Chapter 7: A Glint of Light
The Nevermore library was a cavern of forgotten whispers, its air thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint, metallic tang of latent magic. Towering shelves loomed like silent sentinels, their shadows dancing under the flickering gas lamps, casting a labyrinth of light and dark across the worn wooden floor. Oliver Smoak's boots scuffed softly as he wandered the aisles, his hazel eyes drawn to a trail of shimmering glitter that sparkled like scattered stars in the gloom. It wasn't the natural shimmer of dust motes in the light; this glitter pulsed with a faint, chaotic magic.
The System's riddle echoed in his mind, its tone mocking yet intriguing. Oliver sighed, his fingers brushing his tie in a nervous tic. I'm following glitter. My life's a fever dream. Next, it'll tell me to hunt a unicorn that farts rainbows. The metallic scent sharpened, and his pulse quickened, a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement. What's next, a magical scavenger hunt? Of course it is. This is my life now.
A Chase Through the Stacks
A faint squeak broke the silence, followed by the clatter of falling books. Oliver rounded a shelf to find a small, black creature burrowing in a pile of tomes, its fur sleek, its eyes gleaming with mischief. A Niffler? The creature—Glint, as he'd later name it—darted away, leaving a fresh trail of glitter, its tiny paws a blur. "Hey, wait!" Oliver hissed, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. His lanky frame stumbled over a stray book, sending him crashing into a chair with a loud, wooden groan. The chase was a comedy of errors: he lunged, only to trip over his own feet; he cast a clumsy Accio spell, but it summoned a stack of dusty novels that toppled onto his head with a muffled thud.
The System's jab stung, but Oliver's laughter bubbled up despite himself. "I'm losing to a glorified magpie," he muttered, pushing a book off his face. "This is a new low." The little creature, Glint, popped its head out from behind a shelf, its beady eyes watching him, as if judging his lack of grace. Oliver, for his part, felt a strange fondness. The creature was a total menace, but it was his menace. It was a chaotic, funny antidote to the relentless darkness Eldric's magic cast.
He paused, catching his breath, the library's air heavy with dust and magic. Empathy, huh? He thought about the moments when the System's guidance felt wrong, when his instincts told him to be gentle, not forceful. He fished a shiny coin from his pocket, its copper surface glinting under the lamp. "C'mere, little guy," he said softly, kneeling, his voice warm and coaxing. Glint froze, its nose twitching, its eyes locked on the coin. It scampered closer, squeaking with a sound like a tiny, rusty hinge, its tiny paws meticulous as it snatched the coin and polished it with a purr.
Oliver grinned, his heart lightening, the connection immediate. It's like me—chasing something shiny, not sure why, just following the instinct. The hum in his mind, the constant, low-grade thrum of the System, softened.
The message was a warm pulse in his mind, and he felt a shift, like a door opening within him. The library's shadows seemed softer now, the metallic tang less oppressive. This wasn't just a quest; it was a bond. It was a small, furry ally in a world that felt increasingly lonely and dangerous. Glint wasn't a weapon or a tool; it was just a creature that liked shiny things, and that simple, chaotic presence was a comfort.
Glint nuzzled his hand, then rummaged in its pouch, a tiny, furry bag of holding, producing a tarnished copper compass, its needle spinning wildly. Oliver's breath caught, his fingers trembling as he took it, the metal cold and heavy. He recognized the craftsmanship. It was the same design as the cursed gem, the same sinister aura.
The System's voice was smug, and Oliver laughed, a mix of exasperation and amusement. It played me. This was the goal all along. The compass's hum synced with his pulse, its needle a chaotic dance, and he realized it pointed to Eldric's lair. This changes everything. This is a map to the enemy. The compass felt heavier in his hand, a burden and a key. Glint burrowed into his jacket pocket, a warm, fuzzy weight, its purr a quiet comfort. The library's silence pressed in, the glitter trail fading, but Oliver's mind raced. I need to fix this compass. But who can help? The System was silent, and the question hung heavy, the library's shadows whispering of new challenges.