Lesson followed lesson. Spirit theory, the basics of alchemy, general disciplines on the history of Lasthold, even a short training on the drill yard—the day dragged on with its usual monotony. Yet to Kael’s surprise, this time everything unfolded differently.

  Draxion, who in the past never missed a chance to mock him, grew quieter with each lesson. At first, he tried once or twice—tossed out a few jabs—but, denied his usual reaction, he quickly began to turn his attention elsewhere. By the final lesson, he was laughing at his deskmates or making snide remarks at others’ answers, as though he had finally realized Kael would no longer provide him with the satisfaction he sought.

  Kael watched him from the corner of his eye, keeping his expression calm. He could see the truth—that Draxion was irritated. Every laugh of his carried strain, and in his eyes flickered the shadow of frustration. But Kael only summarized to himself:

  “I’ve no interest in lowering my mind to a child’s level. Especially not to that idiot—whose strength relies solely on his wealthy family and the chance to gorge on the best elixirs and pills. Let him fume.”

  He lowered his gaze to his notebook again, feigning that he was taking notes. In truth, his thoughts were far beyond the Academy walls.

  When the final lesson ended, the classroom buzzed as students rose and prepared to leave. Voices clashed in casual chatter; books and notebooks shuffled into bags.

  Kael rose silently. With his usual unhurried steps, he made his way toward the door and immediately felt dozens of eyes on him. He didn’t rush, but that very calmness—his steady stride and indifferent air—was enough to make several students pause.

  A few craned their necks out into the hall, whispering as they watched his back.

  “He’s heading out, not to the library?” one boy asked in surprise.

  “Maybe I’m still asleep and dreaming all this?” muttered a sharp-tongued girl from the front row, rubbing her eyes.

  A few snickered, but the mood was more astonishment than mockery.

  Kael ignored them all. He crossed the Academy courtyard without a glance and headed straight for the massive gray building with narrow windows and austere spires—the Hall of Ancient Research.

  “In my past life, I never once stepped inside…” he noted coldly to himself. “I had no interest in deciphering texts—only in reading and memorizing what the library held. But now… things are different. This is my golden ticket.”

  A smile flickered, and in his amber eyes glimmered cunning.

  “If my memory serves me—and it cannot fail me—the Hall has several ranks: apprentice, three grades of master, and at the top, magister. As a student, I can only test for apprentice… But that won’t be enough.”

  Walking along the noisy street, Kael observed as the Academy spilled forth its stream of young mages. Boys and girls hurried in all directions—some home, some to the market, others to the square to play. Their laughter and shouts filled the air, blending with the rumble of carts, the smell of roasting meat from street stalls, and the barking of dogs. The city lived its ordinary life—but to Kael, it was only background.

  “For access to the truly valuable archives…” he thought coldly, weaving between rushing students, “I’ll need at least the rank of master. Apprentices are mere errand boys, never trusted near the important texts.”

  He crossed to the far side of the broad street, slipping neatly between a cart of barrels and a wealthy man’s carriage.

  “To earn a reward, I’ll need to decipher something significant. And at the start, I’d best not play tricks by ‘conjuring up’ extra knowledge. Otherwise they’ll brand me a fabricator. One wrong step and the Hall’s doors will slam shut forever.”

  With these thoughts, he turned a corner and slowed his stride.

  Before him stood the massive gates of the complex—solemn stone buildings divided into separate sections, with a wide courtyard inside that held a garden and ponds. Above the gates, carved in elegant archaic script, gleamed the words: The Hall of Ancient Research.

  Two men stood at the entrance, clad in gray robes with white spiral embroidery on their collars and sleeves. They spoke lazily to one another, one leaning on his staff, the other on the wall. Their bored faces made clear this was a formality, not a necessity.

  As Kael approached, one of the guards—a tall man with long silver hair tied into a tail and a well-groomed goatee—cast him a languid glance and asked:

  “Boy, did something catch your interest?”

  Kael inclined his head politely, keeping his composure.

  “I’d like to try taking the apprentice exam.”

  The second guard, bald, stocky, with a sword at his belt, burst into laughter, slapping his thigh.

  “You’re far too young, lad! Come back when you’ve at least graduated from the Academy,” he chuckled, clearly not taking Kael seriously.

  But Kael stood his ground. His expression did not waver, and his voice remained polite yet firm.

  “Believe me, I can be useful even now. Please, tell me where I should go for the exam?”

