Two weeks later, Laos Keep's library had settled back into its usual rhythm — or so it appeared. The reality was that its youngest and most peculiar occupant had quietly shifted the balance of its daily life.
Lucy stood with her arms folded, watching Logos seated at his oversized desk. He was a still figure among the shelves, a blot of black hair and dark eyes amid the golden lamplight, his small hands moving with steady, deliberate motions over a sheet of parchment.
"You really don't care, do you?" she said finally.
Logos didn't look up. He blinked once, slowly, like a cat deciding whether to acknowledge a sound. His voice was calm, without a hint of defensiveness. "About what?"
"About yourself."
That got him to glance at her. She was sitting back on her heels beside the desk, her expression steady but her words carrying the weight of a fact she didn't like stating aloud. "You treat your own safety like it's an afterthought. Like it's just… a resource to spend."
"That's not true," Logos said, as if she'd made a simple math error. "I care about efficiency. That includes my continued existence."
"And look what happened?!" Lucy's tone sharpened. "You have considerably less channeling than you should. Not to mention—"
"If you're talking about how much my father and mother were disappointed," Logos interrupted evenly, "then don't worry. I saw it all too well."
He said the words without bitterness, but the memory was still sharp. He remembered his parents' expressions — the tight lines of disapproval, the slight narrowing of eyes — when they'd heard the healer's report. Mana channeling capability: below average. Elemental affinity: weak and uncertain. To a noble house that measured worth in magical potential, it was almost an insult.
"It's a good thing we didn't tell them I awakened forcefully," Logos added, his tone turning dry. "Bet they would have fired you."
"Not funny," Lucy said sharply.
Logos gave a small shrug. "Don't worry. I wouldn't be me if I couldn't get something useful out of it."
She frowned. "Useful?"
He reached to his left, picking up a thick, dog-eared copy of Mana with Physiology — the same book that had nearly gotten him killed. He set it on the left side of the desk, placed his right hand flat against the cover, and picked up his pen with his left. His movements were deliberate, methodical.
"Watch," he said.
The moment his palm touched the cover, faint lines of violet light traced themselves along the leather. The glow spread across the book like frost forming, then bled into his hand. His eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.
On the blank sheet before him, his pen began to move — not with the hesitant strokes of a boy writing a dictation, but with the smooth, mechanical precision of a trained scribe.
When the light faded, he lifted his hand, capped the ink, and slid the page across the desk toward her.
"A summary of the theories written by Thaumic the Senseless," Logos said.
Lucy took the sheet, scanning the neat, compact handwriting. It was more than a summary — it was a distilled analysis, each argument stripped down to its core, the weak points annotated in the margins. It read like the notes of someone preparing to dismantle the book in a debate.
"An analysis spell," she said slowly, "that lets you read an entire book at once."
"Exactly."
Lucy sighed, setting the page down. "Great. Now you're really going to take root in here."
"You don't sound surprised."
"I'm not," she said. "Analysis is a common spell. There are millions of variations. Some are good for people who can't memorize well, others for speed reading, others for cross-referencing. This is… just your version."
"I see." Logos leaned back slightly. "With this, I can read more than a dozen books a day and compile them into useful information."
Lucy raised a brow. "You're six. Why would you even need that much information?"
"To be prepared," he said simply.
Her lips pressed together. "For what?"
He looked at her for a moment, long enough for the silence to feel heavy, then turned his gaze back to the open book. "For anything."
Lucy stayed quiet, watching him as he reached for another text — a dense treatise on metallurgy — and set his palm to the cover again. The violet glow returned, and the pen moved almost instantly, leaving behind another page of distilled thought.
It was unsettling, she realized. Not the magic itself — plenty of mages used analysis spells — but the way he did it. No hesitation, no flicker of wonder, no childish glee at the trick of it. Just quiet, relentless work.
The boy was building something, and Lucy suspected he'd been building it long before she ever noticed.
She finally broke the silence. "You know, reading like this isn't the same as understanding. You can fill your head with other people's thoughts all day, but it won't make you wise."
"I know," Logos said without looking up. "But it will make me faster."
Lucy stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "You're going to read yourself into a corner one of these days."
"Then I'll build a door," Logos replied, as though it were obvious.
She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she left the table. But she didn't stop him.
She never did.