The heavy oak door of the Ivory Academy library closed behind me with a soft, definitive thud. After the echoing shouts and clanging steel of the combat arena, the silence here felt immense, almost physical. Towering mahogany shelves soared toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, each crammed with leather-bound spines. Slanting afternoon light streamed through high, narrow windows, illuminating countless tomes and catching dust motes dancing in the air. The familiar scent of ancient paper and beeswax polish wrapped around me like a comforting blanket.
I exhaled, feeling the tension slowly leach from my shoulders. Sanctuary. Storm, perched on my shoulder, gave a soft chirp and ruffled his feathers, mirroring my relief.
I navigated the labyrinthine aisles, my boots making only the faintest whisper on the worn stone floor. My destination was clear: *Runology: Historical Development & Foundational Principles*. Finding the section, I pulled out the hefty volume titled *Comparative Runic Scripts*. Carrying it felt like holding centuries of knowledge. I settled at a secluded alcove table tucked between towering shelves, the wood smooth and cool under my palms. Storm hopped onto the tabletop, watching with intelligent eyes as I unrolled my notes and carefully sketched the complex, fluid rune from Thorne's class. Its lines felt older, heavier than the modern forms we'd been taught.
Page after page, I searched. The intricate diagrams and dense annotations blurred until my eyes stung. Then, I found it: Plate XXIII: *Early Arcanum Scripts (Pre-Consolidation Era)*. My breath hitched. There it was – the rune I'd sketched. Not an invention, but a relic. The accompanying text confirmed it: an archaic, potent design abandoned centuries ago for its "prohibitive energetic cost." My fingers trembled slightly against the yellowed paper. I hadn't invented it; I'd *remembered* it. A shiver traced my spine, colder than the library's chill.
A shadow fell across my notes, long and intrusive.
"Look what we have here!" Darian's voice, slick with mockery, cut through the quiet. He stood over me, sandy hair flopping over a sharp-chinned face twisted into a grin. Before I could react, he snatched the heavy *Comparative Runic Scripts* right off the table. Jax, broad-shouldered with a crooked nose from some past brawl, leaned casually against the table edge, invading my space. Behind them, two others lurked: Ryn, wiry and twitchy like a nervous rodent, and Tobin, silent and watchful with unnerving stillness.
"*Comparative Runic Scripts*?" Darian sneered, flipping the book carelessly in his hands. "Bit heavy reading for someone who probably learned his letters scratching dirt in the countryside, eh?" He dropped the book back onto the table with a disrespectful thud that echoed slightly in the quiet alcove.
Jax slid into the vacant chair beside me, the wood scraping loudly. He reeked of stale sweat and arena dust. "Heard you got special attention today," he said, his voice a low growl. "Paired with the ghost. Garrick must pity the boy who can't even hold a sword steady." His breath was warm and unpleasant against my cheek.
I snorted, the sound sharp and involuntary in the tense silence. Contempt for their pettiness outweighed caution.
Jax's face flushed crimson. "Think that's funny, farm boy?" His fist, a clumsy haymaker fueled by wounded pride, came swinging. Instinct kicked in. My hand shot up, catching his thick wrist just before impact. Using his own momentum, I twisted sharply and leveraged his arm over the tabletop, bone grinding against wood. He yelped in surprise and pain.
Ryn lunged from the side, aiming a swift kick at my ribs. I shoved Jax's pinned form hard into him. Jax stumbled backwards, colliding with Ryn. Both went off balance. I pivoted, my boot connecting solidly with Ryn's temple. He crumpled like a sack of grain, crashing into a nearby bookshelf. The impact sent a cascade of heavy tomes tumbling down around him in a dusty avalanche.
Storm shrieked, a sound of pure avian fury. Blue-white lightning crackled across his feathers, gathering with terrifying speed. Before I could even form a thought to stop him, a jagged bolt lanced out, striking Ryn's outstretched arm as he tried to push himself up. The sharp tang of ozone flooded the air, overwhelming the scent of old paper. Ryn screamed, a high-pitched sound of agony, clutching his smoking, spasming arm.
Darian paled, his bravado vanishing. "You freak!" he spat, eyes wide with fear as he looked from Storm to Ryn writhing on the floor. "This isn't over!" He and Jax hastily grabbed Ryn under the arms, dragging him away. Tobin followed without a word, leaving only scattered books, the lingering smell of ozone, and a singed scrap of Ryn's tunic behind.
Slow, deliberate clapping echoed from the end of the aisle.
Kael leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, a faint, unsettling grin on his face. "Not bad," he said, his voice cool and appraising. He pushed off the shelf and approached, tossing a different book onto the table beside my notes. *Draconis Minor: Physiology and Symbiosis*. It fell open to a detailed diagram showing the intricate lightning nodes running along the spine and wings of a creature identical to Storm.
"Your emotions trigger him," Kael stated flatly, tapping the diagram. "That rage? It feeds the lightning. Control it, or you'll burn him out. Cook him from the inside." His gaze was steady, unblinking.
My stomach dropped like a stone. The image of Storm's fragile biology, the raw power I'd felt surge through our bond during the fight – it crashed into Kael's stark warning. The sanctuary of the library felt suddenly suffocating.
Kael turned without another word. "Follow me."
We wound through narrow, dimly lit back corridors, away from the grandeur of the main library halls. The air grew colder, the stone rougher underfoot. He stopped before a plain wooden door and pushed it open, revealing a Spartan dormitory room. It was small and utilitarian, with rough stone walls and two sets of sturdy wooden bunk beds. A single shuttered window high on one wall cast thin, dusty bars of light across the floor. Personal effects were minimal: a whetstone, a neatly folded Academy tunic, a small stack of books, all arranged with military precision on one lower bunk. The left upper bunk lay bare, stripped of any bedding.
Kael nodded towards the empty top bunk. "Our room now."
Storm needed no invitation. He fluttered up instantly, landing on the bare mattress with a soft thump. Tucking his head neatly under his wing, he seemed to settle into sleep within moments. Kael watched him for a second, his mouth twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile before his expression smoothed back to neutrality.
"Adam, right?" he asked, turning back to me.
"Yeah," I managed, my voice sounding rough.
"Call me Kael." The door clicked shut behind him as he left, leaving me alone in the stark, silent room.
I stared at the rough stone ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me like the shelves of books above. The ancient rune remembered, not learned. The violent confrontation, the sickening crack of my boot on Ryn's skull. Storm's terrifying, involuntary lightning strike. Kael's chilling warning about symbiosis and control. His inscrutable gaze. Control. The word echoed in the quiet. It wasn't just about fire anymore. I'd need it, desperately, for Storm's sake. The sanctuary I'd sought felt distant, replaced by the cold reality of the path ahead.