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Ten years at the Sixth Circle.
Ten years of meditation, refinement, and endless analysis of spell structures. Ten years of feeling the Seventh Circle looming like a door just slightly out of reach.
It gnawed at Velgrin.
Not because he lacked discipline. Not because he feared the cost. He had already given everything. He had killed for it, bled for it, outlived everyone who might have stood beside him in pursuit of it.
And still, the Circle denied him.
He could feel the boundary in his dreams. Sometimes when he cast, the world trembled as if it wanted to answer but never did. He stood at the threshold of true magihood, and the door simply would not open.
Perhaps it never would.
Velgrin sighed and straightened the cuffs of his robe. He walked to his office door, brushing invisible dust from the handle. Another lecture awaited. Another round of blank stares and half-melted practice desks. Another day pretending to be content with shaping young minds when all he wanted was to fracture reality itself.
He opened the door.
And stepped into something else entirely.
He didn't notice at first. The sensation was so subtle that his mind filled in the expected hallway for a moment. He took a step forward, then another.
Then he stopped.
The air felt wrong.
He turned his head.
A vast hall stretched endlessly ahead, lined with dark wood and burnished gold. Towering shelves loomed above, stacked with books of every shape and color. Some were leather, some stone, others bound in metallic chains that clicked faintly when nothing moved.
Velgrin's mouth went dry.
There was no doorway behind him. Only shadow.
The stone beneath his boots wasn't the grey tile of Henderson Academy. This was smooth and mirrored, shimmering with faint star patterns like he stood on a still ocean of night sky.
Magic pulsed in the air, but it wasn't mana. It like a Law. It was older. Older than any Circle. Older than spellcraft itself.
This place was stitched together with something primal.
Then he heard the voice.
"Welcome to the Library of Noctis."
Velgrin turned.
The man who greeted him stood relaxed, holding a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. He wore a black coat and plain boots, and had the unassuming look of someone who spent far too much time indoors.
There was no aura. No pressure.
But Velgrin felt as if the universe itself bent around the man's presence.
Every instinct screamed.
This man was something beyond mages.
Velgrin dropped his gaze. Fear, sharp and the feeling of unfamiliar, rooted itself in his gut.
"I..." His voice caught. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to intrude."
The Librarian smiled faintly. "You didn't. The Library let you in."
"That's not possible. I didn't cast anything. I just opened a door."
"And the Library opened one back. It chooses who enters."
Velgrin swallowed. "I see."
He adjusted his robes, hands steady by force of will alone. He had once burned an entire warfleet from the sky with a single spell. But here, he felt like a child holding a candle in front of the sun.
The Librarian stepped forward.
Velgrin instinctively lowered his gaze and bowed slightly. The gesture surprised even him, but it felt necessary.
"You said this is the Library of Noctis. May I ask your name?"
"You may, but I doubt it would help. I am Levi the Librarian. That's enough."
"Yes. Of course."
He forced himself to stop trembling.
The Librarian raised his cup and took another sip. "You're the patron, so I should explain how this works."
Velgrin straightened slowly. "Patron?"
"Yes. You've been brought here because the Library determined that your soul carries a hunger. You seek something."
"I seek the Seventh Circle." The words came out barely above a whisper.
"I've slaughtered friends. Betrayed masters. Given my sanity to cursed tomes that laughed while they devoured it. I've burned every bridge behind me. There's nothing left."
He raised his head, something desperate gleaming in his eyes.
"Take what's left of me. My body. My soul. My name. I'll give it all. Just show me the path."
Levi watched in silence. The shadows in the Library stirred.
After a long pause, he spoke. "Desperation is common here. But true sacrifice..."
He leaned forward slightly.
"The Library will offer it. But it's not free."
"I understand," Velgrin said immediately, his voice too fast. "What do you need?"
"Three things. First, you follow the rules."
Velgrin listened.
One: no taking books out of the Library.
Two: no fighting in the Library.
Three: no damaging the books.
Velgrin nodded. "Of course."
"Second, you answer my questions honestly. Every patron gets a book tailored to their nature and what they seek. That requires understanding."
Velgrin bowed again. "Then I'll be honest."
"Third, you pay. Gold, mana, soul fragments, whatever you have. The Library will convert it."
Velgrin hesitated only a moment. "Understood."
The Librarian's gaze held him. Then he spoke quietly.
"Tell me, Velgrin of the Spiral Order. What kind of man are you?"
Velgrin froze. It was a simple question, but something in the way the Librarian asked it made it feel final. As if his answer would be written into the shelves around him, carved into spines and pages, remembered forever.
"I..." Velgrin inhaled deeply. "My name is Velgrin. Archwizard of the Spiral Order. Sixth Circle Pyromancer. Former Commander of the Flame Artillery Division of Elther's Royal Army. I'm a man of discipline. Logic. I seek truth through fire and structure. I don't want power for vanity. I pursue it because the world is built on those who shape it. I want to understand what lies beyond the Sixth Circle. I want to break through."
The Librarian said nothing.
Velgrin added quickly, "I've never hesitated to sacrifice. Not lives. Not limbs. Not even my soul if it came to that. I've burned cities to protect the greater realm. I'd do it again."
Silence.
Then: "I see."
The Librarian set his tea down on a floating end table that hadn't existed a moment ago.
"Now, let's find your book."
.
.
.
This guy is completely insane.
Levi kept his face blank as he led Velgrin up the curving marble stairwell toward the seventh floor. His long black coat swept behind him, the kind of formal wear that suggested he knew what he was doing.
