The study room was quiet, filled only by the rustle of parchment and the distant whistle of wind pressing through the half-open window.
Afternoon light poured in, spilling across the desk where Altherion and Liesette sat. Ink stains and diagrams cluttered the wooden surface, most of them drawn by Altherion's steady hand circles, angles, flow lines, and arrows, all pointing toward an unspoken question.
Altherion tapped the end of his quill against the desk, deep in thought.
"Liesette," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
She looked up from the scroll she was translating. "Hmm?"
"When I spoke about using equations in spellcasting back in the forest, you didn't seem surprised."
"Well, yes," she said with a casual shrug. "Why would I be?"
"Because it was math. Ratios, energy flow, angles of force dispersion. I used acceleration values when adjusting that fire spell."
Liesette blinked, then smiled. "Altherion… most mages here do that."
"…What?"
She laughed lightly at his confusion. "Structured casting is the norm. They calculate output. Use measured runes. Apply principles from natural laws to build spells. It's how magic is taught in every academy across the major cities."
He leaned back, slightly stunned. "So you're saying structured magic, magic based on physics, chemistry, and math is the standard?"
"Absolutely. The stronger and more refined the mage, the more precise their casting is. Mana flows better when shaped by logic."
He furrowed his brow. "But then… why does it work that way?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, sitting forward, "why do spells obey the rules of gravity? Why does manipulating thermal mana require calculating heat transfer? Why do light spells behave like refracted particles when passing through water barriers?"
Liesette hesitated. "…That's just how it is."
"Right, but why? Who made it like that?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "That's not… that's not something I can answer."
"You know what gravity is, right?"
"Yes," she nodded. "It's the force that holds us to the ground. It's included in many spell matrices, especially those involving levitation or flight."
Altherion's eyes lit up. "So you know the effect, but not the cause."
Liesette tilted her head. "I know how it works in practice. They use formulas for weight, trajectory, arc length, and momentum when building aerial spells. But where gravity comes from? Why mana respects it? No idea. That's not my field."
"What is your field?"
"History," she said with a little pride. "I'm a trained historian. We study timelines, lost cultures, ancient languages not invisible forces."
"Then who studies them?"
She paused. "…I don't know? People accept that magic and science are connected here. No one questions why mana acts like a wave or a particle, or why combustion spells follow the same rules as fire in nature. They just do."
Altherion leaned back again, tapping his chin. "In the world I remember… people always asked 'why.' They built machines. Made theories. Tested them. Again and again."
Liesette watched him carefully. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I don't know," he said quietly. "I remember… pieces. I remember formulas. Reactions. How gases expand when heated. But not where I learned them. Not even my own name sometimes."
The silence after that was long.
Eventually, she said softly, "You may not remember who you are, but your mind is sharp. That's something to be proud of."
He smiled faintly. "Thanks."
She straightened and pointed at his notes. "Now, where were we?"
Altherion glanced down. "We were comparing spell efficiency based on energy loss through heat dissipation. My fire spell loses 12% of its mana as ambient warmth."
"Sounds inefficient."
"It is. That's why I wanted to insulate the cast using a vacuum buffer field."
Liesette blinked again. "Okay, now that sounds like nonsense."
He chuckled. "Basically, I trap the air inside a barrier, remove it using pressure runes, and create a no-air zone around the spell as it forms. No air, no heat loss."
She stared for a moment. "I'm going to pretend I understood that."
"You're the one who said everyone uses science magic."
"Yes, and historians study history, not science or magic."
"Well, at least I know I'm not the only one doing it."
Liesette crossed her arms. "You're not. Most mages in the capital cities are trained to use scientific principles in spellcasting. They study kinetic manipulation, quantum particle division, even mana lattice patterns, though they call those 'rune trees.'"
"So this whole world is built on invisible rules, just like… mine."
"Probably," Liesette said, smiling. "Though not everyone agrees on how much to use those rules."
"What do you mean?"
"There are two main types of mage," she began. "The first people like you, use formulas, logic, and patterns. They're structured. Precise. Reliable. That's what most academies train."
