The Aethergard Library was older than the academy itself — or so the rumors said.
Built into the heart of the castle, it spiraled downward in endless tiers, the shelves carved into the very bones of the mountain.
By day it was a place of study.
By night, it was a labyrinth of whispers.
Precious Wolfë had learned this quickly: here, silence didn't mean peace — it meant secrets being quietly rearranged.
It was late afternoon, rain brushing the glass dome high above, turning the sunlight to silver haze. Precious sat curled in an alcove between two towering shelves, her books scattered around her — philosophy, history, the ethics of manipulation.
Her grey eyes traced the same line over and over, but her mind kept drifting — to last night's Symposium, to Akira's calm defiance, to Arthur's charm that hid sharpness beneath it.
Danielle's voice cut through her thoughts.
"You've been staring at that page for ten minutes."
Precious looked up, startled. Danielle leaned against the doorway, holding two mugs of cocoa. She wore a yellow cardigan that clashed gloriously with her green headband.
"Research," Precious muttered.
"Lying," Danielle countered, handing her one mug. "You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The Akira Kurosawa made eye contact with me for too long and now I'm emotionally unstable face."
Precious groaned, hiding behind her book. "I hate you."
Danielle laughed, settling beside her. "No, you don't. But you are in trouble."
Before Precious could answer, a shadow passed between the shelves.
It wasn't Akira — not yet.
It was Eliot Vance, a quiet second-year from History House, pale-skinned with freckles and ink-stained fingers. He nodded politely as he passed, arms full of scrolls. Behind him trailed Lian Zhang, a Science House prodigy from Beijing with wire-rimmed glasses and a permanent expression of exhaustion.
They were followed by Amira al-Fayeed, an Innovation student from Cairo with copper hair and olive skin, her laughter soft but commanding.
"Philosophy girls hiding in corners again?" she teased. "You'll catch dust poisoning."
Danielle shot back, "We're allergic to pretension. You'd know if you visited."
Amira smirked. "I'd visit, but your house doesn't have coffee machines."
From across the room, a deep voice called, "Amira, stop bullying the introverts."
It was Tobias Clarke, a history major from London, tall and ginger-haired, carrying three books and the kind of polite awkwardness that made him oddly endearing.
Behind him trailed Marcela Vega, a fiery Innovation House artist from São Paulo, her earrings shaped like miniature suns. "Don't mind them," she said to Precious, winking. "They only pick on people who intimidate them."
Precious smiled faintly. "Then I should be flattered."
"Oh, you should," Marcela replied, flouncing away.
When the others disappeared into the maze of books, Danielle nudged her. "See? You're practically a celebrity now."
"I didn't ask for that."
"No one does," Danielle said softly. "It's what you do with it that counts."
---
Hours passed. The rain deepened, drumming softly on the high glass dome. Danielle eventually left to meet Amira for dinner. Precious stayed behind, chasing clarity that refused to come.
She was halfway through a chapter on Socratic intent when she heard footsteps again — softer this time, deliberate.
She turned.
Akira Kurosawa stood at the end of the aisle, her black hair gleaming even in the dim light, her uniform neat as if she'd stepped out of a portrait. Her brown eyes, warm and cold all at once, found Precious instantly.
"I thought I'd find you here," Akira said quietly.
Precious blinked. "Am I that predictable?"
"No. Just logical. You think when others hide."
Akira stepped closer, setting down a small stack of papers. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. Arthur doesn't know when to stop, and I—" She hesitated, the composure cracking just slightly. "I should have intervened sooner."
"You didn't have to," Precious said softly.
"I wanted to."
Silence. Only the soft whisper of rain above them.
Precious gestured to the empty seat across from her. "Do you… want to sit?"
Akira hesitated, then nodded. She moved with quiet grace, her presence filling the space like a drawn breath.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The flickering lamps painted her face in gold and shadow, softening her porcelain features. Her eyes — warm brown, not cold — reflected the candlelight like liquid earth.
Finally, Precious said, "Why do you and Arthur hate each other so much?"
Akira's mouth curved, but there was no amusement in it. "Because we're the same. And neither of us can stand it."
"That's not all," Precious pressed gently.
Akira's gaze lifted, locking onto hers. "He manipulates for pleasure. I manipulate for necessity. He lies to win. I calculate to survive. It's a difference of ethics, not strategy."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is."
The honesty of it startled Precious — so simple, so bare.
They sat in silence again, the air humming with something unnamed. Precious studied her — the line of her jaw, the way her hands rested perfectly still on the table, the faint crease between her brows that only appeared when she thought too hard.
Akira looked up suddenly. "What?"
"You think beautifully," Precious said, before she could stop herself.
For the first time since they'd met, Akira looked genuinely flustered. "That's… an odd compliment."
"It's the truth."
Akira laughed softly, shaking her head. "You really don't play by any rules, do you?"
"Maybe I just haven't learned yours yet."
Their eyes met — grey and brown, cool stone and warm earth. The library seemed to shrink around them, every sound fading until there was only breath and the soft pulse of rain.
Then, faintly, from deeper in the stacks, came the creak of a floorboard.
They turned.
Arthur Conan leaned casually against a nearby shelf, a single eyebrow raised. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Well," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "Isn't this cozy?"
Akira's expression hardened instantly, the warmth vanishing like a flame snuffed by wind. "Eavesdropping suits you as little as subtlety, Arthur."
Arthur stepped forward, all lazy confidence. "Relax, I was only looking for a book. Didn't realize I'd find such… compelling company."
Precious stood slowly. "What do you want?"
Arthur's smile widened. "To talk. With you, not at you. Maybe outside? Fresh air does wonders for clarity."
Akira moved subtly between them. "She's busy."
Arthur's eyes glinted. "Funny, I didn't ask you."
The air between them crackled, tension thick enough to taste. Precious could feel it — the rivalry, the pride, the danger of being caught between two storms.
"I'll decide who I talk to," she said quietly.
Arthur studied her, surprised — then his grin softened into something almost genuine. "Fair enough. Another time, then."
He turned and vanished down the hall, his footsteps echoing faintly.
When he was gone, Akira exhaled. "He doesn't like losing."
"Neither do you," Precious murmured.
Akira looked at her then — really looked, as if seeing something she hadn't before. "No," she said softly. "But you… you make losing sound almost tolerable."
Precious's breath caught. "Akira…"
But before she could finish, the library's clock struck seven, the sound reverberating through the marble walls. Akira rose, collecting her papers.
"I should go," she said. "The Symposium council meets soon."
She paused at the doorway, her silhouette haloed by the lamplight. "Goodnight, Precious."
And then she was gone — leaving behind only the echo of rain and the faint scent of jasmine.
---
As the last candle flickered low, Precious sat alone in the silence, her heart unsteady, her thoughts louder than the storm outside.
For the first time, she understood that knowledge wasn't the only thing worth seeking at Aethergard.
Some truths lived between words.
Some secrets wore human faces.
And one of them had brown eyes and porcelain skin.
---