He had chosen it specifically. First impressions mattered. And the moment the Library connected to the outer realms and dragged in its first patron, Levi had one thought: look like you belong.
Even if you have absolutely no idea what you're doing.
Velgrin followed behind him like a priest in a temple, every footstep careful, every breath measured. He hadn't said a word since they left the foyer.
Which would've been comforting if Levi weren't sure the man was calculating forty seven ways to destroy the entire Library if this turned out to be a trap.
Why is this guy so intense? Who walks into a pocket dimension and reacts with polite reverence?
Oh right. Powerful wizards who think I'm some kind of god.
Velgrin had introduced himself with enough titles to fill a resume: Archwizard of the Spiral Order, Sixth Circle Pyromancer, Former Commander of the Flame Artillery Division.
That all sounded impressive.
But it was the way the man looked at him, with a mix of worship and terror, that made things so much worse.
He thinks I'm a god.
Levi's palms were sweating under his gloves.
What the hell am I supposed to give him? These are novels. Actual novels. Like, paperback "I have a farmer system" kind of novels.
They reached the top of the stairs. A wide landing stretched into another endless corridor of shelves. Here, the air was warmer. The smell of smoke and paper mixed together, as if the books themselves had once been near flame.
This section had always been Levi's favorite. Stories he'd read during his first few years in the Library. Tales of fire wielding warriors, passionate martial artists, monks who used exploding soup to defeat demons.
He scanned the shelves, trying to calm himself.
Okay. Fire mage. Obsessed with power. Clearly unhinged. He wants to push into some kind of god tier magic. Just give him something inspirational. Something fiery. Maybe he'll think it's symbolic and leave happy.
Levi's fingers stopped on a book.
A thick, well worn hardcover. The cover showed a painted illustration of a young man in flowing robes, holding a small flame over a humble cooking pot. The title, written in bold calligraphy, read:
Cultivating the Immortal: Start by Lighting a Fire to Cook Rice
Levi had read it. It was charming. The protagonist slowly ascended to demigodhood using nothing but discipline, basic kitchen tools, and setting things on fire while making soup.
Perfect.
Levi reached toward the shelf. His fingers paused over a few spines, then selected the volume. He turned, holding it out carefully.
Velgrin's breath stopped.
The book burned.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
The cover writhed with heat like flowing lava. The leather bubbled and pulsed with molten veins. Ancient glyphs carved themselves across the surface, glowing ember and blood-red.
The title burned itself into Velgrin's mind:
Law of Flame: Might of the Lord of the Fire Giants, Surtr
His knees hit the floor.
He's giving this to me? To me?
He looked up, trembling.
The Librarian said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice steady.
"This one suits you."
Restraint. Intention. Control over the fire within.
Velgrin carefully reached out. The heat didn't scorch. It tested. He felt his magic recoil, then align. Like the book acknowledged his right to hold it.
He didn't dare speak.
The Librarian continued, his voice low.
"Many rush toward flame for destruction. But the wiser ones know it's a tool. Precision. Warmth. Even creation."
The flame that forges is greater than the flame that consumes.
Velgrin accepted the book into both hands, bowing his head. His entire body hummed with power he could barely comprehend. He could hear it, a faint, distant chant made of burning syllables.
The Librarian tilted his head slightly.
"You'll find the lessons deeper than they seem at first. Pay attention to the rhythm. It's subtle."
Rhythm. The pulsing of lava beneath the skin of the world. The Law is encoded in the structure itself.
"There's a reading alcove down the hall. Take your time. The Library doesn't rush."
Never in a hurry. Time obeys him here.
Velgrin bowed lower, arms trembling, then slowly rose, clutching the tome against his chest.
He walked to the alcove.
The moment he sat and opened the book, it came alive.
Pages ignited softly without being consumed. Lines of text rearranged themselves, reshaping into flame-glyphs older than language. A low, volcanic chant poured from the spaces between the letters. Velgrin could barely breathe.
This is no text. This is a living fragment of Surtr's Will. How long has he guarded this?
He turned a page.
The flame thickened. It didn't burn his hands, but his soul felt it. Each word tested him, weighed him, asked silently: Are you prepared to sacrifice everything?
.
.
.
Across the hall, Levi let out a breath and brushed off his coat sleeves.
Did he just drop to his knees? Over a book about spiritual cooking?
Luna padded up to him and sat at his feet, tilting her head.
Levi muttered under his breath, "I didn't even tell him the title. He just stared at the cover like it was talking to him."
"Meow."
He stared blankly ahead.
Either this guy is having a magical hallucination, or the Library is messing with me. Or I just gave a pyromaniac a religious experience by accident.
He rubbed his forehead. "I mean, it's a good book. I liked the soup chapter. But it's not a sacred relic."
Luna flicked her tail against his ankle.
What if he's actually seeing something I'm not? What if the Library changes the books? Did he just have a breakthrough from reading about rice?
Levi glanced back toward the alcove. Velgrin sat perfectly still, eyes wide, hands shaking as he turned another page. Tears streaked down the old man's face.
He's crying. He's actually crying over a cooking novel.
Luna meowed again, softer.
Levi sighed and leaned against the nearest shelf. "You know what? I'm not going to question it. If a story about making soup can give a war criminal an emotional breakthrough, who am I to judge?"
He looked down at Luna. "Think he'll be okay?"
"Meow."
"Yeah. Probably."
Levi straightened his coat and walked quietly back toward the main desk, leaving Velgrin alone.
Behind him, the old wizard wept, clutching a book that promised him everything he'd ever wanted.
And for the first time in ten years, Velgrin felt hope.