The library of Aetherhold Academy was a massive, gothic thing that loomed like a cathedral and smelled like aging wisdom and crushed dreams.
Sylas didn't like libraries.
Too quiet. Too many rules. And most importantly—too many eyes watching you like you're about to pocket an ancient scroll and bolt out the window.
But he was here. Again. Why?
Because someone had cried.
Not just anyone. His roommate. The brainiac with a permanent scowl and the emotional range of a teaspoon: Ezra Hartwell.
Last night, Sylas had found him curled up at the edge of his bed, hands trembling, mumbling something about "it shouldn't have been me."
Sylas, who had all the emotional intelligence of a rock and zero desire to be a therapist, had done the only thing he knew how.
He tossed Ezra a blanket, said "you good?" and then pretended to be asleep.
But he didn't sleep. Not really.
Because deep down, something had itched at the back of his mind.
Ezra Hartwell was a future top mage. A prodigy. The kind of character that, in any story, would either become the protagonist's best friend or die a noble, horrible death in Chapter 37.
And Sylas? Sylas didn't want blood on his dorm sheets.
So here he was, back at the library, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his roommate before it exploded in his face.
"Back again?" the librarian asked without looking up.
Sylas gave his best polite smile. It looked more like a threat.
"Just can't get enough of dusty tomes and awkward silence."
The librarian sniffed and went back to her scroll. Her bun was so tight, Sylas swore it might be holding in a demon.
He wandered deeper into the stacks, trying to remember what section Ezra had borrowed from last. Something about astral convergence? Or maybe "forbidden arcane harmonics that definitely won't explode your face"?
After about twenty minutes of pretending to read, Sylas stumbled across a small, hidden alcove near the back—a narrow space with only one dusty bench and a crooked lamp that flickered like it was dying from boredom.
And on the bench sat someone unexpected.
Not Ezra.
A girl.
Hair like spilled ink. Sharp silver eyes. A uniform that was just a little too neat.
She was reading a book upside down.
Sylas stared.
She didn't blink.
"Hi," he said slowly.
"Go away," she replied without looking up.
Rude. Effective. Almost admirable.
"I'm looking for my roommate," Sylas said, not moving.
"He's not here."
"You didn't even ask who—"
"You're Sylas Vermund. Your roommate is Ezra Hartwell. He's not here."
Sylas blinked. "Do you stalk people for fun, or is this a school club thing?
That got her attention. She lowered the book, eyes scanning him like she was trying to determine his IQ score and whether it was contagious.
"I'm Lysandra Vale," she said. "Second-year. Top of the class in elemental theory. And I know trouble when I see it."
Sylas smiled brightly. "Oh, you're going to hate me then."
She narrowed her eyes. "You changed."
"Excuse me?"
"You were arrogant. Loud. Stupid. Now you're just… stupid, but in a different flavor.
Well. That wasn't insulting at all.
"I've been working on self-improvement," Sylas said with a shrug. "Trying a new thing called not dying."
She didn't smile. "Ezra's been acting strange. You noticed too.
Sylas paused.
"...Maybe."
Lysandra leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Something's happening in the academy. People are disappearing. Books going missing from restricted sections. Magic acting… wrong."
Sylas held up a hand. "Hold on. You're telling me the school library has a forbidden knowledge leak and no one's panicking?"
"People like you aren't supposed to know," she said
"Oh, I see. And now that I do, you'll what—wipe my memory?"
She considered it.
"That was a joke," Sylas added quickly
She stood, brushing off her skirt. "You're annoying. But useful. Ezra trusts you."
"I'm as shocked as you are.
"We're going to find out what's going on," she said. "Together."
"Whoa, whoa. I don't do group projects unless they come with snacks and zero effort on my part."
Lysandra raised an eyebrow. "You owe Ezra. He defended you when the duel reports came out. Said you were 'unwell' and 'under immense stress.'"
Sylas blinked. "He what?"
"He covered for you," she said. "Don't make him regret it."
Then she walked off, vanishing between the shelves like a ninja in pleated robes.
Sylas stood alone in the silence, the flickering lamp buzzing like it was mocking him.
He hated this.
He didn't want to be part of a mystery team. He didn't want to be in anyone's debt. He wanted to survive. Quietly. Preferably with money.
But Ezra… Ezra had covered for him?
Sylas sighed and looked around the hidden alcove.
Tucked behind the bench, barely visible, was a thick book bound in cracked red leather. No title. No markings.
Curious, Sylas picked it up.The cover burned cold against his fingers.
That was not normal.
He flipped it open.
The pages were filled with tightly packed runes. No language he recognized. But they moved. Twisting. Shifting. Like they didn't want to be read.
He slammed it shut.
"Okay. That's enough cursed content for today."
But the book didn't budge from his hand. It clung to his fingers like it wanted to go with him.
Sylas stared at it.
"Oh, fantastic. I found a clingy grimoire."
From behind the shelves, a whisper echoed.
Or maybe it was in his head.
"If he remembers… everything ends."
Sylas froze.
He slowly looked around.
Nothing.
No one.
Only the book, heavy in his arms, humming with secrets.
"...Yup. Definitely not sleeping tonight."