The Academy library was silent compared to the rest of Aetherion.
The silence felt cultivated and deliberate, like the building itself understood that thoughts could only form when the world stopped interrupting them with noise.
The west wing archive was older than the other parts of the Academy, I could tell before I had even stepped inside.
The stone that made up the building was darker, but smoother with age. Silver runes were threaded through the wall and weren't as bright or decorative as the ones in the lecture hall.
Restrained, yet functional.
Something I could appreciate.
I've always had a deep admiration for subtle, but useful things.
I pushed open the tall door and stepped into the main cavity of the library.
The first thing that struck me was the rows.
Rows upon rows upon rows. All spreading upward and into several levels that were connected by a narrow iron staircase, with floating crystal platforms that slide noiselessly between them. The ceiling vanished into a profound shadow and soft light. There were books that lined the very visible surface, their spines stamped in gold, silver, blackened copper, and— honestly, some things I couldn't describe or even identify. Some of the shelves were made of wood, old and dark. Others are more inclined to the Academy's theme of crystal-latticed and rune-locked structures. There were hanging lamps that drifted slowly above each aisle, all glowing with a steady pale blue light, like bottled moons.
The air smelled like paper, dust, old leather, dried flowers, and Aether.
It smelled nostalgic.
Well, except for the Aether part.
A few students sat scattered through the reading sections of the library, their heads bent over books or slates, but most of the hall felt empty in the way cathedrals feel empty, even when people are inside them; the building still wins for its presence.
I looked around for a desk.
There was one near the central archway, curved and polished, with a suspended sign floating above it that read:
ARCHIVAL ASSISTANCE
No one sat behind it.
I frowned.
"Guess, I'll look for a librarian, then," I muttered.
'Or some version of one.'
I crossed the floor and checked the side aisles, half-expecting some old scholar to emerge from between the shelves and glare at me for simply existing.
'Nothing.'
The only sounds were distant page-turning, the soft click of shifting ladders, and the quiet hum of the stacked shelves.
I walked further into the archive, following a side row that curved toward a narrower section where the shelves grew taller, and the labelling became more specific.
Affinity histories.
Lineage records.
Regional spell taxonomies.
'They're all interesting, but not what I'm looking for.'
I needed records. Documentation. Cases. Anything on multiple-affinity users that didn't sound like a legend wrapped up in academic caution.
As I turned into another aisle, some strange movement caught my eye.
At the far end of the shelf row stood a girl; she was small enough that for a second I assumed she was another first-year student who'd gotten lost. She was standing on the tips of her shoes, arm extended upward, fingers just shy of a book wedged on a high shelf.
The book was clearly winning.
She reached again.
Still not enough.
I watched for another second, then walked toward her.
"You know," I said, "I think if you keep glaring at it like that, it might just surrender to you out of fear."
The girl was startled so badly that she nearly dropped the three books she was already holding. She turned quickly, and for a moment the floating lamp above us caught her face in full.
'Blue hair.' It was the first thing I thought to myself once I caught a glimpse of her.
Not bright. Soft. Powdered moonlight with the faintest steel tint to it, cut neatly at the shoulders with longer strands framing her face. Her eyes were a clear, cool blue, gentle, uncertain, and very awake. She looked older than me, but only slightly. Maybe early twenties. Maybe. There was something composed about the way she held herself, even in surprise, something reticent and careful.
She blinked at me.
Then at the book above her.
Then back at me.
"…I appreciate the fear strategy," she said quietly, "but I think height is still a more reliable approach."
Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, but not weak.
"Ah, my apologies, let me help you with that," I realised quickly
I stepped beside her, reached up, and pulled the book from the shelf easily.
She let out a small breath that might have been relief.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome."
I handed the book to her.
She shifted the bookstack in her arms and smiled; it was a shy, careful smile that appeared slowly, as if she were offering it in case I'd be kind to it.
"I'm Arielle," she said. "And before you ask, no— I am not a student."
I looked at her, then at the stack of books in her arms, then at the shelf she'd been fighting.
"I'm guessing you're the librarian then?" I chimed
"Yes, indeed, I am
"That would explain the books," I said.
Arielle gave the smallest laugh.
"It does, yes."
'She doesn't look like a librarian.'
"I graduated from the Academy last year. I'm working as the librarian while I write my thesis for a research project I'm working on," she interjected
"... I didn't say—"
"I could hear your thoughts thanks to how loud your face was. Anyway, don't worry about it. I get it all the time." She said
I tilted my head slightly. "Sorry... It was because you don't look like a typical librarian."
That came out wrong.
Her smile widened slightly, a bit more amused than she was before. "I'm not sure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not."
"It was just an observation."
"That is somehow less reassuring."
'Good job, Kael, what a way to make yourself look like a jerk.'
I adjusted my back slightly and held out my hand in a friendly manner. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Kael."
"Nice to meet you, Kael," she repeated as she grabbed my hand and reciprocated my friendliness, as if filing the name somewhere delicate. "Is there anything I can help you with? Are you looking for something specific?"
"Yes, actually."
"Well, I guess I probably can be of some use after all."
There was a pause before I answered, because I was still trying to reconcile "small girl fighting shelf" with "keeper of one of the largest knowledge repositories in the Academy."
'And she was older than me, technically, I mean, my mental age is way older, but I guess physically she's older. Damn, that's gonna take a bit of time to get used to.'
"So, what are you looking for?" She said, cutting off my thoughts.
"Books on multiple affinity users," I said. "Any historical cases, records, or analysis. No myths or rumours, if possible."
That got her full attention.
Arielle's eyes sharpened, not suspiciously, just with interest.
"That's an unusual request for a first-year."
"It's been an unusual week."
"That," she said softly, "is a very common thing here at the Academy."
She shifted the books in her arms and nodded for me to follow.
"This way."
We walked deeper into the library, past sections marked in elegant silver script. The labels grew more specialised the further we went, until the broad categories dissolved into subdisciplines and then into threads so narrow they looked like personal obsessions catalogued into architecture.
Arielle moved through them confidently, turning down a curved aisle flanked by shelves labelled:
Affinity Divergence
Composite Casting Histories
Awakening Variants
Anomalous Core Structures
That last one almost made me stop.
Almost.
Arielle noticed my eyes locked onto it, but said nothing.
She stopped in front of a shelf that curved upward like the rib of a ship and tilted her head at the collection.
"You'll want to go through this section first," she said. "Cross-affinity manifestation, dual-affinity inheritance, unstable awakenings, and recorded divergence cases. The older books are less reliable, but sometimes more honest."
I looked over the spines.
Most were exactly what I expected.
On Twin Expressions and Core Fatigue
Documented Cases of Secondary Affinity Emergence
Inheritance and Instability in Noble Lines
The Failures of Forced Multiplicity
"Do you think these will be useful?" Arielle asked.
"Potentially."
She gave another of those careful smiles.
"If you need anything else, I'll be nearby. Or somewhere near enough to count."
Then, after a beat:
"Oh. If one of the shelves attacks you, please let me know before you bleed all over the carpet."
I blinked once.
"That's a joke, right?"
Arielle's expression remained polite.
"No."
Then she walked away with her stack of books, disappearing between the shelves with the quiet certainty of someone who belonged to the place more than the place belonged to itself.
I watched her leave for half a second.
Then turned to the books.