Chapter 49

After that, I spent a few hours practicing magic with Mirri, alongside the children. Lilae was already better at it than I was. Brinja and Elarion both had basic knowledge and skill, while Issa clearly had talent, but was completely untrained. Torvek barely applied himself. Mak and Tib fumbled through the basics, and I helped where I could - sympathizing since I knew exactly how it felt to struggle with it.

The children and I spent a few more hours with Serah, learning about history and the wider world. She was very well educated, a benefit of her father’s standing in draconic society. I’d known she could read several languages; it turned out she could speak them, as well. Her grasp of history, magic, and the many peoples of the world was impressive, and she taught well and without arrogance.

As evening approached, I stepped away to speak with Adhaneth. I still didn’t know whether the staff was capable of understanding, but talking to it had seemed to help during the transformation the night before.

We practiced shifting from staff to shield to sword and back again, cycling through the forms in different orders. There was a learning curve - whether it was mine or Adhaneth’s, I couldn’t say. Each new shape, each new trick, took time to settle into - to become familiar enough to trust in a fight.

After an hour or so, we returned to the hammer. Progress was slow. The transformation took time, and the form never held long before slipping back into a staff. Still, each attempt was a little faster, the shape lasted a little longer. We were making progress.

After dinner came more chores, then getting the children ready for bed. Mirri tucked them in while Serah told a story. It was heartening to see how quickly they’d begun to make this feel like a family.

Later that evening, I spent time exploring my Faith-scape. I focused on the unchanging points, hoping they might serve as anchors and landmarks. As before, many of the places I reached were crossroads - but now, those smaller beacons were easier to touch. Not easy, exactly, but easier than before. I managed to visit a dozen or so before exhaustion **** me to stop.

The rest of the week followed much the same rhythm - chores, lessons, training with Adhaneth, dinner, and nightly exploration of the Faith-scape.

I learned a great deal - from Mirri and Serah, and from the children as well. Each of them brought different strengths and perspectives. Brinja taught me a trick or two when it came to magic. Mak and I stumbled onto a new technique together. Elarion shared fragments of elven history even Serah hadn’t known, and Issa clarified more than a few things about naga culture.

By the end of the week, Adhaneth had mastered the hammer and could hold the form for over an hour. I was proud of it, even if it couldn’t know that.

With that accomplished, there was one more shape I wanted to attempt. It was far more advanced than anything we’d tried before. The hammer had been an important step - it wasn’t truly a weapon. This next form, though, was something else entirely.

It didn’t go well. Not the first time. Not the second. Not the third. By the fourth attempt, we had the general shape right, but the most important details were still missing. We kept at it through the following week.

During that time, while searching the Faith-scape, I found a library.

It was nothing like the Grand Archive in Northgate. Where the Archive was a chaotic assembly of curves, angles, art, and books, this place was rigid and deliberate - a vast rectangular hall, five floors high, each level connected by straight staircases that formed a sharp, angular spiral. Each floor was only eight feet tall, the shelves stopping a foot shy of the ceiling. There were stepstools, but no ladders.

It felt severe. Utilitarian. The dark wood construction made it intimidating and private, as though it were meant to hide knowledge rather than disseminate it. The roof was a massive stained-glass panel depicting a woman holding a great book.

I found it late at night and it was utterly abandoned. No voices. No movement. Dim magical globes cast a muted light that only deepened the sense that this was a place for secrets. I spent several hours wandering its shelves, learning its layout and organization.

This was a place I knew I would return to.

* * *

The next morning, between chores and class, I stepped back into the library I’d found the night before. Curiosity had been gnawing at me - I wanted to know where it sat in relation to the rest of the world.

I appeared, as before, in the center of the great rectangular hall - and directly in the path of a stack of books moving at speed.

Before I could react, the books collided with me and knocked me off my feet. A startled, distinctly feminine “oof” sounded as pages and bindings clattered across the hardwood floor.

When I looked up, I saw a woman on the floor beside me - her age impossible to place. She might have been twenty. She might have been fifty.

Her long, snow-white hair was drawn back into a tight braid, every strand perfectly obedient. Her skin was pale, as if sunlight had never reached her. Her gray eyes were so light they were nearly colorless - faintly luminous, utterly unreadable - and lent her a stillness that felt almost alien.

She wore a simple white dress - unadorned, long-sleeved, modest at the collar, falling to her ankles and revealing only the barest suggestion of skin. Plain white shoes wrapped her feet like ballet slippers, untouched by dirt or scuff, no sign she had ever walked through a dirty world. Not a single imperfection marred her.

Taken together - the stark hair, the drained complexion, the nearly featureless eyes - she looked less like a person and more like a charcoal sketch that had quietly stepped off a page.

She saw me. She shrieked and stumbled backward in terror. “How did you get in here?” she cried.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting as she scanned the room, every inch of her posture screaming flight.

“Let me help you with those,” I said, bending to gather the fallen books.

“No!” she shouted. “Do not touch those!”

I froze, then carefully set the book in my hands atop the small pile I’d already made. “Sorry,” I said, raising my hands and backing away. “I was just trying to help.”

Something had changed in the air.

Last night, the library had been silent and empty. Now there was a wrongness to it - something alien, heavy, and dangerous. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

She watched me like a rabbit before a wolf.

“It’s pretty clear I’m not supposed to be here,” I said slowly, “so I’ll just… go?”

The sense of danger intensified, like something vast standing just behind me, breathing down my neck.

