Rawa continued to move through the towering shelves of the library, scanning the myriad of titles while fighting off the gnawing tension building within him. The air felt thick with anticipation, and each minute seemed to stretch longer than the last. He had just settled on a row of books with spines marked in a language he didn't recognize when a group of students bustled into the library, their presence shattering the stillness.
The students — around fifteen of them, dressed in the academy's elegant blue and gold uniforms — gathered near the entrance, their chatter filling the quiet space. One of them, a tall boy with neatly combed hair and an air of authority, approached Librarian, Sutra Ved.Well, Sutra Ved is a librarian and a History of Magical academy of Triveni. After a brief, murmured exchange, the librarian glanced toward Rawa, his expression shifting slightly.
"Very well," Sutra Ved said to the student, his voice carrying clearly. "It seems the schedule has changed. We'll be holding class here today."
Rawa looked up sharply as Sutra's gaze landed on him. There was a flicker of something in the librarian's eyes — curiosity, or perhaps something more calculated. "Rawa Vols," Sutra called out, his voice firm but not unkind. "Come to the desk. You can decide on a book after we're done."
Rawa hesitated, then nodded stiffly and made his way to the front. The students shifted, turning to look at him with a mixture of interest and suspicion. A few whispered to each other, their eyes lingering on his foreign clothing and tense posture. He could feel the weight of their scrutiny, like a dozen tiny needles pricking at his skin.
"Class," Sutra announced, his voice calm and composed, "this is Rawa Vols, a visitor to our city. He is here for… a specific verification process, and I've asked him to join us for this lesson. It will serve as a part of his examination for as well."
Rawa swallowed hard, feeling the undercurrent of meaning in the librarian's words. Examination. It was a subtle reminder that he was not yet trusted, that this class would be more than just a lecture.
The students murmured among themselves, some craning their necks to get a better look at him. "Why is he part of our lesson?" whispered a girl with braided hair and keen green eyes. "Is he dangerous?" another muttered.
"Quiet, please," Sutra said softly, but his voice carried a subtle edge of authority. The students fell silent at once. "Today's lesson will be more than just a discussion of history. I want all of you to be attentive and open-minded."
He glanced at Rawa, who gave a small nod. Sutra's gaze softened, and with a brief, encouraging smile, he gestured for the students to follow him.
"Come along, everyone."
The group moved through the vast library, winding between shelves that towered like ancient sentinels. They passed through areas Rawa hadn't explored — rows filled with scrolls bound in silk, collections of rare manuscripts, and magical tomes encased in shimmering barriers. The students walked in a loose formation, glancing curiously at him as they moved.
"Why is he here? He doesn't look like a mage," one of the younger students whispered to her friend. Her friend, a tall boy with sharp eyes, gave Rawa a sideways glance.
"Maybe he's a spy," he murmured, his voice just low enough that only those closest could hear. "Or a warrior from another kingdom."
Rawa kept his face impassive, though his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Each comment, each suspicious glance, seemed to tighten the knot of anxiety coiled inside him. He had expected scrutiny, but this was worse — it felt like he was walking through a gauntlet of unseen judgments.
"Enough whispering," Sutra said firmly, and the quiet that followed was immediate. He led them deeper into the library, finally stopping at a large, ornate door set into the back wall. The wood was dark and polished, carved with intricate runes that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light. A sense of old power hung about the doorway, a reminder that the academy was as much a repository of dangerous knowledge as it was a place of learning.
Sutra reached out and pressed his hand against the door. There was a soft click, followed by the low hum of magic unraveling. The runes glowed briefly, and then the door swung open silently, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.
"Come in," Sutra instructed, his tone gentle but firm. "And remember — this room is special. Treat it, and each other, with respect."
Rawa stepped through the threshold, followed closely by the students. As he entered the chamber, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The room was larger than he had expected, its high ceiling supported by intricately carved stone pillars. The air was cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of old parchment and something sharper — a metallic tang that reminded him of lightning before a storm.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and artifacts that radiated a subtle but palpable power. In the center of the room stood a long, dark wood table surrounded by high-backed chairs. Strange symbols were etched into its surface, and as Rawa's gaze roamed over them, he felt a faint stirring of recognition, though he couldn't place why.
"Wow…" a student breathed behind him. "What is this place?"
"It's… beautiful," murmured another, her voice awed.
Rawa turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over every detail. The students were fanning out, peering curiously at the shelves and the artifacts. There was a sense of wonder in the air, but also an undercurrent of tension. The whispers from earlier had died down, replaced by a hushed silence as they took in the room's secrets.
"Welcome," Sutra said softly, drawing their attention back to him. He stood at the head of the table, his gaze calm and steady. "This is the Chamber of the Ancients, a room reserved for special lessons. Today, we will delve into the history of those who have walked a path similar to Rawa's."
The students exchanged puzzled glances, and then, as one, turned to look at Rawa. He felt his pulse quicken, a cold sweat forming on his palms. A path similar to mine? What did that mean?
"Rawa Vols is here on an unusual journey," Sutra continued, his eyes never leaving Rawa's face. "And I believe his story, though incomplete, will help illuminate our lesson today. But first — let us take a closer look at the trials faced by those who came before him."
Rawa's heart was hammering now. As Sutra began to speak, the students' eyes remained fixed on him, some curious, others wary, and a few with expressions that bordered on fear. He could feel it — the subtle, unspoken question hanging in the air:
Is he a friend… or something far more dangerous?