  The silver-haired guard frowned, scratching the back of his head with faint irritation, and muttered wearily:

  “Boy, go home. Don’t cause us trouble. The masters already have more than enough to deal with…”

  The bald one nodded, but lowered his voice, leaning in as though sharing a secret.

  “The masters haven’t deciphered anything new in a long time. The three great families are pressing down on them from above. Everyone’s tense, angry. No one will waste their time giving an exam to a brat like you. So take my advice—come back later.”

  The silver-haired guard confirmed it with a friendly nod.

  “Don’t think we’re just being lazy—it’s sound advice. Push now and you’ll only anger the masters.”

  Kael froze, as if he had run into an invisible wall of iron. His lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing. His thoughts flowed instead, cold and precise:

  “This is bad… Until I reach the Core Mage stage, the paths of alchemy and inscription are closed to me. Without a core, I can’t even begin to work with mana, which means I can’t practice or apply what I know in theory. And on top of that, alchemists and inscribers need rare materials—expensive ones. That path is barred to me. At least for now…”

  He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sliding across the massive gates as though searching for a crack in the stone fortress.

  “If there’s any place I can earn coin with theory alone, the Hall of Ancient Research is my only option. But if the masters are overwhelmed, then it truly would be unwise to provoke them. So what should I do…?”

  Suddenly, both guards’ voices rang out at once:

  “Welcome, Master Violet!”

  They bowed their heads low in respectful greeting.

  A sweet, sharp fragrance drifted to Kael’s nose, and he instinctively lifted his gaze.

  A woman of about twenty was passing by. Her long violet hair shimmered in the sunlight, her thick lashes—of the same hue—framed eyes black as a starless night. She was breathtakingly beautiful, yet that beauty was warped by exhaustion. Her face was fixed in a mask of detachment, dark circles heavy beneath her eyes, rivaling those Kael himself carried.

  She did not even glance at the guards—only offered the faintest nod in acknowledgment as she walked past, her steps soft, as though her thoughts were far away, beyond this place.

  And then Kael saw it—something that caught his gaze and made his eyes gleam.

  In her hand lay a book. Its leather cover was worn, the page corners frayed, and on the spine was a slender inscription carved in the symbols of an ancient tongue.

  “This is my chance!” Kael thought fiercely.

  He stepped forward without hesitation and called out:

  “Madam! Excuse me, may I look at that treatise on herbs? The Academy library has nothing interesting left!”

  Both guards jolted as if he had uttered a forbidden word. The bald one immediately pressed a finger to his lips, hissing furiously as though to say, “shut up, you fool!” The silver-haired guard grimaced as though Kael had just signed his own death sentence.

  But the words were already spoken.

  The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned. Her black, weary, yet piercing eyes fixed on Kael, and the guards shivered under the weight of that gaze.

  “Damn it, kid…” the bald one whispered, hunching his shoulders. “Better run before you get your skull cracked!”

  Yet what followed shocked them both.

  Deep within the woman’s tired eyes flickered the faintest spark of interest. She narrowed them slightly and asked in a low voice:

  “How did you know this was a book on herbs, boy?”

  Kael smiled faintly, his tone perfectly calm.

  “Why, it’s written on the spine…”

  Violet flinched slightly. Her brows rose, and for the first time something alive flickered across her face. Tilting her head, she looked at the book and murmured:

  “And what exactly does it say?”

  “Something like… Herbs of Love and Lust,” Kael replied without hesitation.

  At once both guards froze in place. The bald one nearly choked on air, while the silver-haired guard broke into a foolish grin, as though his mind had been flooded with indecent thoughts.

  Violet, however, flushed so sharply that even the tips of her ears turned crimson. She jolted, clutching the book tighter as if to hide it within the folds of her robe, and stammered hastily:

  “N-nonsense! The title reads completely differently… Herbs of Tranquility and Yearning!”

  Her voice carried the desperate will to salvage her dignity, but embarrassment was already flooding her from head to toe.

  Kael, as though oblivious to her discomfort, took a few confident steps closer. The guards remained rooted in place, stunned, still processing what they had heard.

  Coming nearer, Kael calmly pointed to the book’s spine and murmured:

  “No, elder… It definitely says Love and Lust.”

  He narrowed his eyes, studying the symbols again, and added in the same steady voice:

  “No doubt about it. This is the script of the Moon Mage Empire. These characters most often appear in texts about lineage, marriage, and… carnal pleasures. There’s nothing here about tranquility…”

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  In that moment the guards, like synchronized puppets, slowly turned their heads toward Violet. Their necks seemed ready to creak from the motion. Disbelief froze their faces, and faint color rose to their cheeks—as if they truly had allowed the most suggestive thought to take root.

