic that even you have yet to uncover.”

  “What do you know, Ether?” Kor pressed, his gaze unwavering.

  “Nothing concrete,” Ether admitted. “Only… suspicions. A wizard’s specialty is a deeply personal journey. My interference would only obscure your path.” He continued after a moment, “Kor, I am sorry for how this has all happened. Truly. However, I can offer you no answers, only advice. Think on your fractals, on the nature of your magic, and your connection to it. You will need every edge you can get to master the Hunger.”

  “I... I need some time to think,” Kor said, his voice distant, his gaze unfocused.

  “This will take a while,” Lentus interjected, a hint of reluctance in his mental tone.

  Kor nodded slowly, already withdrawing. He moved away from the Heart, towards the far wall, reaching it and leaning back, his shoulders slumping as he slid to the floor. The chill seeped through his clothes, and he winced as his body, changed and unfamiliar, protested against the hard stone. He was no longer the person he once was, in more ways than one.

  He fingered the ring on his hand. Ether had always seemed so kind, so friendly. The familiar warmth of the metal now felt foreign, almost mocking. Thoughts scattered like leaves in a gale: Ether’s revelations, the gnawing urgency of his meditation technique, the frustrating hints about his fractal magic... it all swirled, a chaotic mess he couldn’t untangle. With a steadying breath, Kor settled in, focusing on the one thing he could control: readying himself to challenge the Hunger once again.