When Evan finally had free time, he began cleaning his room.
He organized his clothes inside the wooden cabinet, arranging them in a way that felt comfortable and familiar for him.
Keeping himself busy helped calm his thoughts. While sweeping beneath his bed, his fingers hit something solid.
Evan frowned. "Huh? What's this…?"
He pulled out an old, large brown wooden box. The surface was worn and dusty, but sturdy.
Inside were several empty old books and yellow papers written in a strange script.
The characters were ancient nothing like the common language used on the Central Continent, the "Gregorian Tongue".
He tried to read them, but the words made no sense for him. "These aren't even close to anything I know…" he muttered.
He dusted all off each of the books, coughing when the dust cloud rose.
One brown book in particular caught his attention, it had a strange crest carved onto its cover, lines twisting into symbols he couldn't decipher.
After staring at it for a moment, Evan decided: "Maybe I should write down my experiences in this world… like a diary or Note. At least it'll help keep my head straight."
He sat on the wooden chair and took a black quill and a glass bottle of black ink.
On the first page, he wrote down the date:
January 21, Monday.
He learned the date from one of the servants in the residence house earlier that morning.
With that, he concluded he had arrived in this world on January 15, as far as his memory served.
Evan began writing.
---
My name is Evan Hanns Secarus. I am 17 years old.
I was teleported to another world… or maybe summoned. I'm still not sure.
But I know for certain I'm no longer in the world I grew up in 'Earth'.
The first day I arrived here was the most confusing moment of my life. It was strange, frightening, and unreal for me.
I was attacked by a massive brown bear right after arriving. I should have died.
And yet… I didn't.
Something saved me. Or revived me perhaps. When I woke up, the deadly wounds I had suffered were gone, as if nothing happened.
I remember dying.
I really do. But somehow, I'm still alive.
---
Evan closed the book carefully. He stood and walked toward his bed, lying down with a heavy sigh.
His mind drifted back to his old life. He missed his mother and his little sister… and even his deceased father.
He missed his friends. No matter how hard he tried not to think about them, the memories came rushing in his mind.
His thoughts shifted again, this time to the confusing language of this world. The people here spoke the exact same language as his world: 'The Gregorian Tongue'.
At first, he thought it was just a coincidence, but now he wasn't so sure.
He learned this yesterday after waking from a short nap on a wooden bench outside the residence house.
Stefan had been sitting beside him, drinking a bright lime-colored liquor.
They talked about small things, and during that conversation, Stefan mentioned the name of their language used mainly by the central continent 'Gregorian Tongue'.
That was when Evan realized why he could understand everyone from the moment he arrived in the village.
After finishing his cleaning, he rested for a few more hours, waiting for the sixth day to arrive, the day he would be blessed by the Priest and granted Divine Power.
Suddenly.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three firm knocks echoed through the wooden door of his room.
"Mr. Evan," Stefan's calm voice called, "You're being summoned by the librarian."
Evan sat up, confused. "Summoned…? But why?"
He whispered the old librarian's name under his breath.
"Loran…Sir Loran."
-----
The scorching heat of the afternoon sun washed over the village of Silan.
A warm breeze rustled the abundant leaves of the surrounding trees, their branches swaying gently, leaves fall gently as the two walk passed it.
Two figures walked along the stone pathway at the church's back grand door entrance.
Evan followed behind Stefan, who carried a strange, large silver box in his left hand. The box's golden lining and blazing-sun crest gleamed faintly.
Both wore a white long-sleeved, black trousers, and a same black boots.
Moments later, they entered the grand hall of the church.
Evan froze in place for a second.
Massive stone beams towered overhead, holding the ancient structure in place.
Brown marble covered the floor, shining faintly under the filtered light.
The atmosphere felt old, like something sacred preserved from a forgotten era.
Even in a small village, the church looked like something from a medieval or early Victorian period. Evan found himself staring at the vast stone architecture of it.
Their boots echoed softly through the brown marble and the silent hall.
There were no guards or any servant around only the quiet expanse of the church.
Eventually, they turned left into one of may curved arches hallway of the church.
At the far end was a massive chamber filled with towering shelves. And countless books of different colors and shapes lined them.
A brown chandelier hung from the ceiling, its warm yellow-white glow illuminating the whole chamber.
It was the church's library.
Evan felt a sense of awe again. Even the library felt ancient.
In the middle of the room stood a large wooden counter covered with stacked books, some with bizarre shapes, some with unusual colors like purple, gold, and red some are mix.
As Evan and Stefan approached, Old Loran stood from his chair suddenly.
A monocle clung to his right eye, and he held a thick book in his left hand.
His long white beard brushed against his white long robe, an elegantly designed garment trimmed with golden lines.
"Oh, Stefan. There you are," Old Loran said with enthusiasm. "I've been waiting for you. Did you bring Evan, and the item I requested?"
What item? Evan thought curiously.
"Yes, sir," Stefan replied. "I brought the white quill and the yellow ink, as you asked. I got them from the lower floor of the church."
Stefan placed the large silver box on the counter and unlocked it. Inside lay the white quill and a bottle filled with golden-yellow ink.
Old Loran nodded gratefully.
Stefan bowed to both of them. Before leaving, he turned to Evan and said in a low voice. "Follow Sir Loran's instructions. Do everything he asks or order."
Evan nodded. He still didn't understand the situation, but he trusted Stefan enough.
Stefan left the library, Nathaniel had summoned him outside to investigate some mysterious incidents in the Village of Silan.
There are children disappearing in the middle of the night.
Or a sudden deaths without wounds. Cases with no clear causes at all. Only means that "Dark Magic."
-----
Hours Later
Evan was drenched in sweat.
Loran had instructed him to clean and arrange every book in every shelf, row by row.
His arms ached, but he continued until the task was finished.
He dropped into a chair beside the wodden counter, exhausted.
Loran still sat nearby, writing steadily with the white quill and golden ink of him.
Time passed, and the sun had already set.
Finally, Evan spoke.
"Sir Loran… may I ask you a question?"
The old man raised his head. "Hmm? Go on."
"How… how will I gain my power after I'm blessed? How will I know if I have something extraordinary?" Evan asked, staring at the quill in Loran's hand. "I'm just curious."
Old Loran looked at him, eyes soft but wise. "You will know it once you are blessed, Evan. You must learn to control it. Understand it."
He leaned back slightly in his chair. "Divine power… carries a peculiar feeling. You might feel both light and heavy at the same time. It is righteous and just, but also sinful and unjust."
Evan blinked. The explanation felt too deep for him. "So… it represents balance? Between good and evil?"
"Yes," Loran replied. "Something like that. As Bishop Theron once said: To achieve balance is to understand peace and freedom, and to not be contained by either of them."
His words echoed through the library, gentle yet weighty.
Loran smiled faintly. "To wield such power one must carry a responsibility, a endless responsibility. Not only to others, but to yourself."
Evan felt the weight of the words of Loran.