"And the second?"
"The wild ones," she said, her smile fading a little. "Those who channel magic through emotion, instinct, raw feeling. Their spells are powerful but chaotic. Hard to predict. Sometimes dangerous."
Altherion leaned forward. "How are they treated?"
"Like problems, some are born with magic but never learn control. Others reject structure on purpose. They're usually outcasts. Feared. Sometimes admired for raw strength but never trusted."
"And you? Which do you prefer?"
"I prefer spells that don't accidentally explode on my face, so yes. I'll take logic any day."
"I can respect that."
In the final light of the day, they returned to their books. Altherion, now more certain than ever, realized he had found something precious not just knowledge, but confirmation. Virevia obeyed laws, invisible but consistent. And that meant the world could be understood.
He just had to keep asking "why."
***
The third day of study began just like the others. The small study room inside the city library was quiet, dust swirling in the sunbeams pouring through narrow windows.
Scrolls were spread out across the table, along with thick books bound in brittle leather, and a scattering of notes in Liesette's sharp, elegant handwriting.
Altherion leaned closer to a page that displayed the swirling symbols of the Trilium script, some curved like vines, others angular and sharp like broken glass.
"This one again," he said, tapping the edge of a symbol with his finger. "You said two days ago that it meant 'sun.' But today, you called it 'eternal light.' Which one is it?"
Liesette paused for a heartbeat too long. "Both could be correct," she replied with a smile. "It depends on the context."
Altherion tilted his head. "What context?"
"Well… Trilium is very old. Its meanings shift depending on what symbols appear next to each other, the flow of the sentence, and sometimes even the intention of the writer."
He didn't say anything right away. His eyes moved to another scroll, comparing the shapes silently.
"You mentioned before that you learned this from your professor at the institute," he said after a moment. "Are there any reference books I can read? Something they wrote?"
"Oh... uh, most of what I learned was through oral teaching," she said quickly. Too quickly. "The field is… experimental. Much of the knowledge hasn't been written down yet."
Altherion didn't challenge her. He only nodded, though his gaze lingered a second longer than usual.
***
Later that afternoon, the two of them stepped out into the city square. The sky was painted gold by the lowering sun, and long shadows stretched across the cobblestones. Children ran laughing near the fountain, and shopkeepers shouted their last offers before closing.
"I saw something strange earlier," Altherion said casually as they walked.
"Oh?" Liesette looked over her shoulder.
"On the north gate. There was a mark looked like one of the Trilium characters. It wasn't carved into the stone, it was painted. Fresh."
She slowed just a little, just enough for him to notice. "That's odd," she said, smiling again. "Probably just some bored apprentice trying to look clever. Or an eccentric old man. We have plenty of those."
"Strange choice, though," he said, eyes on the cobblestones. "Using an ancient script most people can't read."
Liesette gave a light laugh. "Well, Virevia is full of mysteries. Maybe the city is trying to speak to you."
Altherion chuckled, though it was quiet. In truth, his thoughts were elsewhere. Over the past few days, he had noticed things. Small things. Slight changes in Liesette's explanations, the way she avoided specific details, the way her answers sometimes sounded rehearsed.
And yet… she had helped him. She had taught him more than anyone else. Thanks to her guidance, he could now recognize at least two dozen symbols of the Trilium script.
He couldn't read full sentences yet, not fluently but he could understand fragments. Enough to see that there was a pattern. Enough to believe that one day, maybe, he'd be able to read them completely.
He wasn't ready to doubt her. Not yet.
"You know," he said suddenly, "even if I still stumble over most of the script, I think I've made progress."
Liesette beamed at him. "You've improved faster than anyone I've ever met. You're starting to see the logic behind it."
"It's like math, there are variables. Rules. Sometimes it feels like I'm solving a puzzle more than learning a language."
"That's exactly how my professor described it!" she said quickly. "It's not just a language, it's a construct. A structure built by intention, not just words."
