The cafeteria within the school grounds was The academy's cafeteria was a shrine to sterility. Stark white walls, gleaming floor and harsh lights that gave everything the soft glow of a hospital ward. Tables and chairs were aligned with obsessive precision, like the room itself had OCD. It didn't feel like a place where people ate. It felt like a simulation of one.
And yet, the noise told a different story. Laughter, clinking cutlery, half-shouted conversations about training scores and spell theory. The air was thick with sound and youth and mild aggression, the usual student chaos, caged neatly in white walls.
Alaric strode in, his gaze sweeping the room before heading straight for the food counter. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man in a spotless apron and blue under-tunic, wearing the sort of warm, practiced smile that suggested he'd served more than a few moody teenagers in his time.
"What would you like, sir?" the attendant asked politely.
Alaric gave the menu a quick glance. "Rice, braised pork, and some vegetables. And a bowl of chicken vegetable soup."
The man nodded, jotting it down with practiced speed. "And for a drink?"
"Just water," Alaric replied evenly.
The attendant passed the slip behind him, and moments later, a tray was placed on the counter. The meal was simple but carefully plated, steamed rice beside slices of tender, braised pork, a colorful medley of vegetables, and a steaming bowl of soup that released a savory aroma. A glass of water completed the set.
Tray in hand, Alaric scanned the room. The cafeteria was packed, first-year students crowded nearly every table. Then his eyes settled on a mostly empty spot near the far end, occupied by a single familiar face, the same tired-looking boy he'd sat beside in class earlier.
The boy looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Plain brown clothes, black hair that hadn't seen a comb in a while, posture folded in like he was trying to disappear into his food. But even in his fatigue, his golden-brown eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity, a strange vitality at odds with the rest of his appearance.
Alaric approached the table and paused. "Is this seat taken?"
Startled, the boy looked up. Though his features remained worn, something flickered behind his eyes—surprise. He looked around a bit before he returned Alaric's gaze. A faint tremor passed through him as his face paled.
"Uh… no, it's free," he stammered, clearly nervous. "I-I was just about to leave anyway, so y-you can have it if you want."
Alaric raised an eyebrow at the boy's nervous stammer. He didn't need to ask why. The rumors had done their rounds. Word of the fight had spread faster than truth ever could. He was the new cautionary tale, apparently.
Still, it could've been worse.
Alaric let out a small sigh and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Just finish your food. I'm not here to start anything."
The boy eased visibly eased if only a little, though he still held his fork like a potential weapon.
Alaric wanted almost let out a light chuckle but stuffed food in his mouth not to intimate the kid anymore. He had no interest in throwing hands for ego's sake. Not when there were bigger things worth his energy.
He sat across from the boy, picked up his spoon, and dug in.
Throughout the whole meal, Alaric didn't bother saying anything else and enjoyed his meal, the boy on the other hand looked like he had constipation, he only started eating again just to pretend he was at ease.
But Alaric ignored it.
Once the meal was gone, he rose without fanfare, and paused only to glance once more at the boy.
"Well. See you around," he said, tone casual, almost offhand.
The boy blinked, surprised by the civility. He didn't respond, but Alaric was already leaving.
He stepped out into the light, tray already forgotten. The rest of the day awaited.
********
The academy's library was hard to miss.
Two spires pierced the skyline like spears, flanking a building that stretched on for what felt like forever. At its center loomed the Great Clock, a massive obsidian disc embedded high into the central tower, ticking soundlessly above the campus like a god's eye. It gave the entire structure a dreamlike quality, as if time itself was stitched into its bricks.
Alaric entered through wide arched doors, stepping into a silence that hit like a wall.
Marble stretched beneath his boots, cool and polished to a fault. Thick, towering pillars rose like silent sentinels, and the walls were swallowed by shelves stacked so high they seemed to blur into the upper floors.
The library was mostly empty. Understandable, it was the first official day of the school year. Not many students felt the urge to bury themselves in books before they'd even unpacked. A few older scholars dotted the space, heads bowed over thick tomes, their pens scratching away in concentrated rhythm. Lecturers, probably.
