As they ascended, the tower began to change.
The ordinary bookshelves of the lower floors gave way to more orderly, more refined collections. The bindings grew older, the traces of magic more intense. Some books were surrounded by an almost visible aura.
Without realizing it, Rosavelle slowed her steps, moving with greater caution.
"This place…" she whispered, "…feels dangerous."
Areth cast a brief glance at her.
"Anywhere dense with knowledge is dangerous."
At the end of the eastern wing stood a single door. It wasn't open. Areth stepped toward it without knocking, yet before he could raise his hand, the door creaked open on its own.
The interior was not what they expected.
As expected, the room was spacious and lined with shelves. A deliberate simplicity dominated the space. There were many shelves running along the walls, each one filled with carefully selected books. At the center stood a long, light-colored table, accompanied by a slender, elegant chair.
There were no windows yet the room was bathed in natural light. And the source of that light was the person standing inside.
Valdren.
At first glance, it was obvious he wasn't human.
His skin was pale, almost white, yet not lifeless. On the contrary, it resembled flawless porcelain. His long, straight hair was as white as snow, cascading over his shoulders like silk. His ears were thin and elongated, reminiscent of a forest elf yet the aura he carried was colder, more distant. His eyes were a clear shade of silver.
He was a white forest elf.
Valdren slightly raised his head. An open book rested in his hand, his finger marking the page even as he looked up at the newcomers. His gaze swept over them before he placed the book down on the table.
"Welcome… It seems you are searching for something specific."
Areth stepped inside and took a seat across from him. Rosavelle positioned herself behind him. As Valdren examined them, his gaze lingered on Rosavelle a moment longer than necessary. What had begun as indifference sharpened into curiosity, like a cat spotting something unusual.
"I didn't expect to find such rare elven blood here…"
Rosavelle's shoulders tensed slightly at his words.
She didn't fully understand what he meant, but she could feel that his gaze was anything but ordinary. Her instincts whispered that Valdren did not see her as merely a "visitor."
Areth, however, showed no reaction.
"I thought a white forest elf like you would be rarer," he said calmly. "In any case, let's return to the matter at hand."
The corner of Valdren's lips curled faintly.
"Impatience… yet restrained. An interesting combination."
He withdrew his gaze from Rosavelle, though it was clear he hadn't truly let go. It was as if a part of his mind continued to study her.
"Very well," he said softly. "Tell me what you seek."
Areth didn't hesitate.
"A book about Tiamat."
Valdren nodded, as if implying that he had something like that, and rubbed his hands together.
"A dangerous name," Valdren said, leaning back in his chair. "Most people prefer not to even whisper it."
"I'm not most people."
"Yes," Valdren murmured. "I've noticed."
He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, thinking.
"Let's say such a book exists," he continued. "And let's say it happens to be in my collection."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Why should I give it to you?"
Areth didn't blink.
"The reason is simple. A wizard as skilled as you needs new books to learn new spells. By selling what you have, you free space in your library… and earn the means to acquire more."
Valdren studied him for several seconds. The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind that measured, weighed, and dissected layer by layer. Then he chuckled softly.
"How ordinary."
His voice was polite, but it did nothing to conceal the arrogance beneath it. He tapped the table lightly with his fingertips.
Then he flicked his hand and whispered something. A moment later, a spectral hand formed in the air and drifted toward a bookshelf across the room. Valdren controlled it effortlessly, as if it required no effort at all.
The spell, commonly known as a puppet hand or floating hand, wasn't particularly difficult but it demanded precision. The ease with which Valdren executed it revealed experience far beyond the ordinary. Though Areth couldn't determine his exact age, he was convinced the elf before him had lived at least a century.
When the spectral hand returned, it carried a book.
It descended slowly and placed it on the table.
The book was different from the others. Its cover was black but not an ordinary black. It seemed to swallow light, to hold one's gaze captive. There was no title on it. Only a faint symbol at the center, as though it had been carved into the surface.
A terrifying dragon's eye.
Rosavelle blinked. For a moment, she could have sworn it moved.
