The book closed slowly, as if with a mind of its own—then burst open again with sudden, violent energy. Aether staggered back, startled. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but the intensity still sent a shock through him. The first page revealed itself once more: pristine, yet ancient.
"Does it always do that?" Aether muttered, voice low and wary, as though afraid the book might hear him.
Before Ryuji could respond, the ink on the page began to shift and rise, curling into sentences that seemed alive.
"Does evidence equal truth?"
The words formed in an elegant, formal script, each letter dripping with meaning. Aether stared at the page, brow furrowed. Slowly, he turned to Ryuji, who stood beside him, arms crossed and skeptical.
"What do you see?" Aether asked, careful and measured.
"Nothing," Ryuji replied after a moment, his voice steady but distant. His gaze remained locked on the page. Aether's eyes widened.
"It's personal," he whispered, almost to himself. "The book… it gives questions based on the reader."
Ryuji arched a brow, shifting his weight. "Questions based on us? What's the point of that?"
"The book raises questions tailored to the reader—or writer," Aether said as the ink shifted again across the page. "It probably has a skill for storytelling, but it guards its access. It pulls out the most central and vivid memories—those rooted in inquiry. The essence of asking."
Before he could say more, the book flipped to another page, the motion swift and deliberate. Ink began to form again.
"Would you kill?"
The question stood stark and unyielding, the letters bold. Aether and Ryuji stared at it, the weight of the words thick in the air.
"Yes," Ryuji said quietly, almost instinctively.
"No," Aether said at the same time, his voice resolute. Their answers clashed in the air. The lamp flickered, casting wild shadows across the room.
For a moment, darkness swallowed everything—then the light sputtered back to life.
Aether glanced at Ryuji, who now had his hand on the hilt of his sword, knuckles white.
Aether grabbed a quill and scrawled onto a blank sheet that had materialized beside the book. His handwriting was jagged, rushed—each word a struggle to keep his thoughts in check.
"Just tell me the answers to my questions.
Life doesn't give answers, but you're not life.
You're a book—a guide, a keeper.
Misguide me if you must, but guide me."
He set the quill down with a sharp exhale, watching the ink settle. Ryuji tilted his head, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face.
"You write like the old head… Sir Eadric," Ryuji remarked dryly.
Aether shot him a glare. "What are you even doing here?"
Ryuji turned to meet Aether's gaze. "Does it affect you?"
The ink shifted again, the words twisting like smoke.
"Rasvain energy is you, as it is him, and me.
To exude it in great amounts can be fatal—
one can slowly kill themselves."
Aether frowned. "I'm talking about you, but yes yours does affect me," he said, glancing at Ryuji.
"Of course it does," Ryuji muttered. He stepped closer, grip tightening on his katana. "It's sentient." His voice was low, edged with something unfamiliar—maybe fear, maybe awe.
The book turned another page. The ink flowed urgently now, words sharp and relentless.
"Rasvain energy isn't formed, nor is it destroyed.
It isn't erased or invented.
It isn't figurative, yet it's not a concept.
It isn't tangible, yet not intangible.
It isn't bound by time, nor does it transcend it.
It isn't created by will, nor moved by desire.
It isn't alive, yet not lifeless.
Not matter, nor void.
Not a force, nor the absence of force.
Not confined, nor omnipresent.
Not something you see, hear, or touch—
and yet, impossible to ignore."
The air itself seemed to grow heavier.
Ryuji stepped back, his sword catching the light. Sparks of yellow reflected off the lamp like fleeting fireflies.
"What even is this?" Ryuji asked, his voice tight.
"It's… everything," Aether murmured. "Everything we are and aren't."
The book continued, now with a reverent tone:
"Rasvain energy is the Echo of God—
The First Breath that stirred the Void,
The Hand that shattered Unbeing.
Before realms, before light, before time—
It was the fracture in eternity's silence.
It is not of the 21 Realms, but the wound from which they bled,
The primal ache of existence itself.
The Alpha and Omega not of stories,
But of all that is, was, and could never be.
It shaped cosmos from the Void's carcass,
Yet it is not the shaper—only the shadow of His solitude.
Like the breath that animated Adam,
Rasvain is the aftermath of a question that birthed being.
It flows through creation not as a sustainer,
But as a scar—reminding all things of their accidental genesis.
To witness Rasvain is to stand at the edge of cessation—
To feel the weight of what God could not hold.
It is fire that does not consume,
Because it is the memory of the First Flame—
A pillar of cloud by day, fire by night,
Guiding nothing, for it is the path itself.
Its presence? The silent scream of the Void.
Its purpose? Marking where creation begins... and His presence ends."
The words pressed down on them. Aether clutched his chest, breath shallow, as though the page itself bore down on him.
"This is… overwhelming," he said, voice trembling.
"Touch Rasvain energy," the book wrote suddenly, its ink bold and final.
Aether slammed the book shut. The sound echoed.
"Aren't we already doing that?" he asked, voice shaking. He looked to Ryuji.
But Ryuji had stepped back, disgust written across his face.
"Do you live in a horse stable?" he asked suddenly.
"What?" Aether blinked.
"Even a child knows this, you fool. It's taught in every subject."
"How many subjects?" Aether narrowed his eyes.
"One hundred and twenty-six," Ryuji said matter-of-factly.
Aether gawked. "One hundred and twenty-six?"
Ryuji shrugged, his attitude easing. "I only did sixty. Some of them only lasted a day. They're pretty easy."
"Enough," Ryuji growled. He moved toward the light. The shadows shifted.
For him, the darkness vanished—everything bathed in serenity. But for Aether, the lamp had become a boundary. The light pushed against a growing abyss.
"Touch Rasvain energy," Aether repeated softly. The words felt alien in his mouth. He looked around—the room returned to mirrors.
"Any more questions? You should be able to answer that, right?" Aether asked the air, voice quiet, almost resigned.
Text appeared—this time in the air itself, letters glowing faintly:
"Definitely."
He scratched his head as his hair grew rapidly, stray strands tickling his face.
"Ugh. I need to sort out this hairstyle... maybe something sharp and dramatic."
He glanced ahead. Ryuji was a few steps ahead. With a sigh, he caught up.
"Hey, I'm almost done here," Aether said, falling into stride beside him.
Ryuji didn't look over. "We aren't friends."
Aether blinked. "You've got to be joking."
Ryuji stared. "No, I mean… I don't think you see me as a friend."
Aether's irritation faded to amusement. "Now that's better phrasing. And yeah, I don't." He smirked. "Let's talk for a while first. Maybe I'll reconsider—after you write a 200-page essay on why you'd want to be my friend. No unnecessary favors allowed."
Ryuji glanced at him sidelong. "What?"
"Nothing," Aether said, clearing his throat with an exaggerated cough. "Where are you headed after this, anyway?"
"The playground. There's a tournament."
As they walked, hushed murmurs reached their ears. Turning a corner, they spotted a mirror shimmering unnaturally.
Moments later, Anna and Elara stepped out—well, mostly. Anna was still struggling, her foot caught awkwardly on the reflective surface.
"Can we tag along?" Aether asked suddenly, his voice carrying.
"Why?" Ryuji shot back, unimpressed.
"Don't you want friends?" Aether teased.
"No."
Aether laughed—a sharp, genuine sound. "Hah, we're more alike than I thought. Except, you know, without the psychotic tendencies." He gave Ryuji a cheeky grin and strolled toward Elara, leaving Ryuji shaking his head.
Meanwhile, Anna gave one final tug and stumbled out of the mirror with a huff. She brushed herself off, face flushed with mild embarrassment.
"Next time," she muttered to Elara, "you go first."