The Duke personally escorted him to the threshold of the study. Standing in the doorway, his voice rang out into the wide corridor, sharp and clear.
"Elisia!"
A moment later, a woman appeared from the intersecting hallway. Tall, slender, with raven-black hair gathered in a neat bun, dressed in an immaculate dark blue livery. She was almost an exact copy of Elias, only of the opposite gender. Even her sky-blue aura was as calm and stable as her brother's. She approached and gave a slight, formal bow.
"Escort him to his room," the Duke ordered, placing a hand on Caelan's small back and giving him a gentle push forward toward the waiting woman. "He will show you the way."
Elisia gave a slight nod.
He gave Caelan one last, heavy look, then stepped back into the study. The heavy oak doors swung shut, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing in the sudden silence of the corridor, cutting him off from the two most powerful people in the duchy.
They started down the corridor, Caelan walking ahead in a focused silence. His mind was sifting through the wreckage of the conversation. He hadn't intended to tell them so much. But Auriya's question had been a key, turning a lock he hadn't known was there. The truth had simply… spilled out. The story of the cart, the priest's casual cruelty, the auction block. It was an unburdening, a release of pressure he hadn't realized he was holding.
Of course, it wasn't the whole truth. The impossible part, the part about another world and a sky full of fire, had to be replaced. "Orcs" had been the first word that came to mind. Their reaction—a grim nod, a flare of hatred, but no surprise—had confirmed it instantly. Orcs, goblins, the standard bestiary of every fantasy story he'd ever read… they were real here. A known, quantifiable threat.
It made his lie unintentionally perfect. He had given their shock a name they understood. And his own subsequent pain had given their anger a precise, tangible target in the form of Father Martinus. He hadn't planned it as a strategy, but now, looking back, he could see the results. He had given them the truth—or at least, a version of it they could use. A story that was now his official past. A past no one in this house would likely ever question again.
He was so lost in the cold comfort of his analysis that her melodic voice, right beside him, made him flinch.
"Hey," she said, easily keeping pace with him. "Why so serious? You look like you just came from a war council, not a chat with the Duchess."
She gave a playful wink. Caelan just looked at her, his face a serious, unchildlike mask, and remained silent.
"Silent, are we?" she sighed theatrically, a grin playing on her lips. "Oh, I see, you're the spitting image of my brother. A serious little elf."
She moved a step ahead of him, turned, and began walking backward.
"He's just like you," she continued, making a face, furrowing her brows. "Always with a look like this: 'Blah-blah-blah… protocol… duty…' A deadly bore!"
Caelan watched her performance, and for the first time since coming to this house, his analytical mind stumbled. This was… new. A variable he hadn't accounted for: simple, uncalculated human interaction. It wasn't deference, it wasn't fear, it wasn't a transaction. It was just… playfulness. A warmth that had nothing to do with auras.
"Don't be like him," she advised, her expression momentarily serious again. "It's terribly dull."
They reached the door to his room. For a brief moment, Caelan felt a strange reluctance to end this walk.
"Well, you heard His Grace shout my name," she said with a grin. "I'm Elisia. So, are you going to tell me yours, or should I just keep calling you 'serious little elf'?"
He looked her straight in the eye. He could have just said "Caelan." But some part of him, the part that had just been adopted into a powerful house, felt the need to solidify this new reality. To use the tool he had been given.
"Caelan," he answered, his voice quiet but clear. "Caelan de Valerius."
The playful smile on Elisia's face didn't just freeze. It died. The light in her eyes went out. The warmth between them evaporated, replaced by a sudden, invisible chill. The change was so absolute it was like watching a candle being snuffed out.
She took a step back, and her body moved through a perfect, mechanical curtsy. At that moment, her posture, her expression, her very presence made her an absolute replica of Elias. Cold. Professional. Distant.
"My apologies, Young Master," she said, her voice a formal, empty shell. "I was not aware."
Caelan stared at her, and he felt no triumph. No satisfaction in seeing her shocked. He felt… a quiet, hollow disappointment. The wall of status he had just used to define himself had now become his prison. The first person who had treated him not as a tool, a ward, or a monster, but simply as a child, was gone. And he had made her disappear himself.
The moment of "normalcy" was over.
Caelan silently entered his room and quietly closed the door behind him.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. He stayed like that for a few seconds, staring into space. Then, with a soft sigh, he simply fell back, spreading his arms out. His small body sank into the soft duvet. He just lay there, looking at the ceiling. There were no thoughts. Only emptiness.
"Experiments with mana are canceled for today," he whispered into the silence of the room. "Need to test the limit. A clean test."
He fell silent. A second passed, then another.
"Boring," he stated as a matter of fact, addressing the ceiling.
And then, he remembered. A vast hall. Two stories. Endless rows of books. The library.
He instantly sat up, then hopped off the bed. The decision was made.
He left the room and followed the familiar route. The manor, which had been so quiet before, was now alive. From distant drawing rooms, he could hear the faint echo of voices and occasional laughter—the house was breathing again now that its family had returned. But here, in this wing, the corridors were empty. The sunlight pouring through the high windows painted long, warm rectangles on the polished floor. His quiet footsteps were the only sound against the distant murmur of life.
There they were. The massive, dark-wood doors. He placed both hands on the cold, carved surface without hesitation and pushed. The doors gave way with a soft, heavy creak.
