While Azryel had experienced all of this at the same time…
It had been two hours since Tharion had returned from his search for the grimoire. He was sitting at the table, his face serious, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, completely absorbed in his reading. His fingers brushed over the pages with caution, as if afraid of damaging them, and his eyes followed every word with an almost painful concentration.
Around him, the room was silent, only disturbed by the rustle of the pages he turned and the dry scent of old leather and ancient parchment. Thalen remained motionless, his gaze lost in the void, unable to understand the book before him.
Then, suddenly… a memory surged, vivid and burning, like lightning in his mind. Moments when he had been nothing, invisible to others, where every gesture seemed futile… It all came back to him in an instant. A silent anger mingled with deep sadness, but at the heart of this turmoil, one truth struck: he never wanted to be what he had been again. To find himself, to become human again, to become himself… he had to change everything.
This certainty, both painful and radiant, ignited his will.
Then Thalen suddenly spoke, in a calm but cutting voice:
— Yes. I am a reincarnated.
Tharion remained neutral, a little surprised.
In his mind, he thought: I suspected it a little… but this time it's different. That's why he knew so much about architecture, cities, and everything else.
The words fell with an assurance that left no room for doubt.
Tharion noted mentally the difference: there was something precise, composed, almost self-mastered in the way Thalen spoke that he had never noticed before.
Yet he revealed nothing. Tharion, face serious, slightly furrowed his brows:
— Why are you telling me now?
Thalen barely shrugged, a slight smile on his lips, his brown eyes shining with determination:
— Because there will never be a "right time."
And… besides, you trusted me enough to tell me your story in the forest.
A silence followed. Tharion stared at him for a moment, measuring Thalen's sincerity. The implicit trust in his voice, this mixture of vulnerability and certainty, struck him deeper than he would have expected.
In Thalen's mind, images flashed clearly: straight streets lined with immense buildings. White lights shining at night like artificial stars. Plans drawn on large sheets. Lines, measurements, calculations. Cities born on paper before existing in the real world. Another life. Another world. Then all of it disappeared.
Only fragments remained, like memories seen through water. His gaze was now slightly deeper, more thoughtful, but the change was almost imperceptible. Just a way of seeing the world with the certainty of someone who had already lived another life.
The library returned to the present. Thalen fixed his eyes on Tharion:
— I come from a world called Earth, Thalen began, his voice calm but full of certainty. A world very different from here… The cities were immense, with buildings so tall they seemed to touch the sky. Glass, metal, stone… everything was built to last and impress. The streets were straight and orderly, bustling with hurried people, noisy machines, and artificial lights that shone like stars.
Tharion remained silent for a few seconds, attentive. Thalen continued, with the same unshakable assurance:
— People hardly used magic… because there wasn't any. Everything relied on science, machines, and understanding the world.
— I drew buildings. Houses, towers… sometimes even entire districts.
— I spent a lot of time thinking about the shape of things, how they stand, and how people live inside them.
— It was a simple life, really. And then… one day, everything stopped.
— When I woke up… I was here. In a world full of monsters.
Every word left his mouth with the same confidence, as if recounting it all was obvious. Tharion listened, somewhat intrigued, but chose to show nothing.
The library seemed even quieter, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The light from the stained glass windows slid across the books, casting colorful reflections on the stone floor. Every sound, even the slightest, seemed amplified in this sacred space of knowledge.
Thalen fixed his gaze on Tharion, his eyes intense and determined. He leaned slightly forward in his chair, wings folded but posture upright and assured. His voice did not tremble, yet there was something deeper, almost intimate in his words:
— Tharion… there is something I want… something I need to ask you.
He took a deep breath, letting space breathe between them.
The light from the stained glass played on his feathers and features, giving his face a particular intensity.
— You… can you help me become human again?
The word "human" seemed suspended in the air, resonating softly between the shelves. Thalen pronounced it with total confidence.
He watched Tharion, seeking a reaction, but the persistent silence of his friend did not intimidate him. On the contrary, it strengthened his determination. His talons clenched slightly on the table, an almost imperceptible gesture, yet revealing of his emotions.
— I know it's a lot to ask… he added, almost whispering, leaving a space of vulnerability in his words.
— But… it's what I want. More than anything.
