Gray turned the corner and halted. His eyes widened, and a small smirk tugged at his lips. "Bingo," he whispered under his breath.
The library stretched before him like a cathedral of silence. Rows upon rows of towering shelves lined the walls, their spines gleaming faintly in the muted light that filtered down from the ceiling's glass panes. Dust floated in the air, stirred by his quiet footsteps as he entered. The place was grander than the one he remembered before, far bigger, with multiple wings branching off into shadow. The faint smell of old parchment, ink, and varnished wood filled his nose. He glanced upward, seeing balconies stacked with more books, ladders perched like forgotten guardians leaning against the higher shelves.
He moved further inside, the silence pressing against his ears, his own breaths unnervingly loud. Thousands of books stood waiting for him, each holding worlds, theories, and secrets. Where should he begin? He brushed his fingers along the bindings as though they might whisper guidance. There were sections marked for history, theory, practical studies, and talent cultivation. Yet his eyes drifted toward a more secluded alcove labeled Tales and Myths.
It was quiet there, even quieter than the rest of the library. Gray stepped in and immediately noticed how different the shelves looked. The books here were not pristine, not polished. Many were cracked at the spine, pages barely clinging to their bindings. Some had covers half-torn away, others had strange sigils scrawled across them. He could feel their age in his fingertips as he lifted one, its leather surface flaking against his skin.
"These are old," he muttered, voice echoing faintly. "Maybe too old. But maybe they'll give me what I need."
He began to scan through the shelves, lifting volumes one by one. Some were written in languages he could not recognize. Others contained illustrations so strange he could not tell if they were beasts, gods, or nightmares. His frustration simmered as he set another incomprehensible book back.
Then he froze.
A book leaned outward ever so slightly, as if inviting him. Its spine bore simple letters that rang in his head the moment he read them: The Origins.
Curiosity flared hot in his chest. He pulled it free, staring at the cover. "Could this…?" He thought immediately of the divine figure he had glimpsed near his own death, that strange being whose words still lingered in his mind. If anything held an answer, it was this.
He tucked it under his arm but kept searching, hoping...hoping for even a single mention of the Apple of the Waning Dawn. He combed through shelf after shelf, eyes sharp, hands moving quickly. Nothing. Not a whisper, not even a hint. He exhaled, almost laughing at his own stubbornness. "So it's even more mysterious than I thought."
Resigned, he settled on the book he had found. He sat down on a wooden bench, brushed off the dust, and tried to pry it open. The pages resisted him. He pressed harder, thumb digging against the seam, but it was as though the entire book had been glued shut. Frowning, he noticed something strange—the thin edges of the paper glowed faintly blue.
His mind flashed back to the contraption pf that tower in Glacierfang, the way Vyre had interacted with locks and barriers. He placed his palm against the book and closed his eyes, summoning a trickle of Vyre. The glow deepened, humming faintly. Then came the faint sound of shattering glass.
Gray snapped his eyes open. The book had loosened. He pried it apart, but only the first few pages moved. The rest still clung stubbornly together, sealed by the same faint blue light.
Before he could begin reading, a voice cut through the silence.
"You there."
Gray's heart lurched. He turned his head and saw an old woman approaching, her cane tapping against the floor. She wore round glasses that caught the light, her thin mouth pressed in a tight line.
"Who are you?" she asked sharply.
Gray's tongue tripped over itself. "I'm just a… a Strained," he said quickly, clutching the book against his chest.
The woman exhaled heavily, adjusting her glasses. "You should have alerted me before doing anything."
"Sorry," he said, almost bowing his head.
She waved him off and began to turn away. Panic flared in him, and the question burst out before he could stop it. "Wait! Why doesn't the rest of the book open?"
She paused, her back stiff, then slowly looked at him again. Her voice was quieter this time, heavier. "Because that book is sealed. A powerful spell holds it shut. Only a high-level skill, a higher rank, or direct authorization can unseal it. You have none of those."
Gray frowned. "Then… what's the point of keeping a book no one can read?"
Her lips thinned further. "Because some knowledge should not be read. Some truths can kill. Others corrupt. Do not think all words are harmless. Be aware at all times, boy."
Gray's throat tightened. This was the second time he had heard the warning—that information itself could corrupt, could kill. It was no longer a curiosity. It was a threat.
