Albion sat down directly on the dusty floor, holding the thick, heavy book firmly in his hands.
For a brief moment, he stared at the cover. He could just open it and read the pages normally. It would take longer, but it wouldn't hurt. The sharp throbbing behind his eyes would eventually fade, and he wouldn't have to feel the freezing cold of his magic.
But he immediately dismissed the thought.
'I don't have time for the easy way,' he thought, his gaze flat and focused. 'If I let a simple headache stop me, I can't call myself a king.'
He needed that absolute, rigid mental discipline. If he couldn't even handle a headache, he would never be strong enough to keep the other king—the dark entity locked in his mind—inside its cage.
Albion reached out his hand, wrapping his fingers around the single pale blue thread rising from the book's spine. Instantly, the cold, suffocating rush forced its way into his mind.
It felt like being held underwater. It was deeply uncomfortable, but he didn't pull away. He sat perfectly still, letting the information pour into his consciousness until the connection finally snapped shut.
He let go of the thread, groaning softly as he ran his fingers through his soft black hair. He closed his eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths to steady his stomach. Unlike Gajeel or the other loud, hot-blooded wizards in the guildhall, Albion didn't react with anger or loud complaints. He simply sat in the quiet, waiting for the pain to pass.
Once his breathing evened out, the newly acquired knowledge settled cleanly into his thoughts.
'Magical beasts,' he analyzed. 'They are different from ordinary animals. They are living creatures that evolved in places where the magic in the air is especially thick. Over many generations, their bodies adapted to it. They don't have to learn magic. It is simply a part of who they are.'
As he sorted through the information, a vivid memory from his infancy resurfaced. He remembered the damp, heavy smell of the Elder Woods.
He had been a mere baby, staring out from a barrier as the woman he called Mother fought off a swarm of monsters. Back then, he hadn't understood what he was looking at. He had just watched the flashing lights and the strange shapes in silent, childish confusion.
Now, the book gave those memories a name.
'Most wizards use spells,' Albion thought, comparing the concepts. 'Spells are fixed formulas. They are like rules used to shape magic power into a specific form—a fireball, a wall, a blade. But Ethernal Manipulation is different. It is not a spell. It is pure control. The ability to shape raw magic freely, changing its form and density in a single moment.'
He remembered a wood-like monster in his memory, pulling raw, glowing energy from the air and shaping it into blunt weapons to attack his mother.
'For a human, that is incredibly difficult,' he realized. 'Every movement of raw magic has to be guided with perfect precision. If you make one small mistake, the flow collapses. But the beasts do not have that problem. Their bodies move the magic naturally, like breathing. They do not need formulas or incantations. They simply want the magic to move, and it obeys.'
He looked down at his own small hands.
'Wizards have to learn to control magic. Magical beasts are born knowing how.'
With the quiet settled back over the room, Albion looked down at the heavy book in his hands.
"...Since I am alone, now is a suitable time to name my magic," he murmured to himself.
He fell silent, his finger tapping his cheek in a slow, rhythmic motion as he thought. "It revolves around information. Understanding. Learning."
He raised an eyebrow, the concept feeling too simple.
"Learning Magic? No. That is too plain."
He paused, testing other words in his head before shaking his head.
"Knowledge Magic? No... that is dull."
His fuchsia eyes drifted toward the high ceiling, watching the dust motes drift through the faint light. He searched for a word that fit the structure of his power.
"Codex..."
The word felt right. A codex was a collection of knowledge. A permanent record of information. Something meant to be opened and understood.
The corners of his lips curved upward ever so slightly.
"...I like that." He gave a small, decisive nod. "It is settled. From this day onward... I will call it Codex Magic."
Standing up, Albion placed the thick book on the stone floor. He reached out with his mind, grasping its pale blue Information Thread, and pulled upward. The book rose off the ground, but it didn't float smoothly. It wobbled in midair, shaking unsteadily.
"Did the weight change?" Albion observed, his eyes narrowing at the trembling book. "No. My mind is simply tired."
With a quiet sigh, he let go of the thread. The book fell back to the stone floor with a heavy, echoing thud. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, turning away as he began to make his way out of the library.
As his small feet clicked against the floorboards, Albion found himself thinking about when he had first arrived here. Specifically, when Gajeel had carried him into this library.
It felt as though a lifetime had passed since then. He had grown. He had changed. He had been forced to mature far too quickly, but for the first time in his life, he also felt... free.
Unshackled from the sterile white walls of the laboratory.
An almost sad, quiet smile spread across his face. For once, he didn't try to suppress the emotion or hide it away. In the dim, warm light of the dusty archives, the rare expression made his pale, otherworldly features look strikingly soft.
Then, the warmth vanished. A low, familiar voice echoed from the dark corners of his mind.
"So… what will you do now, King?"
Albion did not turn around. He kept his focus forward, his mental hands steady.
"You shouldn't be here," Albion said, his voice flat. "The inner world has rules. You are supposed to be locked away."
A quiet, dry chuckle brushed against his neck.
"I am inside your mind, yes," Amon replied. His tone was smooth, devoid of the desperate malice he used to carry. "But there are no rules that say one king cannot speak to another."
Albion remained still.
"You asked what I will do. It is simple. I will keep moving. I will never let you have this seat. If you try, I will consume you."
He looked down at his small hands, his thoughts cold and unshakeable. "No one controls me. Anyone who tries will receive no mercy."
"Do you have the resolve to back those words?" Amon asked.
"Yes."
A quiet laugh escaped Amon's stitched mouth. It was almost appreciative.
"You have grown," Amon murmured. "You surpassed my expectations today. But do not become complacent. This is merely the starting point. I still intend to take your place. That will never change."
"Be quiet," Albion said. He didn't raise his voice; he simply let it turn freezing cold. "I do not need you to tell me things I already know. To get stronger, I have to go where the conflict is."
He stood up tall within his own mind, his quiet arrogance flaring like a silent fire. He was five years old, but his soul belonged to him and him alone.
"To decide my own fate, everyone else must fall," Albion whispered. "Reiga. Yang. Even you, Amon. Prepare yourselves. I am not turning back."
Amon smiled, the darkness in the corner of Albion's mind shifting like a shadow.
"The curse of humanity…" Amon murmured, his voice fading back into the deep. "Your wish is our command. Train well, King. As you grow, so do I. In the end, all of this power will be mine anyway."
The cold presence faded back into the dark recess of his mind, leaving Albion alone once again. The heavy silence of the library returned, but the quiet peace he had enjoyed moments before was entirely gone.
Without looking back, Albion walked toward the heavy wooden doors of the archives. He pushed them open and stepped out into the stone corridor, leaving the quiet library behind as the distant, violent vibrations of Gajeel and Damian's battle began to rumble through the floor beneath his feet once more.