She instinctively stepped back.
"…That thing moved."
Valdren nodded his head, a trace of satisfaction appearing at the edge of his lips.
"Good. You have eyes," he said softly. Then he picked up the book and placed it before him. "Here is the book you want. Now, what is your offer? You should know that many of my acquaintances have asked for this book… and I refused them all. Their offers were insufficient."
Areth spoke without taking his eyes off the book.
"Money."
Although it was just one word, it carried a lot of weight. After all, even in a fantastical world filled with magic, money was still money. And money could buy almost anything.
Areth continued, his voice still calm:
"A sufficiently high amount. I don't underestimate the value of this book. Whatever it's worth, I can match it."
Valdren smiled but this one was different from his earlier polite amusement. Sharper. Greedier.
"Gold?"
His fingers traced the surface of the book, almost as if he were speaking to it. Then he raised his gaze, not to Areth, but to Rosavelle.
Areth's eyes finally left the book, following Valdren's line of sight. Rosavelle's shoulders tensed again without her noticing.
Valdren leaned back slowly.
"Your offer… is reasonable," he said softly. "But I have a better one."
A brief pause.
Then he said it plainly:
"I want her."
The air in the room froze for a moment. Rosavelle's eyes widened.
"…What?"
Valdren tilted his head slightly, as if clarifying a misunderstanding.
"The elf with you," he explained calmly. "Give her to me. The book is yours. I might even overlook you taking another book from my library. Even if this is my only book on Tiamat, I possess others that are just as valuable as this one."
Rosavelle's heart stuttered. Instinctively, she took a step back. Her eyes darted to Areth but his face… was completely calm.
No surprise.
No anger.
Valdren noticed this, and his smile deepened.
"Don't worry, I won't harm her." he said to Rosavelle, his voice smooth as silk
But instead of reassuring, his words only deepened the unease.
"Her blood… is quite interesting. Not pure, but not ordinary either. To study something like that…" he lightly wet his lips, "…is a rare opportunity."
Rosavelle's fingers clenched.
"I… am not an object," she said, her voice low but steady.
Valdren merely shrugged.
"In this world, everyone is object. Their prices just differ."
Rosavelle's heart pounded as her gaze locked onto Areth. She didn't want to be sold so easily. No, she definitely didn't want that. Her body began to tremble, because for the first time in her pitiful life, she had found a place for herself.
And now she was about to lose it.
But when she thought about it… what difference did it make? She would simply be sold from one master to another.
Her mind filled with noise.
Logic… fear… habit…
All speaking at once.
'Of course you'll be sold.'
The thought felt so natural, so familiar… almost comforting. Because it was something she knew. Because this was how her life had always been. People looked. They judged. Then they decided.
And she simply waited.
Her eyes slowly shifted to Areth. Deep within her chest, something stirred: small and weak, yet stubborn.
'Maybe…'
She crushed the thought immediately.
'No.'
Areth wasn't different. He couldn't be. No one ever was. People didn't change in this world. They only learned to hide it better.
And yet, his face… remained calm. He wasn't bargaining. He didn't even look like he was thinking. As if the decision had already been made.
Rosavelle's chest tightened. Instead of comforting her, that calmness only made it worse. Because it could mean she meant nothing to him.
Her fingers trembled.
'Please…' she thought, without realizing it. 'Please… don't sell me…'
Even that wish felt foreign to her. She had never wished such a thing for anyone before. No one had ever been worth it. Or at least, they shouldn't have been. Then why was her heart so stubborn? Why did she want to stay beside a man whose past she didn't even know?
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Valdren had instilled a deeper fear in her than she realized.
But no, it wasn't that simple.
Whatever this was, it was something she had never felt before and at first glance, it was terrifying. She had trusted him… and grown attached far faster than she ever thought possible.
At that moment, Areth turned his head. His eyes locked directly onto Rosavelle's. It wasn't just a look; it was a call to action.
Her breath caught. She wanted to speak, but her lips refused to move. And then she felt it. As if he had spoken directly into her mind.
'Do you still not trust me?'