The morning bell of Aetherion Academy rang like a judgment, echoing through the valley of spires and glass-domed lecture halls.
Arin Valemore stood quietly among a stream of students wearing crisp robes and golden insignias. Some carried familiars—crystal-winged birds, scaled cats with ember eyes. Others had visible mana sigils glowing across their hands or necks.
Arin had none of that.
He kept his gaze low, fingers curled inside his sleeves. His family's crest—once proudly displayed on the back of his robe—had been quietly removed. His father made sure of that.
The "Valemourned," they whispered.
"Can you believe he failed his Awakening twice?"
"Why's he even here? No mana, no affinity..."
"Maybe he's just here to warm a seat."
He heard it all. Felt the weight of their stares, their laughter.
And yet... there was something beneath his skin. Like a phantom heartbeat. A presence that shouldn't be there.
It pulsed softly. Distant. Flickering.
Like something trying to remember.
"Dormitory C, Outer Ring."
The voice of a floating automaton buzzed as it scanned his identity crystal and zipped away. Arin followed the stone path past rows of glowing flora and arrived at a humble two-story building wrapped in ivy.
The door creaked open to reveal a modest room with a single bed, an old desk, and a cracked mirror.
He dropped his bag and sat on the edge of the bed.
He was alone again.
But not entirely.
ssskrrhhh...
He froze.
The sound was faint. Like pages turning in another room.
His eyes darted around. Nothing moved.
Then his gaze landed on a book. Not one he brought. It wasn't on the desk before.
Dust-covered. Bound in worn violet leather. No title.
He reached for it cautiously. As his fingers brushed the cover, a jolt ran up his arm.
Pain. Memory. Stars. Screams. Silence.
He gasped and yanked his hand back.
The book pulsed once—then fell still. As if asleep.
"What… was that?"
He opened it slowly. The pages were blank. But something shimmered faintly beneath the surface—runic ink hidden between worlds.
He couldn't read it.
Yet.
But a part of him recognized it. Not with words, but with instinct. Like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
His breath trembled.
A fragment…?
It wasn't much. A sliver. A memory of the Codex. Like a dying spark in a sea of ash.
But it was his.
And with it… came something else.
A single spell.
Not just the name. Not just theory. But the muscle memory. The structure. The rhythm of the weave.
A spell he had written himself, lifetimes ago.
He lifted his hand—and for the first time in this life—mana stirred.
Only a thread.
But it obeyed.
The desk's surface shimmered, dust drawn into a tiny vortex.
The book closed on its own, then vanished into shadow, like it had never been there.
He stared at his palm.
One down… how many more?
He didn't know. He didn't remember.
But the Codex did.
And now, it was calling its pages home.
Far across campus, in the Central Archive Tower, a girl sneezed and dropped her quill.
Selene Altharys blinked.
That strange dream again—the one with burning skies and a broken tower.
She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Maybe I should stop reading those old books before bed."
With a flick of her fingers, the fallen quill lifted itself, spinning once before landing neatly in her grip. A faint trail of silvery mana lingered in the air—clean, precise, and refined.
Her desk was a cluttered fortress of scrolls, research notes, and banned grimoires she technically shouldn't have access to. But being the Archive Prefect had its perks. So did being the top-ranked prodigy of her year.
She glanced at the sigil glowing faintly on her wrist—a mark of Aetherion's favor. But it wasn't enough.
Not when the dreams wouldn't stop. Not when the shadows in the oldest texts felt like they were watching her.
Selene stood and crossed to a high shelf, fingers brushing the spines of books older than most kingdoms. Her eyes landed on one she had read dozens of times: The Librarian of the Forbidden World.
She opened it again, scanning pages she already knew by heart. Still, she searched for something. Anything.
"Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something important?"
She didn't know it yet, but her story was already written.
And Arin Valemore?
He wasn't in it.
Not yet.
But soon… he'd begin rewriting it.
Page by page.