He tore at the bindings of the neatly organized books lining the shelves. Left, right; left, right. He pulled volumes with frantic rhythm until they scattered across the table, burying the wood beneath a chaotic spread of open pages.
A dim light glinted off the smooth curves of the wooden centerpiece hanging from the string around his neck.
Where is it?
The stories insisted that the forbidden texts were hidden here, obscured by secret ciphers, waiting for the worthy to decode them.
A week has passed in this library. I haven't attended a single class, yet I've found nothing!
The Academy Requalification Exam was only a week away.
If I don't pass, I'll be expelled before I can accomplish a single thing. But could I do it? Even if I exerted every ounce of my will?
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He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the lone book sitting isolated on the table, far from the mess he had created.
A phantom shock pulsed through him. It wasn't a quick strike, but a slow, creeping invasion that saturated every extremity his veins reached. He shuddered as the sensation left him, grounding itself into the floor.
He carried that book everywhere, yet ever since the incident, he could not bring himself to open it. It had taught him everything he knew.
Can I even trust it anymore?
Even now, his mind dissected the dilemma with cold precision: Would the continuance of my obedience to it, or the denial of it, demonstrate a greater level of intelligence?
He arrived at the right answer, though his method was far from intelligent. In the back of his mind, he simply flipped a coin. His terrible luck led the way.
Denial of one's shortcomings is a characteristic of stupidity. I cannot pass the exam as I am. But I can create more time.
He opened the book.
The God of Death grinned its wicked grin. It was a setback, yes, but minor. Death would not have to wait for another vessel to be born. One—this one—had walked willingly into its grasp.
