Chapter 8: The Ghost in the Library
The Ducal Library was not merely a room with books. It was the heart of House Akashi's true power, a three-story cathedral of knowledge built into the Spire's core. Its air was cool and still, thick with the scent of ancient parchment, dried ink, and the faint, clean hum of the preservation runes carved into the soaring shelves of dark, polished ironwood. For Kairo, it was the most familiar place in the world. A sanctuary that had become a prison, and now, a training ground.
Navigating the Spire a second time was a more controlled, less frantic affair. He had rested, his small Aether Core slowly refilling like a cup under a dripping tap. This time, he was not fleeing an ambush; he was advancing on an objective. He moved with a quiet purpose, his hand tracing the familiar stone walls, his Aether-Sense pulsing in brief, controlled bursts, mapping the way forward in flickering golden lines.
He paused before the grand, arched entrance to the library. The massive double doors of ironwood stood slightly ajar. He could hear nothing from within, but that meant little. The library's acoustics were designed to swallow sound.
He took a steadying breath, then pulsed his Aether-Sense with a wider, more powerful cast.
AET: 12 -> 10.
The cost was steeper, but the result was a breathtaking, ghostly blueprint of the library's ground floor. Towering rectangles of shelves formed long, shadowed canyons. Circular tables were islands in a sea of marble flooring. And near the central circulation desk, a single, stationary wireframe figure sat hunched over a massive tome.
The figure's Aetheric echo was faint, almost negligible, like a dormant ember. It was a signature of someone with an Akashi bloodline, but one so weak it was barely active. Kairo didn't need to see his face to know who it was.
Lord Marius Akashi. The Scribe Lord. His oldest half-brother.
Kairo slipped through the doors, his bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. He kept to the shadows of a towering shelf, observing the scene. Marius hadn't moved. His lanky frame was draped over the desk, his ink-stained fingers tracing the lines of a brittle, ancient text. He was utterly absorbed, a man who had traded the world for the words that described it. He was the perfect guardian. Present, but absent.
Kairo began to move deeper into the library, his mind a whirlwind of concentration. This was a far more complex environment than the empty hallways. The sheer density of objects was overwhelming. Millions of books, each with its own faint Aetheric residue, created a constant, low-level static that made his prototype sense swim and blur.
Filter it, he commanded himself, forcing his will through the Founder's Codex. Ignore the background noise. Focus on the major structures. Shelf. Table. Pillar. Staircase.
The chaotic golden haze began to resolve, sharpening into a more defined map. He moved with a practiced slowness, keeping his head slightly bowed, a perfect imitation of the shy, unassuming boy everyone thought him to be. If Marius were to look up, he would see nothing strange.
"Is that you, Kairo?"
The voice, dry and raspy from disuse, echoed softly in the cavernous space.
Kairo froze mid-step, his heart seizing in his chest. His Aether-Sense showed Marius's wireframe hadn't moved. He hadn't even looked up from his book.
"Yes, brother," Kairo replied, his voice a quiet whisper.
"Hmm," Marius grunted, turning a page with a faint crackle. "Looking for one of the fairy tale collections again?" His tone wasn't mocking, merely factual. It was what a seven-year-old would do.
"Something like that," Kairo lied, his eyes fixed on the empty blackness in front of him.
"Second floor. East wing. Section seven," Marius recited without a moment's hesitation, his gaze still glued to the page. "Try not to make too much noise."
And that was it. The conversation was over. Marius, having solved the simple problem presented to him, had already forgotten Kairo was there, his mind having returned to the Age of Terra.
Kairo let out a slow, silent breath. He had passed the gatekeeper.
He made his way to a secluded corner he knew from a lifetime of hiding. It was a forgotten alcove tucked away in the history section, surrounded by towering shelves on three sides and featuring a small table with a single chair. Best of all, a spiral staircase, rarely used by the staff, led up to the second and third floors, offering a perfect, multi-level training environment. This would be his new sanctuary.
He sat at the small table, letting his meager Aether pool a chance to recover from the journey. He could already feel a trickle of energy seeping back into his core, a slow but steady process.
After several minutes of quiet meditation, he began. He started small. He focused his will and pulsed his Aether-Sense, containing it to a simple five-foot radius.
AET: 12 -> 11.
The golden wireframe of the table appeared in his mind. The four simple lines of its legs, the solid plane of its surface. The chair he was sitting on, a more complex shape of curves and supports. He held the image, studying it, feeling the constant, draining pull on his energy. After ten seconds, the image flickered and died as the point of Aether was consumed.
He rested. Waited for the point to regenerate. And did it again.
Pulse. Map. Hold. Drain. Rest. Repeat.