A familiar scent met him—a mix of dust, old parchment, and a faint hint of ozone. The library was just as grand and quiet as he remembered it. Only the mess made by the Duke and Ellard had been cleared away. The books and scrolls were back in their places.
He walked in, letting the doors slowly swing shut behind him, and took a deep breath. For him, this wasn't just the smell of books. It was the smell of history. The smell of a thousand forgotten lives and lost knowledge. The smell of nostalgia for something that had never been here.
He didn't hurry.
Instead of immediately rushing to search, he walked slowly into the depths of the hall, simply savoring the moment. He took a deep breath of the air, saturated with the scent of history, and felt goosebumps prickle his skin.
He began to look at the plaques that marked the sections. "History of the Great Houses." "Strategy and Tactics." "Swordsmanship: Schools of the Blade." His gaze slid further. "The Nature of Mana: Fundamental Theories." There it was. But he was in no rush.
He walked on, toward a section labeled "Natural Sciences." "Botany of Etheria," "Bestiary of the Western Forests." Each title promised new, unexplored data.
And it was here, in this absolute silence, that he heard a faint sound. The quiet, soft rustle of a turning page. The sound came from somewhere deep within the section, from a cozy corner illuminated by the soft light of a high window.
Curiosity won. Trying not to make a sound, he cautiously moved toward the noise. He peeked around a massive bookshelf.
And saw him.
In a large, deep leather armchair, with his legs tucked under him, sat Leo. He was so engrossed in a huge book that he seemed oblivious to the world around him. The sunlight fell on his fair hair, creating an almost holy halo around him. Caelan could only see the cover of the book—thick, green, with no title, just an embossed golden leaf.
Leo must have felt someone's gaze on him, because he slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met.
A flash of fright crossed Leo's face. He instantly snapped the book shut and jumped to his feet, as if caught doing something forbidden. He stood there, clutching the tome to his chest like a shield, staring at Caelan with wide eyes, not knowing what to say.
Caelan looked at him. Then at the book. Then back at him.
He didn't say a word. He simply turned and walked on, deeper into the library, leaving Leo standing alone in the sunbeam. He didn't want to disturb his solitude. That was something he could understand.
He left Leo behind and returned to his goal. He passed the History section and turned into the next aisle. A large, carved plaque above the entrance announced: "The Nature of Mana: Fundamental Theories."
He began to move slowly, methodically, along the shelves. This section was divided into neat subsections, each with its own metal plaque. He approached the first one: "General Theory."
His eyes began to scan the titles, absorbing the information like a sponge.
"The Evolution of Magic: From Instinct to Will."
"A History of the Magic Schools."
"The Nature of Will and Its Influence on the World."
"How to Strengthen Your Mana Flow: A Guide to Meditation."
His gaze caught on several titles standing next to each other, forming a logical series.
"The Way of Water: A Guide to Hydromancy."
"How to Hear the Earth's Whisper: A Treatise on Geomancy."
"A Beginner Pyromancer's Handbook."
"The Breath of Winter: A Treatise on Cryomancy."
He paused for a moment. So, the classic elements. Water, earth, fire, air (or ice as its opposite). It was an understandable and expected structure. He moved on to the next subsection: "Higher and Anomalous Schools."
And here, the titles became stranger.
"The Art of Light and Shadow."
"Principles of Healing Magic."
"The Magic of Absorption: A Historical Analysis and Warning."
The book was old, its spine worn. It looked more like a historical document than a practical guide.
He walked on, absorbing the structure of the world. His gaze slid to the next plaque: "Theories and Scholarly Works."
Here the titles became more specific.
"The Theory of Emotional Resonance."
"Trauma as a Catalyst: A Study of Anomalous Mana Surges." Author: Magister Ellard.
And next to it, another book.
"The Theory of Mana: On the Nature of Soul Energy." Authors: Magister Ellard, Duke Valerius.
Caelan stopped, his gaze fixed on the second title. So that's what it was. Suddenly, it all made sense. This wasn't just a scholar's curiosity. It was their joint, long-term project. The Duke hadn't just found confirmation of a theory. He had found the key to his own work. And I am that key. The thought brought neither fear nor joy.
He moved on.
The next section was the largest. "Racial Magic." Dozens of volumes dedicated to each race.
"Why Elves Glow: A Treatise on the White Aura."
"The Legendary Artifacts of Elven Masters."
"The Celestial Heritage of Man."
"The Azure Limit: On the Pinnacle of Human Potential.".
"The Stone and Heart of the Dwarf."
"The Silver Sheen: The Magic of the Wolf-Folk."
"The Golden Flash: The Instincts of the Cat-Folk."
"The Racial Coloring of Mana: A Compendium."
He moved to the adjacent bookshelf with the plaque "Artificing."
"Preparing the Vessel: How to Infuse Your Will into Stone."
"The Enchantment of Steel: A Guide for Mage-Smiths."
"Why Stone Hears the Will: A Philosophy of Artificing."
"Grimoires and Artifact Tomes: The Art of Inscribing Will."
He was about to move on when his gaze caught on a book that stood out from the rest. It was in a simple, functional leather binding, and its title was embossed not in poetic cursive, but in stern, blocky letters.
"The Fundamentals of Runic Syntax."
Author: Baldrim Stonefist.
The name echoed in his mind, the same one the Duke had spoken with reverence.
The other S-rank. The one who conquered not just metal, but fire itself.