  Seeing their stares, Violet flushed completely, her eyes flashing with fury, and she shouted in a voice brimming with humiliated anger:

  “What are you two thinking, idiots?! Do you want me to punish you?!”

  The guards jolted upright in unison, snapping back toward the gates, and cried almost in chorus:

  “We heard nothing!”

  Their reaction only deepened Violet’s blush. She knew all too well: now their minds were firmly convinced she walked around with such books on purpose, confident that neither students nor guards could understand their content.

  “Damn it…” she hissed under her breath, then suddenly seized Kael by the wrist.

  “Enough! You’re coming with me!” she nearly shouted, dragging him along.

  Kael thought to resist, but quickly realized it was useless. The woman’s strength pressed down like the weight of a mountain.

  “She’s so furious she’s even channeling mana?” Kael mused inwardly, smiling faintly. “She’s a mage—and not a weak one, either. I wonder what rank she holds?”

  While Kael studied Violet, pondering her strength, she strode briskly down the stone path, pulling him behind her, muttering furiously all the while:

  “Wretched boy! So it’s books about obscenity that interest you?! No wonder you never found anything like this in the Academy!”

  Kael frowned, his voice ringing with innocence:

  “What are you talking about? I was only curious about the script of the Moon Mage Empire.” Then, with a faint smirk, he added, “As for the book’s subject… that was your choice, so it reflects more on your interests…”

  It was as if Kael hadn’t noticed how he’d begun to savor the taste of a life once stolen from him. He relished the exchange, relished the freedom.

  But no sooner had those words left his lips than Violet stopped dead. Her hair swung with her movement, and her eyes flashed lightning. She whirled on him, teeth clenched, and nearly growled:

  “Shut up! I only took it yesterday for deciphering. I had no idea what it was about!”

  She stepped in close, her low, threatening voice carrying a weight that would have chilled anyone else to the bone.

  “If you breathe a word of this to anyone—I’ll tear your head off!”

  Kael simply raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender, his voice calm and steady.

  “As you wish, elder… No need to react so sharply. What’s the problem with books about sex? In the end, it’s just theory and research. What matters is the deciphering. The contents… are another matter entirely.”

  He spoke with such sincerity and composure that it seemed he had no idea there was anything to be embarrassed about in this situation. His words carried calm, reason—and something unmistakably adult.

  After seven centuries of study, Kael’s perception had long since been warped. To him, every scrap of information, whether a treatise on magic or on physiology, was nothing more than an object of analysis. He no longer felt emotion toward texts, even when they dealt with subjects that would redden another’s ears. At most, he simply wanted to tease Violet, savoring her reaction.

  But it was disarming. His voice held no awkwardness, no mockery—only cold honesty.

  Catching that tone, Violet suddenly felt the burning shame in her cheeks freeze in place. A strange shift in reality pressed down on her: as though she were the child caught off guard, while before her stood an adult, calmly discussing a subject most would find mortifying.

  “That’s right… he’s only fifteen, sixteen years old…” she thought.

  She gripped the book tighter, turning the spine toward herself. The more she considered it, the clearer it became: not only had Kael read the title at a glance, but he had correctly identified the script of the Moon Mage Empire.

  Abruptly she released his hand, as though only just realizing she had been holding it all this time. Her face was still flushed, but now it carried not embarrassment, but concentration—and rising bewilderment.

  “Wait…” Violet muttered, frowning. “How did you even manage to read the book’s title?”

  For a second she said nothing, and then as if struck by lightning, she exclaimed louder than she meant to:

  “Just who are you?!”

  Kael, as though waiting for that question, inclined his head slightly and answered in an even tone:

  “My name is Kael. Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated by ancient languages and tried to decipher the records in the Academy’s library. Perhaps it sounds arrogant, but I possess unparalleled memory, and over the years I’ve made considerable progress.”

  He paused briefly, giving her time to process, then continued:

  “Today I came to attempt to join the Hall of Ancient Research. But the guards told me to leave and not trouble the elders.”

  With that, he inclined forward slightly, almost in an apologetic bow, and added gently but firmly:

  “So I had to use you to demonstrate my abilities. Forgive me, Master Violet. I promise this will be the first and last time.”

  Kael narrowed his eyes slightly, and a mocking thought flickered in his mind:

  “I never thought about it before… but it seems I did learn something from the Maste—”

  He cut himself off coldly:

  “…from the God of Knowledge and Madness.”