His gaze never left Tharion. There was in his eyes that certainty few words could break, and a quiet strength that seemed to say: I will not back down.
The library seemed to hold its breath, as if it were waiting for the answer. Thalen raised an eyebrow, a barely perceptible smile on his lips.
— So… you want to help me? he asked, his voice calm but loaded with anticipation.
Tharion did not move, eyes fixed on him, confident. Yes, of course. I'll do my best.
A silence followed their words, each measuring the weight of this promise.
As they left the library, Tharion noticed Azryel asleep on a pile of books. He paused for a moment and, with a discreet smile, greeted the librarian:
— Goodbye, and thank you for everything.
The librarian: — You're welcome… come back anytime.
Finally, they left the library. The almost sacred silence of the shelves and the smell of old parchment remained behind as they passed through the door.
Outside, the city was much more alive. Passersby moved through the cobbled streets, merchants packed up their stalls, and the waning light of day bathed the stone façades in a warm glow.
Thalen cast one last glance at the infinite library shelves.
A place full of knowledge… but no answer on how to become human again.
After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at the inn where they were staying.
They entered the inn, the wooden door creaking slightly behind them. The mixed smell of polished wood, embers, and simmering food filled their nostrils instantly. Laughter and voices echoed in the main hall, but Thalen and Tharion made their way through, their steps echoing on the polished wooden floor.
Tharion, in a serious but calm tone, said:
— We'll eat first, and then go to the room.
They sat at a table near the fireplace.
The warmth of the flames contrasted with the cool air from outside, and the flames danced on the walls, casting moving shadows. They ate in silence, knives and forks clinking on the plates, the aroma of roasted meats and herbs filling the air.
Each bite seemed to suspend time, a simple yet necessary moment before what came next. Once the meal was finished, Tharion stood, placing his hands on the back of his chair. He invited Thalen to climb onto his shoulder. Together, they crossed the main hall, skillfully avoiding other guests and staff. The floorboards creaked under their steps, and the light of the wall torches flickered on their clothes.
They slowly ascended the wooden stairs. The air was cooler upstairs, and the narrow walls echoed their steps. Tharion opened the door to the room.
The space was simple: a canopy bed, a wooden table, and a window overlooking the street below. The room smelled of old wood and the discreet scent of candle wax.
Thalen sat on the edge of the bed, wings folded behind him, while Tharion set up at the table to prepare the next steps. The room was silent, only punctuated by the regular breathing of its two occupants, as if the outside world had stopped for them.
Then he returned to his book, leaving behind the soft calm of the shelves and the almost sacred silence of the library.
Once outside, the street was livelier, but Tharion remained focused. After a few steps, he spoke in a calm but firm tone:
— Alright… I'm going to do something so you can control your magic. I had an idea.
He paused briefly, thinking over his words.
— Your magic… it's special. You can reshape the environment as you want, but you don't know how to use it properly yet. And above all… we don't know its limits.
His gaze fell on Thalen, serious.
— Maybe it's limited to the earth… or maybe not. Maybe it can affect other things. We'll try and see how far it goes.
He paused, his gaze heavy, as if measuring the weight of what he was about to say.
— I'll channel some of my mana directly into your body, to show you how to control yours. For a short moment, you'll feel your magic flowing fully, as it should, and you'll be able to direct it consciously. For one hour, you'll know how to control your magic.
He crossed his arms, his gaze becoming more serious.
— But there's a catch… your bones will ache, your body will burn, and your mana will flow through your veins like lightning.
A short silence passed before he added in a graver voice:
— You'll be able to use your magic correctly… but not perfectly. And above all, after this, your magic will reach its maximum level directly.
He stared Thalen straight in the eyes.
— But once it's done… you'll never be able to improve it again. That will be your definitive limit.
The weight of his words hung in the air. Thalen took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline surge through his veins. His gaze drifted for a moment, as if already visualizing the transformation.
Thalen (internal voice, tense but resolute):
— Yes… I can endure it. I have to… I must become human…
His body convulsed as the magic reorganized within him. His muscles and bones seemed to resist, but his magic finally activated, weaving invisible structures around each limb, like a living skeleton capable of reshaping his form.
Thalen's wings, once rigid and heavy, began to retract, their feathers merging with architectural structures forming more harmonious human lines.
