As I fixed the shelves, carefully aligning ancient spines that hummed softly with dormant magic, the library was unusually quiet. The air smelled of dust and old parchment, a scent I had long grown fond of. I was just returning a volume on astral cartography when hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"Miss Thor," Victoria called, slightly out of breath as she pushed open the door to my section. She adjusted her robes and bowed quickly. "Someone is requesting to see you."
I lifted my gaze from the shelf, sliding my glasses higher up my nose. "Very well," I said gently, already sensing a disturbance in the threads of fate. "I will meet them."
Victoria stepped aside as I made my way toward the entrance hall. There, standing just beyond the archway of living stone, were two figures—a mother and her son.
They were dressed in commoners' clothes: simple linen garments, clean but worn, as though carefully mended many times. The mother stood straight despite the tension evident in her shoulders, her hands clasped protectively around her son's. The boy looked no older than eight or nine, thin and quiet, his dark eyes darting around the vast hall as if trying to take everything in at once.
I stepped forward and inclined my head politely.
"Greetings, madam," I said. "How may I be of help to you today?"
The woman hesitated, then bowed deeply, far more than was necessary. "It is nothing much, oh great Miss Thor," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "My son wished to see you… and this place. If you would allow him to enter, it would be a great honor to us."
I smiled softly. "Anyone is free to come here."
Relief washed over her face. I gestured toward the inner halls and knelt slightly, so I was level with the boy.
"Would you like to see the library?" I asked.
He nodded quickly.
I offered him the way, and he stepped forward with cautious excitement. Victoria gently guided the mother toward the sitting area near the fountains, offering her tea and reassurance as I accompanied the child deeper inside.
As we walked, the boy's awe became impossible to miss. His eyes widened at the towering shelves that stretched endlessly upward, books rearranging themselves quietly as we passed. He ran his fingers lightly along the spines, as if listening to them whisper back.
Then, suddenly, he broke away.
"Ah—" I began but stopped when I saw where he was headed.
The Sealed Books Section.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. Curiosity always found its way there first. "Be careful," I called after him, though I did not stop him. Many children wandered close, yet none could ever truly open those texts.
I allowed him some time to explore, attending briefly to a few wandering apprentices. But when I returned to check on him, my steps slowed.
There he was.
Sitting on the cold marble floor, legs folded beneath him, a thick sealed tome open in his lap. The faint glow of binding runes shimmered dimly, subdued as if willingly allowing themselves to be read.
My breath caught.
I approached quietly and sat beside him. The symbols on the page were unfamiliar even to me—ancient, layered, written in a language not meant for mortal tongues.
"Do you understand those words?" I asked gently.
He nodded, not lifting his eyes from the page. "Yes."
Something tightened in my chest.
I studied him more closely—the way the runes did not resist him, the calm expression on his face. This was no accident. The more I observed the boy, the more certain I became there was something profoundly different about him.
I looked up just in time to see the mother scanning the hall anxiously, her worry deepening by the second. I rose and approached her.
"He is safe," I assured her softly.
Her shoulders sagged in relief, but her eyes lingered on her son, filled with fear rather than comfort.
"You worry too much," I said gently. "Why is that?"
She hesitated, then spoke in a hushed voice. "The town believes he is cursed. And those with power… they say he is special."
I followed her gaze. Indeed, several junior and senior librarians watched the boy from afar, their expressions tight with unease. Some whispered. Others avoided looking at him altogether.
Yet to me, something felt wrong—not about the boy, but about the fear surrounding him.
"I only want my son to have a good life," the woman continued. "That is why I brought him here today. It is his birthday."
"His birthday?" I echoed.
She nodded. "It falls on the same day as… someone's death."
Understanding began to settle into place like pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle. I excused the mother gently and promised to return her son shortly.
When I sat beside him again, I waited a moment before speaking.
"Elias," I said.
He looked up sharply. "Yes? Wait—how do you know my name?"
I smiled, my suspicions now nearly confirmed.
"Elias," I asked softly, "how can you read those books?"
He looked down at the page again, his fingers tightening slightly. "I don't know. I just… can. They tell me things. Some say I am cursed. Others praise me. Some wanted to take me away from my mother."
His voice trembled.
I placed a hand on his back, steady and warm. "It is all right," I said firmly. "You are safe here."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, searching my face for truth.
"In this library," I continued, "everyone is different. We are filled with unknowns, with stories from the past, the present, and even the future. Difference is not a curse, Elias. It is a beginning."
The runes on the page faded softly, the book closing itself as if satisfied.
And in that moment, I knew—the library had found someone it had been waiting for. The original owner of the old runes from their past life, Elias.