Never had Kael felt so… alive.

  His mind was in turmoil, thoughts shooting off in every direction, as if some inner lock had just snapped open.

  He was trembling slightly—but not from fear. It was something deeper — raw excitement. An electric tension running through every fiber of his being.

  His breathing was shallow. He couldn’t keep still.

  He had never had a conversation so dense, so precise, so… unsettling.

  And yet—he didn’t want it to end.

  Across from him, the man remained perfectly calm. Seated on the couch, he seemed entirely in his place, as if he had always been there. As if all of this were perfectly natural.

  But one question kept returning in Kael’s mind.

  A simple question. Precise. Relentless.

  Why?

  He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

  “Forgive me for asking,” he said, “but… why are you explaining all of this to me?”

  “Why make me play chess? Why answer all my questions?”

  “Why help me?”

  The man remained silent for a few seconds. He reached for a piece on the chessboard.

  The king.

  He slowly turned it between his fingers, as if it were a symbol. Then, without looking up, he spoke in an even tone:

  “Very few people take an interest in matters as deep as you do,” he said.

  “Most are content to live within a comfortable illusion… the ignorance of a life they believe they control.”

  He then lifted his gaze—calm, yet profoundly lucid.

  “But you… you are different.”

  “You ask questions.”

  “You doubt.”

  He paused.

  “And in a world where doubt is disappearing, those who still doubt become essential.”

  A very faint smile brushed his lips.

  “It almost feels like a duty… to help you.”

  The man picked up a third book from the stack and handed it calmly to Kael. Kael took it and read the title embossed in gold letters:

  Cogito Ergo Sum.

  He frowned slightly, then looked back up at the man.

  “I don’t understand this language.”

  The man nodded.

  “I think, therefore I am.”

  “I would like you to take an interest in this book. It may shed some light on things.”

  Kael lowered his gaze to the book, studied it for a moment without opening it, turned it over in his hands… then gently set it back down on the table.

  That was when the man showed, for the first time since the beginning of their meeting, a facial reaction.

  Minimal—but unmistakably real.

  A hint of surprise, perhaps.

  But before he could say a word, Kael cut in, almost playfully, as if he already knew exactly what the man was about to say.

  “I’m not going to read it now.

  I’d rather save it for later.”

  He paused, his gaze drifting briefly into the distance.

  “I’ve already absorbed a lot today.

  I need to… let all of this mature. Let it turn over in my head.”

  He nodded faintly to himself.

  “I’ll come back. Another day. To continue my… ‘education,’ let’s say.”

  He stood up slowly and stretched, as if returning to the real world after having plunged too deeply into thought.

  “I think it’s time for me to go,” he said with a smile.

  “That was a very… pleasant moment.”

  “I’ll be back. And eventually, I will beat you at chess.”

  The last sentence was delivered with a sarcastic tone that carried more respect than mockery.

  “But may I at least borrow the books I was looking for originally?”

  “I’d like to study them more thoroughly. To understand their… essence.”

  The man watched him take the books, then stood up as well, with the same measured elegance he had shown from the start.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “You are realistic—and measured,” he said.

  “You are right not to overload your mind. Too much poorly digested information becomes poison for intelligence.”

  He made a small gesture toward the books.

  “And as for those volumes… of course. Take them.”

  Kael turned halfway toward the exit, then asked, almost out of simple curiosity:

  “Are you the manager of this library?”

  The man nodded gently.

  “Indeed. I am the owner of this… modest establishment.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth lifting.

  “Modest?”

  “We clearly don’t share the same definition of the word.”

  “I’ll walk you to the exit, if you don’t mind.”

  The man was already moving, Kael at his side.

  They crossed the library slowly, in silence.

  Kael’s footsteps—just as when he had arrived—echoed loudly against the black-and-white checkered floor. An echo too strong, almost out of place in such a quiet place.

  The man’s, on the other hand, made almost no sound at all.

  Strange, Kael thought.

  When they reached the great entrance door, the man stopped. He turned his head slightly toward Kael, his gaze as unfathomable as ever.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said softly.

  “Come back whenever you wish.

  It is a rare privilege… to be able to commune with someone like you.”

  He extended his hand.

  Kael clasped it firmly. A faint shiver ran up his arm, but this time, he didn’t push it away.

  “The pleasure was mine,” he replied sincerely.

  Then he stepped through the door. It closed slowly behind him, with an almost solemn sigh.

  The man remained there, alone, motionless before the sealed entrance. He stared at it for a long moment, thoughtful.

  And in a whisper barely audible, he said:

  “He is perfect.”

  “He had not been mistaken.”

  …

  Kael found himself back out on the street.

  Instinctively, he turned around, as if to make sure what he had just experienced had truly happened. The library was still there—massive and silent. The great dark stone building, the stained-glass windows, the strange carvings embedded in the fa?ade… Nothing had moved.

