The morning sun in Lyrhall didn't so much rise as *activate*. One moment, the city's towering glass spires were dark silhouettes against a indigo sky; the next, mana-fed lumen orbs embedded within them glowed to life, their cool white light blending with the warm dawn to paint the cobblestone streets in strange, shifting hues. In his room above *The Quill & Quantum*, Oliver Rill was already awake, watching the daily transformation through his small, round window. Today was Awakening Day, and his mind was silent, he is full of hope.
A familiar, comforting smell of ink, aged paper wafted up from the shop below, but it was cut by another sound of the shop's main door being unlocked. His aunt, Mira, was opening early for the pre-ceremony rush of parents seeking last-minute luck charms or celebratory tokens.
Quietly, Oliver dressed in his simple grey apprentice cloak. His gaze drifted to his bedroom door, then down the narrow staircase to the second-floor landing. Opposite his room was the entrance to Mira's private study, its oak door always, locked with a polished Mana signature that hummed with a soft containment ward.
This morning, the door stood ajar. Not open, but not fully seated in its frame. The ward's hum was absent.
Aunt Mira, in her hurry, must have forgotten.
A thrill shot through Oliver, momentarily forgot his nervousness. The study was the heart of his aunt's mysterious side—the side that wasn't just a bookseller, but a licensed Guild Archivist . It was filled with knowledge that, according to World Government Decree, was prohibited for un-Awakened citizens like him.
His curiosity , overpowered his caution. He slipped onto the landing and nudged the door open.
The study was a landscape of organized chaos. A large, modern aether-crystal desk lamp sat atop a centuries-old carved wooden desk. Scroll cases were piled next to sleek data-slates. But it was the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that dominated the far wall that stole Oliver's breath.
The books were magnificent. Leather-bound titans with spines of monsterhide, slender volumes shimmering with embedded crystal. He had seen them from the doorway before, but never this close.
He stepped closer, his heart pounding, and tried to read the title on the nearest, a hefty tome the color of stormclouds.
The gold-embossed letters shimmered, wavered, and dissolved into a blurry, unfocusable smear. He blinked, shook his head, and looked again. It was like trying to see through frosted glass. The knowledge was physically present, but to his un-Awakened eyes, it was *occluded*. A fundamental magical lock, not on the book itself, but on his own perception. He knew his aunt could read them perfectly. His parents, both adventurers working with the city's guild, could have. But to Oliver, it was a library of beautiful ghosts.
Driven by a stubborn habit he couldn't name, he reached out and carefully pulled the stormcloud book from the shelf. It was heavier than it looked. He opened it.
The pages were Intricate, swirling patterns that hinted at diagrams and script danced at the very edge of meaning before collapsing into visual noise. He squinted, turned the page, but it was the same—a frustrating and tantalizing . He could feel the *potential* in the weight of the paper, in the texture of the ink, but its essence was withheld.
With a sigh that was equal parts wonder and defeat, he slid the book back into its place. The blurry titles seemed to mock him. What wonders did they hold? Theories on hybrid affinity manifestation? Histories of world? The true biological mechanisms of mana conduction his basic pre-Awakening science books could only hint at?
A soft, clearing of a throat came from the doorway.
Oliver spun, his face flushing with guilt.
Aunt Mira stood there, arms crossed, a basket of fresh lumen-berries from the market in her hand. She wasn't angry, but her usual warm expression was etched with deep concern and a flicker of something else—regret, perhaps.
"Oliver," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "How many times must the law, and I, tell you? Mana theory, spellcraft, arcane history… this knowledge is regulated by the World Government. It is prohibited to teach it to the un-Awakened. For good reason."
"But Aunt Mira," Oliver protested, the frustration of the blurry pages spilling over. "Is knowledge ever a bad thing? How can knowing *more* be wrong?"
Mira placed the basket on a side table and walked into the study, her eyes sweeping over the protected library with a practiced eye. "Sometimes, knowledge is a burden. And sometimes, it is a hindrance." She turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "To give a child the schematics for a magi-engine before they understand basic mechanics only leads to dangerous misunderstandings and shattered parts. The mind must be prepared. The soul must be tuned. That is what the Awakening does. It unlocks the capacity to *safely* perceive and interact with these truths."
She guided him gently out of the study, the door clicking shut behind them. The lock re-engaged with a solid *thunk* and a returning soft hum.
"The Pre-Awakened Guidelines are clear, Oliver," she continued, her tone softening as they descended to the shop. "Tier-zero nutritional rations. Basic meditation to calm the mind. Foundational combat exercises to strengthen the vessel. That is your curriculum. If your curiosity is hungry," she said, pointing to a shelf near the front counter filled with non-magical texts, "solve some calculus problems. Study mundane chemistry. Deconstruct clockwork. The world of pure logic is still vast and unbounded. Save the mysteries of mana for *after* the stone has spoken for you."
Her words were meant to be comforting, a reminder of the safe, structured path. But to Oliver, they felt like the closing of a final door before the most important one of his life was even opened. He looked at his hands, imagining them touching the Worldstone in just a few hours. Would they reveal a path to those blurry books, or would they seal them away forever?
The cheerful bell of the shop door jingled as the first customers entered. Mira gave his shoulder a final squeeze before moving to greet them, the adept bookseller once more.
Oliver stood amidst the books. Today, the Worldstone would give him an affinity, a grade, a color. It would dictate his future. But as he watched his aunt laugh easily with a customer, he wondered if the real mystery wasn't what power he would get, but why the truth had to be hidden in the first place. The blurry books were a silent testament to a world that judged potential before it was fully formed, and Oliver, with a heart full of questions and a head full of thoughts, was ready to be judged.
End of Chapter