It was a slow, agonizing grind. A mental exercise of immense difficulty. Hours bled into one another, marked only by the soft chime of the grand clock in the library's main hall, a sound he had timed his entire first life by.
The sun began to set, casting long, dusty rays of light through the high arched windows, rays he could feel as faint patches of warmth on his skin but could not see. He ignored the gnawing hunger in his stomach. This was more important than food. This was survival.
Slowly, painstakingly, he began to see progress. He wasn't getting stronger, but he was getting smarter. His initial pulses had been like shouting in a cave and waiting for the echo. They were crude, wasteful, and brought back a chaotic jumble of noise.
Now, guided by his impossibly high Control stat, he began to refine the technique. He learned to shape the pulse, to send out a thin, focused wave of Aether instead of a blunt orb. It was like switching from a floodlight to a laser pointer. The Aether cost was the same, but the returning data was cleaner, sharper.
He focused a thin wave at the bookshelf directly in front of him.
AET: 8 -> 7.
Instead of a single, blurry rectangle, the wireframe sharpened. He could distinguish the individual shelves. He pushed harder, refining the wave even further. He could see the faint vertical lines of the book spines. They weren't just lines. Each one had a subtly different echo. The thick, dense return of a leather-bound encyclopedia. The softer, more porous echo of a simple book of poetry. The sharp, almost metallic signature of a scroll case.
He was no longer just seeing shapes. He was beginning to read the world in a new language. A language of Aetheric density and resonance.
A triumphant, silent laugh echoed in his mind. This was more than a replacement for sight. This was better. A new notification bloomed in his mind, a reward for his focused effort.
[Proficiency with [Aether-Sense (Prototype)] has increased due to sustained, focused use.]
[AET drain reduced. New drain rate: 1 point per 12 seconds.]
A twenty percent increase in efficiency. It was a small victory, but it was a victory he had forged himself, here in the darkness. He felt a surge of renewed determination. He would master this. He would turn this library into his domain. He would learn to see in the dark so perfectly that when he finally stepped into the light, his enemies would never know he had been blind at all.
It was a crucial, exhilarating breakthrough. The world wasn't just a blueprint anymore; it was starting to fill with texture and detail. The twenty percent efficiency gain was a lifeline, extending his precious moments of sight. He felt a flicker of the same giddy elation he'd felt when he'd first solved the antidote formula, but this time, it was tempered with a cold, hard resolve. This wasn't a cure. It was a weapon.
He pushed himself harder. He began to experiment, moving beyond static mapping. He stood and began to walk around his small alcove, keeping his Aether-Sense active, forcing his mind to process the shifting perspectives. The wireframe world warped and skewed with every step, the lines bending and stretching. The mental strain was immense, and a sharp, throbbing headache returned, a familiar protest against the unnatural effort.
He stumbled, his foot catching on the leg of the chair. The wireframe image in his mind shattered into a chaotic mess of golden static as his concentration broke. He fell, catching himself against the table, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The constant focus was more exhausting than any physical exertion he had ever known.
He leaned against the table, waiting for his Aether to recover, his head swimming. This was the reality of his situation. He was a glass cannon with a faulty targeting system. He had immense potential in his CTL stat, but his AET pool was a shallow puddle. He could perform miracles for a few seconds at a time, but sustained effort would leave him drained and helpless.
It's not enough, he thought, a familiar, cold frustration rising. I need more. More Aether. More stamina.
He knew how to get it. The same way every Conduit did. Cultivation. The active process of absorbing Aether from the environment to nourish and grow one's core. In his first life, his poisoned, blocked channels had made it impossible. He remembered the humiliation of sitting through his lessons, feeling the rich Aether in the air but being unable to draw in even a single drop, like a man dying of thirst while sitting at the bottom of a lake.
But now… now his channels were clear. Scarred and damaged from the purge, but open.
He slid back into the chair, pushing aside the exhaustion. He straightened his back, placed his small hands on his knees, and closed his eyes to the already black world. He followed the instructions from a hundred forgotten textbooks, the meditation techniques taught to every noble child in Balor.
He let his breathing slow, matching it to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. He focused his mind inward, seeking the small, warm spark of his Aether Core. He found it, a tiny, fragile flame in the vast emptiness of his being.
Now, he reached out with his senses. Not with his Aether-Sense, but with his soul. He could feel the ambient Aether of the library around him. It was thick and calm, ancient and heavy with the latent knowledge stored in the millions of books. It was a sea, and he was a single, tiny, thirsty sponge.
He began to pull.
At first, nothing happened. His spiritual muscles were atrophied, unused for a lifetime. He focused, his will a singular point of need. Come.