  That’s what he calls “modest”? he thought, a crooked smile forming.

  He lifted his eyes to the sky.

  The same as before.

  The light. The position of the sun. The atmosphere… Nothing had changed since he had gone inside.

  A shiver ran through him, barely perceptible.

  That’s… strange. I must have spent several hours in there… hadn’t I?

  He shook his head. No point getting lost in speculation. He turned on his heel and started heading back.

  Along the way, his thoughts kept looping.

  That guy is suspicious.

  Not in a bad way, no. But… strange. He carried an aura, an intensity that didn’t fit a simple librarian. Kael frowned slightly.

  He’s connected—one way or another… to Elan.

  He was certain of it. He had felt it.

  Those tingles and shivers hadn’t been random.

  Velara had trained him enough for him to recognize that kind of thing. It wasn’t a vague intuition, nor a gut feeling. It was certainty.

  What I need to figure out, he thought, teeth clenched, is how he’s connected to the Trial.

  He lowered his gaze to the books he was carrying. Their rigid bindings were black—plain, elegant, without any ornamentation. The titles were engraved in precise golden letters. They looked ancient. Precious. And heavy with meaning.

  A low growl cut through his thoughts.

  His stomach.

  “Yeah… I’m starving,” he muttered with a sigh.

  And he picked up the pace, eager to find a meal—and a bit of peace, to digest everything he had just learned.

  Kael arrived in front of his house.

  The car was gone.

  “Where did that damned creature go?” he murmured suspiciously.

  He scanned the street. Nothing. Not the slightest trace, no clue at all.

  Wary, he climbed the steps back to the house. Once inside the hallway, he called out:

  “I’m back!”

  Without waiting for an answer, he kicked off his shoes and tossed them carelessly into a corner, then walked into the living room.

  No one.

  On the dining table, a note had been left, placed right beside his saber, still exactly where he had left it.

  “I’ll be back soon. I went out to buy groceries for dinner.”

  Kael clenched his teeth.

  “I really hope that car didn’t do anything to her… otherwise—”

  He grabbed his saber. The sun was still high.

  “I still have time to train,” he murmured.

  He took off his jacket, then slowly unbuttoned his uniform shirt and draped it over the back of a chair.

  When he had arrived earlier, he had noticed something rather surprising: the house had a garden.

  A real one. A stretch of greenery beyond a door behind the kitchen.

  He crossed the adjoining room, pushed the door open, and stepped outside.

  A small wooden staircase led down to a well-kept patch of grass, bordered by flowerbeds in bloom.

  But Kael didn’t bother using it.

  He vaulted over the safety railing and landed lightly on the grass.

  The ground felt soft beneath his bare feet. A large tree stood at the center of the garden, its branches casting a generous shade over the flowers his mother had carefully planted.

  A peaceful place. Alive. Vibrant.

  Kael took a deep breath. Saber in hand, he walked to the center of the lawn.

  The moment was perfect.

  He assumed his stance.

  And the training began.

  Kael exhaled slowly.

  His gaze swept across the space in front of him, measuring every corner of the garden, every variation in the ground, every shadow cast by the central tree. Then—without counting, without signal—he moved.

  His body came alive in a single breath.

  At first, slowly—a glide, a pivot, a measured sequence. Then, suddenly, an explosion: the saber cut through the air in a precise arc, followed by a fluid step, a sliding shift to the right, then an unexpected rise. Nothing in the movement was rigid. Everything was curved, alive, as though he were dancing with an invisible opponent.

  His style imitated nothing.

  It adapted.

  Each posture was only a transition, never an end. His foot brushed the grass without ever sinking into it. His weight distributed itself with surgical precision—an active balance, reactive, ready to tilt in any direction at any moment.

  A full rotation.

  A feint.

  A plunging strike followed by a sliding withdrawal. He wasn’t repeating a learned pattern. He was responding to something unseen. Instinctive.

  The style of chaos, as Velara had explained, was not a fixed technique. It was a constant reading of motion. An art of mutation. A dance in which every strike was also a question, every evasion an answer.

  Kael surrendered himself to that shifting logic.

  His feet found their place before he was even aware of it. His center of gravity shifted with every heartbeat. The saber gleamed in the sunlight—sometimes swift as lightning, sometimes suspended in a frozen posture, almost meditative.

  He varied the rhythm.

  He cleaved the air with a single decisive cut… then withdrew with the softness of a leaf carried by the wind.

  Chaos was not anarchy.

  It was order behind the unpredictable.

  Discipline within freedom.

  Kael finished the sequence in a low stance, one knee to the ground, the saber pointed forward, his torso slightly inclined. He did not move. His breathing, steady and controlled, merged with the silence of the garden.

  He was no longer training.

  He was evolving.