The restricted section of the Academy library wasn't a room; it was a vertical shaft that went deep into the bedrock. Kael didn't use the stairs. He let himself drop, his weight accelerating him toward the dark floor below. He landed with a soft thud that didn't even stir the dust.
The Crow hopped off his shoulder, its eyes glowing in the dark. "Here," it rasped, pointing a wing toward a wall of black basalt. "The School of Internal Alchemy. They were the only ones who understood that a house is only as good as its foundation."
Kael touched the basalt. It wasn't paper or parchment. It was a physical record, etched into the stone by a master of the First Era. He didn't read the words; he felt the intent behind the carvings. The Noah Legacy was mentioned here—not as a power, but as a bridge.
"The Great Emperors didn't just have power," Kael whispered. "They had harmony. They built their bodies to be the anchor for the heavens."
"And the 'Kings' upstairs are trying to fly without wings," the Crow added. "They find a scrap of Noah's work and call it a 'Style.' They don't realize that without the physical density to hold it, the spirit fire will just burn them from the inside out."
Kael traced the outline of a diagram. It showed a body becoming a conduit, a structure capable of holding the "Heavy" energy of the Third Revival. He realized his sixteen years on the river hadn't just been survival—it had been preparation. He wasn't just a fisherman anymore. He was the only vessel in the Academy strong enough to hold the wine of the Gods.