Alaric walked with purpose to the nearest help desk, where a clerk sat absorbed in a book. The man's lips were curled in a soft smile, glasses low on his nose, lost in whatever fictional world he'd wandered into.
Alaric cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," he said, keeping it polite but firm. "Where can I find history and geographical records?"
The man blinked up at him like he was waking from a nap. He adjusted his glasses, startled.
"Ah! Yes, second floor," the clerk said, scrambling to set his book aside. "I'll have someone take you. Gene!"
A A younger assistant shelving books nearby looked over. He had a pen tucked behind one ear and a smudge of ink on his sleeve.
"Mind showing him to the archives?"
"Sure thing," Gene said, already heading over.
Alaric nodded his thanks and followed him through the maze of towering shelves. The sound of their footsteps softened as the marble gave way to carpet, and soon they reached the wide stairwell curling upward.
About halfway up, Gene glanced over. "You a first-year?"
Alaric didn't respond right away. He was still deciding if the question deserved an answer.
Gene took the pause in stride. "Just figured. You've got that 'I'm pretending I'm not lost' look."
Alaric smirked faintly. "I'm not lost."
"Fair enough. Still rare, though," Gene said, waving a hand at the surrounding shelves. "Most new students are down at the combat rings or blowing something up in alchemy labs. You're the first one to ask about maps and dead people."
"Both tend to be important," Alaric replied.
Gene chuckled. "You'd get along with Master Jovan. He thinks the world's ending every time someone misquotes a date."
They reached the second floor landing.
"History's on the left wing, geography on the right. Archives are at the back."
Alaric gave a small nod. "Thanks."
"Hope you find whatever you're looking for. If you run into any trouble, there's always someone nearby who can help. See ya."
Gene offered one last smile before turning around and returning to his duties.
Now alone, Alaric made his way toward the archives section, a vast area packed tightly with towering shelves, overflowing with books, scrolls, and dust-worn tomes.
Like the rest of the library, the space was immaculately maintained, quiet and still. Yet something about it felt... off. Not in appearance, but in presence. As though the room hadn't been visited in ages. It felt dead, in a way that unnerved him more than silence usually did.
"Well, this is it, I guess," he muttered to himself.
Without wasting time, he began scanning the shelves, pulling out books that caught his eye and matched the vague categories he had in mind. Geography, history, politics, anything that could paint a clearer picture of where he truly was.
He set the chosen volumes down at a nearby table and began flipping through them, skimming pages, absorbing information at a brisk pace.
The reason for this sudden need?
As absurd as it might sound, he still knew very little about the region, only broad strokes from inherited memories. General outlines, yes. But nothing truly critical. And the realization had begun to gnaw at him. It didn't sit right, living in a place and being so unaware of its deeper truths.
But it wasn't entirely his fault.
This world was too vast, too layered, for anyone to grasp in full. Most people only knew what they needed: the cities they lived in, the powers that governed them, and maybe a few regional threats or alliances. Everything else? Out of sight, out of mind.
Even Etherists, beings capable of feats far beyond ordinary humans, rarely traveled the breadth of continents. The world was fragmented, not by land or sea, but by the sheer difficulty of crossing cultural, political, and especially so, mystical boundaries.
Alaric was no exception.
'But Thanks to Luther's almost useless memories,' he thought, 'I already know I'm in the Marlowe Empire, located on the continent of Zandros.' which was one of the five continents that make up this world.
But that wasn't enough.
He needed more. Maps, borders, cultures. The distribution of power. The nations that neighbored Marlowe. The subtle tensions that history didn't always say outright.
So, he did what he had to, he read.
Time slipped away. Minutes turned into hours. But piece by piece, the fog lifted.
Soon, Alaric had built a mental framework of the continent's layout, its surrounding powers, the key figures who shaped it, and the unspoken currents of culture and history that tied it all together.
He'd spent nearly two hours in silence, buried in dusty records and outdated maps.
Not exactly thrilling. But now, at least, he knew where he stood.
And that was a start.