Altherion narrowed his eyes slightly. "Your professor said that?"
"Yes," she said, without hesitation. "He… he believed that Trilium was created to describe concepts beyond simple communication. Ideas. Laws of reality."
That part sounded plausible. In fact, it fascinated him. But still, something inside him stirred with quiet skepticism. It wasn't her enthusiasm that bothered him. It was the tiny cracks that had started to form between her words.
Still, he smiled at her. "Then I guess I've got a lot more puzzles to solve."
Liesette grinned and nodded, then suddenly pulled out a folded sheet from her satchel.
"And here's your next one. Try deciphering this phrase tonight. Let's see what you find."
Altherion took it and tucked it away.
He didn't know why, but this time, he would double-check her translation first.
***
The Main Library of Daltheria was a monument to quiet ambition. Its towering doors groaned with age as Altherion pushed them open, and the scent of dust, ink, and dried leaves immediately filled his lungs.
Warm afternoon light filtered through colored glass, staining the stone floor with hues of blue and crimson.
He stepped inside, alone this time.
Rows of shelves stood like ancient guardians, filled with leather-bound tomes, scrolls wrapped in twine, and strange diagrams pinned to corkboards. At the center of it all sat an elderly man behind a wide desk, hunched like a question mark, eyes narrowed at a half-eaten biscuit beside his tea.
The man looked up as Altherion approached, peering over his glasses with the suspicion of someone who'd seen too many scholars ask for too many dangerous things.
"Help you?" he croaked, not unkindly, just tired.
"I'm looking for records, anything related to the Trilium language. Or the Trium Alignment."
The man snorted softly. "You and every other fool in this city."
Altherion raised an eyebrow. "Popular topic?"
"Popular nonsense," the librarian muttered. He stood with a grunt, the chair creaking behind him. "Follow me."
He shuffled between aisles with surprising speed for someone his age, muttering things like "always the Alignment," and "no one reads poetry anymore," and "should've locked that section years ago."
Altherion followed quietly, eyes scanning the books as they passed. He noticed several volumes with black bands across their spines, restricted texts. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, as if knowledge itself had chilled the walls.
Finally, the librarian stopped at a crooked shelf near the back.
"There," he said, jabbing a bony finger toward three shelves lined with dusty books. "What we have on Trilium. And don't go blaming me if you end up mad in the head. That script's cursed, some say."
Altherion glanced at him. "You believe that?"
"I believe in books, boy. Not ghosts. But I've seen plenty of scholars leave with more questions than answers." The old man turned to go. "Don't stay too long. This wing makes strange noises after dark."
Altherion waited until the librarian disappeared behind the stacks before kneeling beside the bottom shelf.
He pulled out one book, then another. Most were written in Common, describing archaeological sites, ruins lost to time, or speculations from self-proclaimed experts. One scroll was a diary, its author claimed to have "heard whispers" from Trilium glyphs carved into stone.
Then he found it.
A worn codex, its title half-faded, The Breath Before the Alignment.
He flipped through the pages, heart quickening. Diagrams. Star maps. Fragments of Trilium symbols, half-translated. Some of them matched the symbols Liesette had shown him. But others, others were new.
One phrase repeated several times across different pages.
"Only the Marked may listen. Only the Chosen may speak."
Altherion frowned. He whispered the phrase aloud, then traced one of the glyphs with his finger.
It tingled. Slightly. Like a spark under the skin.
He blinked.
No… maybe it was his imagination. Or perhaps the dust was getting to him.
Still, something about this book felt real in a way Liesette's notes didn't. It wasn't better or worse, just different. Like looking at a mirror from a different angle.
He tucked the codex under his arm and walked back toward the front desk.
The librarian saw the book and narrowed his eyes. "That one again. People come here to find that book, then forget what they were looking for."
Altherion gave a faint smile. "I'll try to remember, then."
"Hmph. Good luck."
As he stepped out of the library into the fading afternoon light, Altherion glanced down at the book again. The phrase echoed in his mind.
Only the Chosen may speak.