The sun rose weak and tired over the city's ruins, casting long shadows over broken concrete and flickering holograms still clinging to life. But inside the library's sanctuary, Aziel and Luma moved like ghosts between shelves and scattered papers, preparing for a future that seemed impossible to most.
"Why do we need to hide the books, Grandfather?" Luma asked, her voice barely above a whisper, like she feared the walls might overhear.
Aziel paused, kneeling beside a stack of cracked textbooks and fragile manuscripts. "Because, little one, knowledge is power. But power corrupts. The world outside feeds on control—information is twisted into chains. We need to protect truth in its purest form."
Luma nodded slowly, eyes scanning the words around her. "But people won't want to listen if it's all quiet. They want loud and fast, like the screens."
Aziel smiled, a flicker of both pride and sadness. "That's why we don't rush. The Quiet Flame isn't a blaze that burns the whole forest down at once. It's a single ember, small but steady, that grows by lighting one soul at a time."
He stood, lifting a dusty globe from a cracked pedestal. Spinning it slowly, he traced a finger over continents long scarred by war and greed. "In time, these embers will spread beyond these walls, beyond even our city. But first, we teach the roots—to grow deep before the branches reach for the sky."
A soft knock echoed at the library's heavy door. Aziel exchanged a glance with Luma—visitors were rare and often dangerous.
He moved cautiously, opening the door to reveal a tall woman with sharp eyes and a worn satchel slung over her shoulder. She bowed slightly. "I heard there's a place where the old ways still live."
Aziel studied her. "And you're willing to learn?"
The woman nodded. "I want to build a future without lies and violence. My name is Mara."
Luma's eyes sparkled with hope. "Then the Quiet Flame just got brighter."