Kalon Bloodborn's POV
I made a conscious effort to bury the irritation Ariadne had sparked. To a scholar, emotion was a cloud that obscured any ray of reason, and I needed my mind clear.
Damon led me the way. I committed every archway and bridge to memory. Noting the way the white-stone corridors were angled to catch the afternoon sun, casting long, shadows.
Ahead, two grand doors swung open. They didn't creak. Instead, it sighed, exhaling the collective breath of mana. It was cooler here, smelling of dry parchment and aged leather.
At its center sat a grand, winding staircase that spiraled upward like the trunk of a colossal tree. Its branches led to various floors that stretched deep into the earth.
I watched in fascination as a group of Lamians stepped onto a platform. A soft hum followed and the stone segments disconnected from the main spine, floating through the air to deliver the scholars to the upper tiers.
'Its just as father described.'
There were no flying books. Only soft footsteps and the rustle of turning pages that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. The shelves contained grimoires of every shape and size gleaming with gold-leaf spines, I assumed represented level of enlightenment.
"Wow," I breathed, the word barely a whisper. Damon's lips quirked into a grin. He leaned against a runic pillar, watching as though he were a teacher admiring his students surprise.
"It never fails to dazzle on the first visit. But don't be fooled, Kalon. This place is a for the strong willed. It will drain your mind. You shouldn't stay here for too long"
We began to descend toward the lower floors. Here, the density of the crowd increased. Mostly Lamians swarmed the shelves. Their hands moving they pulled grimoires to study our race's unique blood magic. Some were tracing diagrams of the mana-cycle.
"So this is what makes Stygia so renowned?" I asked, my eyes darting from shelf to shelf, trying to read the titles in the flickering light artifacts
"Yes," Damon replied. "A legacy steeped in the pursuit of the absolute. It grants us insights into the very essence of the mana cycle that no other race can claim. As the master healers of Enora, much is expected of us."
A streak of heat and light whizzed past my ear, so close I could feel the hairs on my neck singe. The air crackled with an acrid scent. A fireball, poorly formed and wobbling with unstable energy, slammed into a runic pillar ten feet away.
The reaction was immediate. The white walls of the hall glowed with runes that had a red hue.
"No magic casting in the Hall of Knowledge!" a voice boomed. It wasn't the bone shaking roar but carried an authority to make everyone remain in place.
From the reception area, a figure approached. His belly protruding, beard a mix of black and grey, braided with silver rings that clinked softly.
He didn't run. He didn't even look hurried. With a casual, almost bored wave of his hand, he reached into the air toward the impact site. The lingering embers of the fireball, which were beginning to lick at the edges of a nearby scroll, were suddenly seized by an invisible force. I watched, transfixed, as the flames were compressed into a tiny, brilliant spark the size of a grain of sand, and then snuffed out as if they had never existed.
'He's definitely a Lamian. How did he do that?'
"Ah, that's the Hallmaster," Damon whispered, his usual bravado replaced by a genuine, quiet reverence. He bowed his head slightly as the man drew near.
The Hallmaster paused briefly by a group of cowering students, his gaze lingering on the one who had miscast the spell. The young Sol boy hands began to shake. The Hallmaster didn't scold him with words. He simply looked at him until the boy lowered his head in shame, the red runes on the walls slowly fading back into the pillar.
Then, he turned his gaze directly toward us.
I stepped forward, meeting his gaze. I felt a strange sensation, prickling at the base of my skull. The Headmaster looked at me, and for a fleeting, his eyes softened. It was a look of recognition, of a shared ghost.
"Well, if it isn't Damon! The citadel's golden boy," the Headmaster said, with a hearty voice. "Who have you brought this time? I hope he's worth the watch. My shelves are already heavy enough without the weight of a one's idle curiosity."
"The name's Kalon," I replied, my voice steady, pulling from the discipline my mother had instilled in me. "I'm here to seek your treasured knowledge."
The Headmaster grunted, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Knowledge isn't a treasure to be found, boy. It's a weight to be carried. It's a stone that you must chisel until it fits the shape of your soul. See to it that you don't drop it and break your toes."
He gestured toward the vast expanse of the lower library, his rings clinking. "Enter. Seek. But remember, you must compile to the rules."