  Violet stood frozen, as though something inside her had cracked and she was now slowly piecing the shards back together. Her embarrassment ebbed, replaced by rationality—the cold mind of a researcher. Once again she studied Kael: his steady breathing, his confident gaze, his composure so alien to a boy his age.

  “It’s hard for me to believe in your knowledge…” she said at last, cautiously.

  Kael gave a slight nod, as though fully agreeing with her doubt.

  “We’re speaking of skills,” he replied calmly. “And skills can always be tested in practice. Faith is unnecessary here.”

  At those words Violet shivered. For a heartbeat she felt she was facing not a boy, but a grown sage—one with experience and a mysterious aura somehow trapped in a youthful body. Her heart raced, but the vision dissolved at once, and once again before her stood a fifteen-year-old student with a weary face.

  “What the…” she muttered, shaking her head.

  Kael, noticing her hesitation, added more gently:

  “The guards let slip that the Hall of Ancient Research is facing difficulties.”

  Violet’s eyes narrowed sharply, and she shot a venomous glare toward the gates where the guards still stood, though she said nothing.

  Kael pressed on, his voice firmer:

  “Fate denied me the ability to absorb mana. But in return, it granted me talent in studying theory. I don’t wish to sound arrogant, but I am a genius at deciphering. Give me a chance to prove it. Perhaps I might even help you with your delicate situation.”

  Violet exhaled heavily, as though trying to blow out the last traces of irritation. A shadow of doubt still lingered in her eyes, but her voice came out steadier now, even calm:

  “Don’t speak nonsense. At present all the Masters, even the Magisters of the Hall, are trying to decipher something truly valuable. Even if you are talented, don't overestimate yourself.”

  She paused in thought, then, as if settling on a decision, gave a small nod to herself and added:

  “But I can’t ignore you either. Come with me. I’ll conduct the exam personally. If you truly are a genius, as you claim, we’ll be glad to welcome you into our ranks. We lack young blood as it is.”

  Kael’s eyes immediately gleamed with sly light. He tilted his head slightly to hide his smile and replied politely:

  “Thank you, Master Violet. In return for your help, I’ll do my best to find you something more valuable than a book about sex. I promise.”

  The words had barely left his lips before Violet’s fist struck his head with startling speed. The blow wasn’t strong—more corrective than painful—but Kael felt his skull ring.

  “One more word about that and I’ll throw you out of here!” she shouted, flushing scarlet to the tips of her ears.

  Kael only laughed, genuinely, without a trace of malice, and shook his head.

  “Yes, yes, my apologies…”

  Inwardly, though, his gaze flickered briefly across Violet’s figure. Deep in his thoughts he murmured with a smile:

  “If my body were older, I’d definitely try to flirt with her…”

  That thought dragged behind it a whole chain of memories. Kael’s consciousness carried him far away—to the days of his imprisonment in the Divine Library. A life that had been nothing short of an endless nightmare: silence, infinite shelves of books, and the soulless golden puppets that served instead of living beings.

  But sometimes things were different. From time to time, mages from across the world came to the Library, trading knowledge, scrolls, even rare artifacts for the favor of the God of Knowledge and Madness. Others purchased time and space for solitary meditation, hoping to break through to a higher level. After all, the Library was saturated with such dense, viscous mana that it was considered a holy site for any mage.

  Often it was Kael, at his Master’s whim, who guided these visitors. He showed them the halls, the catalogs, the secret passages, sometimes even helped them locate what they sought.

  And sometimes it became more than just a tour. Among the visitors were women—extraordinarily powerful, mesmerizing, with an aura that any mortal would mistake for divinity. Some of them, sinking into the atmosphere of the Library, allowed themselves to relax and found in Kael a temporary partner. In those moments, even Kael’s personal hell became… slightly less torturous.

  Recalling a few of those incredible women, he thought to himself:

  “Though life in the Divine Library was hell—sometimes even there, something good would happen…”

  With these thoughts he lifted his gaze and stepped into the side building, following the still-flushed Master Violet. Her straight back and brisk, almost angry steps carried tension, but Kael only drew his eyes away from her figure and allowed himself the faintest smile, keeping all emotions carefully hidden behind his mask of composure.

  ? ? ?

  Kael had no idea that, at that very moment, his name and his words were already being discussed on the other side of Lasthold.

  On the top floor of the Academy of Spirit Mages, in a lavish room bathed in the soft glow of magical crystals, silence reigned. Shelves of books and scrolls climbed all the way to the ceiling, the dark wooden desk was scattered with parchments and inkwells, and the stained-glass windows let in only a muted greenish light.

