I explored the room a little. It was elegant, and most importantly—it was mine alone. Unlike the towering stone buildings I had seen, this place had wooden floors, something I absolutely loved. There's just something about the feel of wood beneath your feet. I prefer walking barefoot; it makes me feel more grounded, more relaxed.
Here, in my room, I finally allowed myself to press the pause button. Everything had been changing so quickly—majestic, overwhelming, filled with countless new impressions—that I desperately needed a moment to bring it all down to earth.
So, ritual number one: accomplished. Bare feet on the floor.Ritual number two… pending. I needed to find out if this world had any kind of drink similar to coffee. If not, I was going to suffer terribly.Ritual number three: find a place to look at the sky. Luckily, my room had a window. The sky didn't look any different here, and that comforted me. Ritual number three: accomplished.Ritual number four: deep breathing. Inhale, feel the fresh air filling my lungs… once, twice, three times.
After exhaling with all my strength, I felt the heavy weight on my chest loosen. Good. The storm inside me was settling. It was time to head to the library.
People don't realize what they're missing when they avoid libraries. They are sanctuaries of peace and knowledge, places where questions unravel and doors to new worlds open.
With a head full of playful thoughts, I arrived. The entrance led through a long corridor flanked by a neat row of gardens. Fountains trickled softly, benches lined the sides where people read quietly, and above, I could see hanging gardens intertwined with iron staircases crisscrossing from one side to the other. On both sides of the garden stretched towering bookshelves, and every so often, long tables where students bent over their studies.
I approached what seemed to be a reception desk. A woman in her forties sat there, reading a book with almost sacred care. As I drew closer, I asked politely:
—"Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find books on basic magical knowledge, and perhaps history as well?"
"History," she repeated with a peculiar look. "I'd suggest beginning with the introductory magic books in Section B, near the front of the hall. As for history… we don't have many such volumes here. For that, you'd need a different kind of library."
Without another word, she lowered her gaze back to her book, as if time had rewound and I had never interrupted her.
—"Thank you for your time," I replied with a smile, though inwardly I wondered if the woman had some kind of issue. In any case, I turned toward Section B, where I found rows upon rows of books: Introduction to Magic, Mana Channels, Methods of Absorption, Spirit Summoning, and countless others.
I gathered a few that caught my interest and carried them to an empty table.
I began with symbols. Beyond traditional written characters, magical symbols served as structures to shape mana into concepts. There were countless concepts, usually grouped by the nature of mana, and the more concepts one learned within a given nature, the easier it became to master spells of that element.
Spells, at their core, were nothing more than structuring mana through a set of concepts. To cast one, you had to first learn how to shape mana according to symbols, then link those structured concepts into a cohesive spell.
The book made it all sound surprisingly clear. Encouraged, I picked up another volume that discussed methods of mana absorption.
There were many techniques, often tailored to the element one wished to strengthen. But the basic method was simple: enter a state of consciousness, something only possible after awakening. In that state, you could perceive the inside of your body, controlling magical circuits as if they were another muscle.
To absorb mana, you vibrated your circuits, attracting it through the pores of the skin. The second stage was guiding that energy through the circuits themselves. Once absorbed, it flowed like a river until it was stored in a magic circle.
Forming the first magic circle was another matter. Each one was unique, like a fingerprint, built from the very patterns generated when mana filled the circuits. Those patterns carried every detail: flow capacity, intensity, flexibility, resistance, elemental compatibility, and more. Constructing a magic circle meant stabilizing all those patterns into a single ring of symbols.
It didn't require great talent, but it did demand patience. The process could take from a week to a month, depending on how stubborn the circuits were.
The information filled me with excitement. I devoured the pages as though I might run out of time. A part of me wanted to rush back to my room and start experimenting immediately, but I forced myself to stay. There was still more to learn.
The next section explained the theory of circuits. They were not physical parts of the body—you could cut open flesh and find nothing where they lay. Instead, they were an evolution of humanity itself, born from the soul's interaction with mana. Souls grew and changed over a lifetime, shaped by experience and knowledge, and from them the circuits manifested, creating pathways for mana to enter and be processed through consciousness.
Then came the theory of spells. It described how a spell was cast: the magic circle released stored mana through specific circuits, which determined its nature, volume, and flow. Once outside the body, mana underwent a second structuring process, shaped by formulas. For example, one could create a fireball by channeling fire mana and applying the formula for a sphere—say, 4/3 π r³—where the radius was calculated according to available mana. After defining the form, the caster concentrated the mana, ignited it, and regulated its temperature. More advanced spells could combine fire and air mana, intensifying the flames and raising their heat—something that made perfect sense to me.
By the time I closed the book, my head was brimming with knowledge. I was just about to return to my room when, all of a sudden, my heart skipped a beat. Without knowing why, I turned—and there, standing behind me, was a striking young man watching me with a serious expression.
I don't know why, but I instinctively lifted the book in my hands to cover my face. The reflex brought me instant regret.
Lowering it quickly, I steadied myself and forced a smile. "Hi… how are you? Do you want to sit down?"
The young man looked surprised. He clearly hadn't expected such an informal greeting, but after a moment he consciously accepted.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"I think I know… but until yesterday, I didn't," I admitted, stumbling over my words. "I'm Clara. Nice to meet you." I extended my hand, only for him to stare at it in silence, as if lost in thought.
A sudden panic rose in me. "I'm sorry," I blurted. "I don't really know how to act… I've never had royalty standing in front of me before."
The prince coughed lightly and shook his head. "Don't apologize. I'm not used to this either. But it's fine—you can greet me with a handshake."
For some reason, that small gesture filled me with happiness.
He smiled faintly. "So, Clara… perhaps the star of the last evaluation?"
Clara gave an awkward smile. Compliments had always been her weakness; words failed her, so she simply nodded.
"It's an honor to meet a genius like you," he continued, his gaze steady. "But I've had a question in my mind for some time, and I wanted to ask you directly."
Just as Clara was about to listen, a voice interrupted. "Your Highness, here you are. The Academy Director wishes to see you immediately."
"Oh… I see." He looked at the man who had called him, then turned back toward Clara with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. Could we continue this conversation another time?"
Once again, Clara was left speechless, lost in a situation she had never experienced before. Finally, in her confusion, she raised a thumb in a hesitant thumbs-up. The prince tilted his head, clearly puzzled, until she found the courage to add softly, "I'll be waiting."