A single, thin thread of silver-gold energy detached from the air around him and drifted slowly towards his chest. It touched his skin and was instantly absorbed, a single drop of cool, clean water on his parched core.
A genuine, unforced smile touched his lips. It worked. He could do it.
He pulled again, harder this time. Two more threads answered his call, then three. It was a slow, arduous process, like trying to fill a bucket with an eyedropper. But it was working. He felt his Aether pool begin to slowly, painstakingly, rise.
AET: 2 -> 3... 4...
A soft footstep from the main hall.
Kairo's concentration shattered. The threads of Aether dissolved. He immediately pulsed his Aether-Sense, his training instincts taking over.
The wireframe of the library's ground floor appeared. Marius was still at his desk, unmoving. But a second figure had entered the library. Taller, broader. The familiar, arrogant Aetheric signature of his brother, Tiberius.
"Marius," Tiberius's voice was a low, impatient rumble that carried easily through the silent library. "Have you seen that little whelp, Kairo?"
Marius grunted, not looking up. "He came in a few hours ago. Said he was looking for fairy tales. Second floor. East wing."
Kairo's blood ran cold. He was on the ground floor. Trapped.
He heard the heavy, confident footsteps of his brother approaching. He was heading for the grand central staircase, but his path would take him right past the entrance to Kairo's alcove.
Panic was a useless emotion. He needed a solution. Now. He scanned his mental map. The alcove was a dead end. To his left, a solid wall of books on ancient legal precedents. To his right, the spiral staircase.
The staircase.
He had to move. He couldn't risk being found here, hiding in the dark. It would be too suspicious, especially after the morning's confrontation.
With his Aether-Sense active, he scrambled from his chair and darted towards the spiral staircase, his small form a silent blur in the gloom. The iron steps were cold under his bare feet. He started to climb, his movements swift and silent.
Tiberius's footsteps grew louder, closer. The rhythmic thud of his training boots on the marble floor was like a war drum counting down Kairo's final seconds.
Kairo reached the first landing of the staircase, a small circular platform that was still visible from the ground floor. He pressed himself against the central column, trying to make himself as small as possible. The wireframe ghost of Tiberius rounded the corner of the last bookshelf.
He was going to be seen.
Just as Tiberius's form was about to enter his line of sight, a flicker of movement came from the far side of the library. Kairo's Aether-Sense caught it. A new figure had entered from a different door. Small, slender, with a familiar, fox-like Aetheric signature that felt like clever, shifting patterns.
Ren Inabi.
"Tiberius!" Ren's voice, lazy but carrying, cut through the silence. "Fancy meeting you here. Getting some light reading in before you go break some more training dummies?"
Tiberius's hulking wireframe stopped. He turned. "Inabi. What do you want? Don't you have a nap to take somewhere?"
"Always," Ren said with an audible smirk. "But I heard a rumor Prince Leo was coming here to look for a book on ancient battle formations. Thought I might catch him. You seen him?"
The mention of their shared rival was the perfect bait. Tiberius's attention was completely diverted. "The Golden Prince? Here? Tch. Probably trying to find a way to win a fight without getting his hands dirty."
While Tiberius was distracted, Kairo didn't waste the opportunity. He scrambled up the rest of the spiral staircase, not stopping until he reached the shadowed landing of the second floor. He peered over the railing, his mental map showing the two figures below.
Ren had bought him time. Whether it was intentional or a simple coincidence, the lazy genius had saved him.
Kairo watched as Ren masterfully kept Tiberius engaged in pointless banter, a verbal dance of insults and veiled provocations about Prince Leo's abilities. Finally, Tiberius, growing bored, shoved past him and stomped up the main staircase.
"If you see that little rat Kairo, tell him I'm looking for him," he growled, his voice fading as he ascended.
Kairo melted back into the shadows of the second floor, his heart still beating a little too fast. That had been too close. He had been so focused on his training that he had forgotten the most important rule of this new life.
The world was not a training ground. It was a battlefield. And his enemies were everywhere.
From his new vantage point, he watched as Ren, now alone, did something strange. The lazy, slouching noble looked up, his gaze sweeping the second-floor railings. His amber eyes, which Kairo knew from his first life were sharper than any hawk's, seemed to stare directly at the shadowy spot where Kairo was hiding.
For a single, unnerving second, their eyes met across the vast, silent hall. Kairo, who could not see, felt the weight of that gaze with his Aether-Sense. A focused, analytical probe.
Ren Inabi held his gaze for a moment longer. Then, a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, turned, and sauntered out of the library, whistling a jaunter tune.
He hadn't been looking for Prince Leo at all.