  A woman sat at the desk. She wore a fitted green dress that accentuated the graceful lines of her figure. Her short hair, trimmed just below the chin, framed her face softly, and her emerald eyes stared forward, as though through space itself. She tapped her foot rhythmically, one leg crossed over the other, and murmured under her breath:

  “The soul has a form, and it has nothing to do with the talent of the body?.. Hm…”

  Her fingers brushed her lips thoughtfully, sliding along her skin, before she continued aloud:

  “And this was said… by that Kael?”

  Her voice carried surprise, but not a trace of mockery. Rather, it held a note of interest—something few students of the Academy ever managed to stir.

  Opposite her, standing a little ways off, was Cilia—the very teacher who had conducted Kael’s lesson that morning. She stood straight, though her voice carried a faint warmth:

  “Though it sounds far-fetched, the theory struck me as surprisingly logical. Or rather… not exactly logical, but it neatly covers certain blind spots in our knowledge. That’s why I decided to bring it to you, Principal.”

  The woman at the desk nodded slowly, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly.

  “You were right to tell me,” she said softly, her voice strict but not sharp.

  She fell into thought for a moment, her fingers gliding over the polished surface of the desk, then spoke again, quieter this time, tinged with a subtle shade of sorrow:

  “Keep an eye on that boy. A tragedy that he cannot become a mage… But perhaps he will bring great benefit to Lasthold as a scholar. In our age, theory is undervalued. But in the past, when the civilization of mages was at its peak, theorists stood side by side with practitioners.”

  Her words sounded almost like a reminder to herself, and silence filled the room again, broken only by the faint hum of magical crystals.

  Cilia bowed respectfully, her stern features softening slightly.

  “Yes, Principal Riada,” she said quietly, yet firmly.

  With that, she made a graceful bow and, without adding another word, left the office, closing the heavy redwood door behind her.

  Riada remained alone. Her gaze fixed forward once more, through space, as if she were seeing not the walls of her office but the very heart of Lasthold—the quarters of the three great families. She exhaled heavily, her fingers nervously grazing the armrest of her chair.

  “If the boy is right…” she whispered barely audibly. “Then anyone could become a powerful mage. Anyone… as long as they knew the form of their soul and received a suitable Canon of Magic.”

  Her voice carried a mix of fear and awe. For a few moments she sat in silence, letting the thought settle. Then, gathering herself, Riada straightened and spoke firmly, almost like a vow:

  “No one in the ruling elite must be allowed to lure Kael under their wing… not even our Ancient Roots Family.”

  “If, in the future, he manages to uncover the full secret of mage development… such knowledge could be dangerous if it belongs solely to the three great families.”

  She closed her eyes, and a shadow of unease flickered within them.

  “So that Lasthold does not wither… power must be accessible to all, regardless of status.”

  The room once again sank into silence, the colored stained glass casting green reflections across the principal's thoughtful face.

  Riada sat unmoving for a long time, listening to her own thoughts. At last she reached for the small crystal bell on the edge of the desk and brushed it lightly. The chime was faint, barely audible, yet the air in the room trembled, and from the half-shadow along the far wall a silhouette seemed to cut itself free.

  Before the principal, bowed a man in a black robe without a single identifying mark. His hood concealed his face, but his supple posture and fluid movements betrayed what he was—no ordinary mage, but someone accustomed to shadow and silence.

  “Principal,” his voice came muffled, almost a whisper.

  Riada met his gaze with cold resolve.

  “One of the students must be placed under observation. I want to know what he truly is—and whether he’s a fraud.”

  The man raised his head slightly, waiting for details.

  “His name is Kael. Officially he is listed as a failure, without talent for absorbing mana. But I suspect… he is far more valuable than he appears.”

  Silence hung in the room. The man only inclined his head and said softly:

  “Any further instructions?”

  “No. Just watch from the shadows, and do not interfere. You must not reveal yourself…” Riada’s voice was firm. “But if anyone attempts to lure him into one of the ruling families—you will report to me immediately.”

  Her emerald eyes flashed, her voice turning icy:

  “If the boy is valuable, then he must remain free. Only then will he be able to bring benefit to all of Lasthold.”

  The man bowed silently, and his silhouette dissolved into the air, as though he had never been there.

  Riada was left alone. Pulling the mask of a carefree smile over her face, she rose and murmured:

  “I hope, as always, that I’m just working myself up… He’s still a boy, and there is still time before he begins making any important discoveries.”