“STOP.”

She didn’t shout it. She didn’t even say it. The word hit me like a hollow absence, as if the word itself had been torn away where it should have been.

Deathly cold flooded my body, seizing my limbs, threatening to freeze me solid. I stepped back - and watched my body follow a heartbeat later, as though my perception moved first and my flesh struggled to keep up.

“Calm down,” I said carefully. “There’s no need for ****. I already said I’d leave.”

Shock flickered across her features. “How are you still moving?” she asked. The fear in her voice faded, replaced by curiosity. Her posture shifted - from ready to flee to cautiously inquisitive.

“Uh… I don’t know?” I said. “You’re the one who cast the soul-freezing spell.”

“I stilled your mana,” she said. “It should be locked in place.” She stepped closer, studying me intently. “It is locked.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “Great job. Could you maybe turn off the cold? It feels like my soul is about to shatter.”

The cold vanished instantly. Not fading, not retreating - simply gone. One moment agony, the next nothing. I shook my hands as if flicking water from them.

The oppressive presence remained, though. Whatever lurked nearby hadn’t left. If I stayed much longer, something bad was going to happen.

“Thanks,” I said. “And again - sorry for dropping in unannounced. I’ll just-”

“Stay,” she said, her voice normal again. “My master allows no one entry. How did you get in?”

“Before that,” I asked, glancing around nervously, “can you tell me where here is?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You stand in the library of my master - Archmagus Theobold Edevane,” she said, pride edging her voice.

“Cool,” I said. “Where is that?”

She tilted her head, confused. “Where… in the world,” I clarified. “Am I still in Arvellia?”

She shook her head slowly. “My master’s tower lies in Morentis.”

“Thank you,” I said. “As for how I got here - I stepped in from my demesne.”

“What do you m-”

“I’m a god,” I said. It still felt strange to say it aloud. “A new one. I have a divine realm - my demesne - that connects to places where my Faith is strong. This happens to be one of them. I was exploring my Faith-scape and-”

“You are a god,” she interrupted, her voice flat and suspicious.

“Yeah.”

“Of what?”

“Faith in the absence of proof.”

She studied me for a long moment. “Why is your Faith strong here?”

I sighed. “I’m not entirely sure. Maybe because you trust what’s written in books - even when you can’t verify it. I usually end up at crossroads. This place is… new.”

“Why do you have mana?” she asked.

“You’re asking because only mortals have mana,” I said. She nodded. “And gods have Faith.” Another nod. “I’m… complicated. I’m not really sure. I was born human. I wasn’t created from a concept or idea. I never went through the normal stages - never had a swarm form. I don’t know how I became a god.”

She stared at me. “Show me your demesne,” she demanded. “If you are a god, it should be easy.”

I shrugged. “Okay.” I stepped closer and took her hand.

Something tugged inside me. Her eyes widened. She yanked her hand free and blushed furiously. “What are you doing?” she nearly shouted, wringing her hand as if burned.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Sorry,” I said. “I need to touch you to take you there. I can’t send you alone.”

Her blush deepened, then she **** herself to breathe and nodded. “Very well.” She offered her hand again.

This time, when I took it, the tug was gentler. Her hand was cool, delicate, dry. I nodded once - and stepped into my demesne.

We emerged on the familiar cobblestone path leading toward the castle. Silver-peaked towers gleamed beneath the ambient glow of the realm. Stained glass shimmered as if lit from within. Beyond it all, the ever-shifting horizon rippled - multicolored ribbons drifting lazily through the air like dandelion seeds.

I’d explored the castle by now: bedrooms, kitchen, drawing room, library. Every book I’d ever read was there. Nothing new. Nothing unknown.

I glanced at the pale woman beside me. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her grip tightening unconsciously around my hand as she took it all in. There was color and movement all around us - as if the realm was alive - from the grass and flowers rustling in the breeze to the ribbons twisting in the air to the multicolored moths that had somehow made my demesne their home.

Long moments passed in silence. Only then did I realize the alien sensation hadn’t stayed behind - it had followed us. I glanced around, searching for some looming presence, some lurking shape, but there was nothing there.

Was it her? Did that quiet, dreadful pressure radiate from her somehow, an unseen weight she carried with her?

Eventually, she looked at me - and only then seemed to realize she was still holding my hand. She pulled away instantly, cheeks flushing again.

“Want to see the inside of the castle?” I asked - partly to put some distance between myself and that creeping sensation, and partly because I couldn’t help the thrill of finally showing it to someone new.

She nodded shyly, clasping her hands against her chest as though she didn’t trust them.

As we approached, the gilded gates swung open without a sound. The doors followed suit, welcoming us in. I showed her the grand hall, the dining room and kitchen, the drawing room - and finally, the library.

She nearly swooned.

Despite being sparsely stocked, her awe was unmistakable. Only a few hundred books lined shelves meant for tens of thousands. Most were utterly foreign to her - Hamlet, A Tale of Two Cities, The Catcher in the Rye. Textbooks, programming manuals, design guides. Every scrap of knowledge I’d gathered across a lifetime.

“Satisfied?” I asked.

She nodded vigorously.

“Ready to go back?”

She started to shake her head - then panicked. “We must return! My master will be quite cross if he finds me neglecting my duties!”

I smiled. “No problem. We can go now.”

I held out my hand.

She stared at it for several long seconds, as if unsure it could be trusted.

Then she took it and I stepped back.