The woman's gaze lingered on him before softening slightly. She let out a dry laugh. "You should be fine. Most of the dangerous ones are here in Tales and Myths. Every one of them has been analyzed and sealed for safety. So do not lose sleep over it."
Gray managed a smile and nodded. "Thank you."
Her cane tapped away until her figure faded between the shelves. His smile fell the instant she was gone. He looked back down at the dusty book and gingerly brushed the cover clean.
He began to read.
The Seven Origins are mysterious beings who are said to have been human once. They appeared in the early First Era, their ascension marking a turning point for mankind. Records suggest they were ordinary mortals who rose into what many considered gods.
Gray inhaled sharply.
Almost everything regarding the Seven Origins has been destroyed or locked away. Why, none can say. Yet during the Second Exodus—the era when humankind once again braved the lands of Nyxterra—three of the Origins became widely known, while the others vanished into silence.
The three were…
The Origin of Storms.
The Origin of Life.
And the last, a king.
The Origins of Storms and Life became so renowned that kingdoms rose in their names. Churches and shrines spread across Nyxterra, their influence seeping into every settlement.
Gray leaned closer, eyes devouring the words, but the page ahead blurred into unreadable streaks of blue light. The seal again.
'Just as it was getting interesting...'
He exhaled slowly, closed the book, and slid it back into its space. The information rattled in his chest like a secret too large to contain. Gods born from mortals. Kingdoms raised in their honor. Could it truly be fiction? Many likely thought so. But to Gray, it was different. He remembered the being he had seen near his death, and his gut told him such miracles were not illusions.
If humans could ascend, then perhaps survival had always hinged on them. Without such beings, the population might have long since crumbled.
He pressed his lips together. "I want to know how," he whispered. "How they did it."
But not here. Not yet.
Gray stepped back from the myth section and began to explore elsewhere. If he could not understand the Apple of the Waning Dawn, then he would have to change approach. The apple was a relic. And relics, surely, would be described in other texts.
He wandered until a small side wing caught his attention. A plate above the arch read Computing Records. Inside, the shelves were fewer, and most of the books bore glowing seals across their covers. Still, one slim volume stood untouched. He pulled it free. The cover read: On the Mechanisms of Vossus.
Flipping through quickly, he skipped over entire chapters on skills, passive traits, and affinities. He turned the pages until his eyes landed on a final entry.
Relics.
Gray's eyes widened. "Finally," he breathed.
He read carefully.
"A relic is a tangible item. It may be as plain as a rock, as ornate as armor, or as deadly as a blade. But always, it must exist in physical form. Relics can be discovered, forged, or even granted. Once acquired, they are drawn into the soul and stored within the Soul Storage—a domain located in every person's spiritual body."
Gray blinked. 'The soul? A place inside my soul?'
He continued reading, trying to find an explanation.
"Rarely, a relic may instead manifest in the Consciousness World. Such cases are rare, and their differences remain unknown. A relic always carries an effect—sometimes small, sometimes life saving—but never without purpose."
The words made his pulse quicken. He remembered the divine man again, the way he had spoken of relics.
"The Soul Storage typically becomes accessible at Rank Two, though there are exceptions in rare cases."
Gray's lips twisted into a frown. That was it. Nothing about how to access it early, nothing about the process itself. Just a dry explanation. He shut the book, disappointed.
He stood up and walked towards the corruption related area, intending to search answers regarding his situation, but stopped when a voice snapped him from his thoughts.
"You are wasting your time."
The old woman had returned, her cane striking the floor as she eyed the book in his hand.
Gray flushed slightly, hiding it behind his back. "I was just—"
"Every volume in that section is sealed for a reason," she interrupted. "Even if you could open them, they would bring you nothing but trouble."
Her words sent a cold shiver up his spine. He glanced around at the shelves again, noticing how each book bore the faint shimmer of a seal.
Corruption. Death. Sealed knowledge.
He swallowed hard and looked down at the wristband on his arm. The tiny glowing interface blinked at him.
His heart sank.
"I am going to be late," he muttered.
Gray tucked the book back onto the shelf, dusted off his hands, and hurried toward the exit, the old woman's words echoing in his mind.