Tharion slightly widened his eyes. Hmm… he's already partially transforming into human… just by thinking about it.
For a moment, he watched Thalen's body carefully. Some parts were already subtly changing, as if his will alone could influence his form.
Instinct (sarcastic but impressed):
— Hmm… not bad. I must admit you're holding up. Keep going…
Each second was a battle. His torso reshaped, his arms became more human, still slightly covered with feathers and living structures. His heart raced, and each pulse made the mana surge through his body like lightning.
His hands, first clawed, began to transform, fingers lengthening, refining, reconstructing under the influence of magical architecture.
Thalen (panting, low voice):
— Almost… I can feel it… I can control…
His instinct, despite its usual sarcasm, seemed synchronized with him, guiding the magical structures, adjusting every detail with supernatural precision.
The remaining wings became subtler extensions, half-feathers, half-architectural structures, casting violet and black reflections on the floor and walls.
The pain didn't disappear, but Thalen felt something he had never felt before: the power finally aligned with his will. Every fiber of his body connected to his magic, and for the first time, from his very first attempt, he had control over his human form without betraying his owl essence.
Thalen (low voice, more confident, almost a whisper of hope):
— That's it… I… I can do it. I will be human…
The magical structures around him stabilized, each movement becoming more fluid, more natural. His brown eyes shone with a supernatural intensity, reflecting his concentration and determination.
Energy flowed through his body like a living electric current, and he knew that during this hour, even if perfection was out of reach, he finally had control over his magic.
He slowly opened his arms, feeling the power flow into every limb, every feather, every bone.
The pain persisted, but it was no longer a barrier: it had become the price of his transformation, the testament to his determination. And somewhere deep inside, Thalen felt the certainty that this first victory would not go unnoticed by others. He had begun to rebuild his body… and with it, his human future.
Thalen returned to the room, the old ancient book clutched against him. He leafed through it in silence, scrutinizing the illustrations and mysterious words. No ritual told him how to reshape his body. Everything had to come from himself, from his instinct, and from the architectural magic that flowed within him. But this time, he was determined not to fail even once. He wanted to become human… and be recognized for who he truly was.
The room was plunged in shadow, only the faint glow of black torches dancing on the walls, casting moving silhouettes that seemed to breathe. Thalen sat on the floor, wings folded, his brown eyes scanning the darkness as if probing the invisible structures of the mystical architecture around him.
For several days, the same question had been turning in his mind: how to approach a human form without betraying his owl essence, and show the world that he could be more than what he had been?
Instinct (sarcastic, inner voice): — Oh, great… here you are again, torturing yourself to become human. Do you really think you'll get it right the first time? You might want to ask yourself if you're even made for this…
Thalen frowned, his face hard, a barely visible ironic smile on his lips.
Thalen (in a low voice): — Thanks for the support… but this time, I will not fail.
Instinct: — Stop thinking like a human. That thing you call "reason"… Listen to what's already you: your feathers, your wings, your owl essence. Follow that. No guarantees it'll work.
An hour passed.
Every second had been a battle for Thalen, his body burning, his bones protesting, mana surging like lightning through his veins. His muscles trembled, his wings were half-folded, his claws and features slowly reshaping themselves, painfully but steadily.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his half-closed brown eyes reflecting the extreme fatigue and intense concentration he had to maintain to avoid losing control. Finally, unable to continue, Thalen fainted.
His body collapsed to the floor, the remaining feathers still quivering, as if the magic around him continued to vibrate even after his exhaustion. Tharion knelt beside him, observing the young owl with a mixture of respect and seriousness. In a low voice, almost to himself, he murmured:
— There… it's finally over.
He shook his head slightly, assessing the result.
— He just tried to become human… and he's already exhausted to this point. He's not even halfway into his human form.
Silence fell again in the room, broken only by Thalen's slow, uneven breathing, and by the brown reflections that his still-partially-present feathers cast on the walls.
Since Tharion had unlocked his mana and magic, Thalen had been training relentlessly, every day, every hour. An entire week of uninterrupted practice passed, and gradually, he began to feel a real difference. His instinct, once distant and mocking, finally seemed to synchronize with him. It understood his movements, anticipated his needs, and guided his gestures with invisible but infallible precision.
The days that followed were entirely devoted to training.
Thalen had to learn to control a power he still did not fully understand.