Finally.
After three years of being coddled like a glass doll, I slipped past the maids, past the guards, and found myself before the massive double doors of the royal library.
The hinges groaned as I forced them open with all the strength of my tiny arms. Just enough space for my small body to squeeze through.
The smell of old parchment and ink hit me instantly.
I froze, staring at rows upon rows of shelves, each packed with more knowledge than any school or academy I'd seen in my previous life. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, dust motes dancing in the beams.
"This… is paradise," I whispered.
My bare feet padded across the marble floor as I reached the first shelf. Gold-lettered titles gleamed:
The Twelve Kingdoms and Their Wars
Introduction to Mana Flow
Treatise on Spirit Beasts
Lineages of the Royal Families
My pulse quickened. Exactly what I needed.
I reached up, grabbed the thickest spine my hands could grasp, and pulled—only to nearly topple backward as the book crashed onto me with a thud.
"Urgh—!"
Shoving it off with my little arms, I managed to open it across the floor. The pages were heavy, but the words… oh, the words were clear.
The first page read:
"The Twelve Kingdoms"
Of old, the continent was divided into twelve great powers. Five have since fallen, leaving seven to rule the present age. Among them, the Empire of Solis shines brightest, built upon the control of sunlight mana and fire magic. The northern kingdom, Iryndor, thrives in ice and steel, its people hardened by endless winters. To the east lies Veyra, where scholars first discovered the weaving of mana into spell-script, the foundation of modern magic.
I swallowed hard, my small fingers tracing the lines. So this world is fractured… seven powers still stand. And Solis… that's us.
I flipped to the next page, panting as I forced the parchment down.
"On Mana and Its Flow"
Mana is the breath of the world, flowing through rivers unseen. It is neither fire nor wind, but the root from which such forces are drawn. Every living being holds a vessel, a 'core,' which absorbs and cycles mana. Children begin forming theirs at the age of five; before that, the vessel is too fragile and undeveloped to hold power.
I froze. So that's why I can't feel mana yet. My body isn't ready. But my mind— I smirked. —my mind is more than ready.
Another page.
"Spirit Beasts"
Beasts touched by mana evolve beyond nature. Some bond with humans, forming contracts, their strength tied to loyalty. Others devour mana until they become calamities. The Wolf of the Northern Peaks, the Phoenix of Solis, the Serpent of the Depths… their names are carved into legend.
"Spirit beasts, huh…" My chest tightened. Could I find one? Or maybe I've already met one and don't know it yet.
I turned another page, losing myself in the flood of information. Wars, treaties, noble families, monsters. Each word felt like gold being poured directly into my skull.
It wasn't just reading—it was remembering. My mind, sharper than my age, soaked it all in.
But then—
"Adrian?"
My head snapped up.
At the door stood Mother. Her gown flowed like water, her expression soft but her eyes far too perceptive.
"M-Mama…" I quickly pushed myself onto the book, trying to cover the words with my tiny frame.
She walked over, knelt, and brushed the dust from my cheek. "You sneaked here again."
I swallowed, trying to look pitiful. "I just… wanted to learn."
Her lips curved into that familiar half-sigh, half-smile. She picked me up easily despite my struggling.
"You're too young for these heavy things. One day you'll understand them properly. For now…" She glanced at the open page, eyes softening. "…For now, let me ask the librarian to prepare books more suited for you. Smaller ones."
I pouted. "With pictures, right?"
She chuckled. "Yes. Brave knights, silly wizards. You'll like them."
I buried my face in her shoulder. "That's not what I want…"
Her hand gently patted my back. "You'll get there. I promise."
But in my heart, I knew I would get there.
Every kingdom. Every spirit beast. Every scrap of knowledge.
I would learn it all.
The Next Day
Mother didn't stop me from going to the library again. She tried—posting more maids at the halls, reminding me with that warm but firm voice that "children should play, not worry about dusty tomes."
But… play? With toy blocks and wooden horses?
No.
My mind wasn't three years old.
So I found a way again.
This time I dragged a stool across the floor to reach a higher shelf. Dust clung to my fingers as I traced the spine of a particularly thick book. Its cover was cracked, the gold lettering almost gone, but I could just barely make out the title:
"The First Era: Origins of Mana."
My breath caught. The origins. This was it.
I hauled it down with all my tiny strength. Nearly toppled the stool again.
The book slammed onto the floor, echoing through the silent hall. My heart raced. I sat cross-legged, pried it open, and began to read.
"In the First Era, there were no kingdoms, no kings. Mana did not flow through human veins. It lay dormant in the world, waiting."
"The Ancients—beings neither human nor beast—first shaped it. They carved the rivers of mana through the land, set the skies aflame with fire, and stilled the seas with frost. From them came both blessing and curse."
"It is said the Ancients departed when mankind was born. But fragments of their essence remain. Some call them relics. Others call them… curses."
A shiver ran down my spine.
Relics. Curses. Ancients.
Was this just myth, or… truth buried in legend?
I flipped more pages, my small hands smudging ink with impatience. The text grew stranger: diagrams of circles, sketches of runes, faded drawings of winged beasts.
One margin note caught my eye—different handwriting, squeezed between lines like it wasn't supposed to be there:
"The Ancients never left. They sleep."
I froze.
Sleep?
The words were barely legible, the ink faded, but it was there.
My throat went dry. If that's true… then history's wrong. Completely wrong.
"Your Highness."
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
This time it wasn't Mother—it was the librarian. A hunched old man with thin spectacles and a voice like paper rustling.
"You shouldn't be reading that."
I quickly slammed the book shut. "I-I just wanted to see the pictures."
He studied me far too long for comfort, then smiled faintly. "Pictures, hm? Perhaps. But be careful. Some books carry weight too heavy for a child."
"…What kind of weight?" I asked before I could stop myself.
The librarian's eyes gleamed—like he knew exactly what I was hiding. "The kind that makes you grow up too fast."
My tiny hands clenched into fists on the cover of the book. Too late for that, I thought bitterly. I've already grown up once before.
The old man shuffled away, leaving me with the heavy silence of the library and a mind racing with secrets.
I glanced at the book again. My body wanted to keep reading, but my gut told me I shouldn't—at least not here, not now. Not with eyes watching.
So I carefully slid it back onto the shelf.
"…Sleep, huh."
The words echoed in my head like a whisper.
That night, lying in my bed, staring at the canopy above, I couldn't shake the thought.
The Ancients never left. They sleep.
What if this world's future—the one I was reborn into—wasn't about kingdoms or knights or even spirit beasts?
What if it was about the return of something far older?
And worse… what if I had just woken it up by reading that book?