The enchanted ceiling lights cast a soft glow over the library, wrapping the space in a cocoon of quietude.
Students meandered between shelves, unconsciously softening their footsteps and breathing under the atmosphere's influence. When they spotted a sought-after title or a serendipitous find, they'd gently pull it from its place—sometimes with the aid of a short ladder—and skim the contents.
The impatient ones leaned against walls or pillars, or even sat cross-legged on the floor, diving straight into the pages. Others carried their selections to the checkout counter, where Lanen processed their loans in exchange for library cards and two copper coins.
Next door, in the periodicals room, a few students hunched over journals at reading tables.
Business was slow tonight. Lanen had only handled a handful of transactions in the past hour—and zero new card registrations.
He used the lull to review today's lessons and preview the next two days' material.
Too easy.
The coursework felt beneath his level. He breezed through his study plan, then stretched, stashing textbooks and notes (his and Elina's) back into his satchel. Time for a break.
Glancing at the stacks and periodicals room, Lanen decided to leverage his librarian privileges. After a brief hesitation, he grabbed a few journals.
Thanks to regional funding, the school's collection was robust—slightly exceeding demand. Mainstream publications like Arcana, Nature, Magicus, The Lancet, Mage Weekly, Comprehensive Arcana, Journal of Mathematics, and Advances in Mathematics were all accounted for.
Most students here had little use for such cutting-edge material. The academy covered only beginner and intermediate arcane education; these journals were borderline overkill.
Flipping through them out of curiosity, Lanen absorbed fragments of knowledge, piecing together a hazy understanding of the world's intellectual frontiers.
A few more patrons trickled in—two borrowing exercise books, one returning a pulp novel titled Rainbow Arcanist.
Then, an article in Advances in Mathematics snagged his attention:
"On Computable Numbers, with an Application to the Entscheidungsproblem" — by Allen Mathison.
As he read, a peculiar sense of déjà vu crept over him.
To tackle the broad scope of the "decision problem," Allen had rigorously defined "computability." In the paper's closing section, he proposed a fascinating thought experiment:
A machine.
Simple yet powerful, capable of computing any function deemed "computable."
Allen broke human calculation into basic actions:
1.Writing or erasing symbols on paper.
2.Shifting attention between locations on that paper.
To simulate this, his hypothetical machine comprised:
1.An infinite tape, divided into cells, each holding a symbol from a finite alphabet (including a "blank" symbol).
2.A read-write head that moved along the tape, scanning and modifying cells.
3.A set of rules dictating the head's actions based on current state and cell content, transitioning the machine to new states.
4.A state register storing finite possible states, including a designated "halt" state.
Each operation cycled: read a symbol, consult the rule table, execute an action (write/move), and transition states.
Iterate ad infinitum—or until the problem was solved.
The paper suggested binary computation, invoking Grand Arcanist Leibniz's words:
"1 and 0, the divine wellspring of all numbers. This is creation's secret—a sublime paradigm, for all flows from the heavens."
Every paragraph thrummed with eerie familiarity.
Lanen's pulse quickened.
This feels like the prelude to a new era.
Perhaps he could accelerate its arrival.
The library's closing bell interrupted his thoughts. He jotted down the journal's details for future reference, then ushered lingering students out.
Final tasks awaited: reshelving returned books, tidying misplaced volumes, and a sweep for strays. By the time he locked up, the dorm was silent—everyone asleep.
Moving soundlessly, Lanen changed, scribbled diary notes, then forced himself through an hour of meditation despite exhaustion. (Thankfully, the practice itself rejuvenated.)
Tomorrow was a rest day.