Ash exhaled through his nose, watching as the elf he had bumped into disappeared into the shelves.
'What's her problem?'
He didn't voice the thought, but it simmered in his mind. The irritation in her voice, the sharp glare, the way she had dismissed him like he was nothing—it was unwarranted. Maybe she was just one of those people who thought too highly of themselves.
Shrugging, he turned back toward the maze of bookshelves.
The library was larger than it had seemed from the outside. Soft, golden light spilled from enchanted lanterns that floated gently above, illuminating the rows of books.
The space was organized yet somehow still organic, like the trees themselves had grown around the knowledge they protected. The shelves weren't rigid or artificially structured; they twisted naturally, branches entwining to create nooks filled with tomes.
There was a deep, comforting silence, only interrupted by the occasional turning of a page or the soft scratch of a quill against parchment.
Ash scanned the signposts along the shelves, looking for the section where he could sit and read. Finally, he found it.
Several tables stretched across the reading area, each set for two readers facing one another.
The space was nearly full. Most of the elves were deeply engrossed in their books, their gazes unwavering, their expressions focused. No one so much as glanced at him.
Ash preferred solitude. Sitting too close to a crowd was never his thing. His eyes flicked across the room until they landed on a table near the corner. It was almost empty, save for a single golden book resting atop it.
He glanced around. No one was sitting there.
'Probably someone forgot to put it back,' he thought.
Without much concern, he pulled out the chair and sat down.
He cracked open the book in front of him, fingers tracing the elegant Elvish script lining the pages. Thankfully, the language was readable enough. The section he had landed on detailed the different classes of magic wielded by elves.
There were two primary groups: The Destroyers and The Creators.
Destroyers—combat specialists, those who could wield magic for offense, warriors in their own right.
Creators—those who shaped, healed, and brought life into existence, able to manipulate energy in ways that nurtured instead of harmed.
Ash's interest sparked immediately. He flipped through the pages, searching for anything related to combat. Soon, he found a breakdown of various abilities.
The warriors had strength-enhancing abilities, making them deadlier in battle.
The object controllers could manipulate items with their energy, controlling weapons or tools as extensions of themselves.
Then there were the air conjurers, able to shape the wind and energy pulses around them.
Ash's breath hitched slightly.
He scanned the passage eagerly. The air conjurers could generate force—ripples in energy that could push, pull, or even shatter objects if wielded properly.
His mind flashed back to last night.
The pulse that had surged through him, the force that had shattered the rock—was that what he had tapped into?
He was so absorbed that he almost didn't notice the shift in the room.
A scent—one he had smelled not long ago—drifted toward him.
Then, a presence.
Ash lifted his gaze.
Sitting directly across from him was the same elf from earlier.
She didn't speak. She merely scoffed, her lips curling slightly in disdain as she stared at him.
Ash raised an eyebrow. 'What is her deal?'
He was about to ignore her when he noticed something else—the other elves in the reading area had finally acknowledged his existence.
Not directly, but in the way they subtly shifted, their eyes flickering toward his table before quickly looking away. It was a subtle reaction, but noticeable enough.
It became clear—no one sat here.
Or rather, no one sat where she sat.
Ash wasn't exactly intimidated. He had dealt with people like this before—those who enjoyed their sense of superiority, who liked when others played by the rules they didn't even have to say out loud.
'What's the worst she could do?'
Ignoring her, he turned back to his book.
Yet he could still feel her eyes on him.
She wasn't reading. She wasn't even pretending to.
She was watching him.
'What, is she waiting for me to acknowledge her? To apologize again?'
'If that was the case, she'd be waiting a long time.'
After a moment, Ash allowed himself to get a proper look at her.
She was… striking.
Her hair was long, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, with a deep chestnut shade that gleamed under the library's warm light.
Her skin was smooth, a golden-olive hue that complemented the sharpness of her features—high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing green eyes that held an intensity he couldn't quite place.
She wore fitted clothing, sleek and practical, emphasizing her lean figure. There was strength in the way she carried herself, the way her shoulders squared even in something as simple as sitting.
Ash nearly smirked. 'Alright, she's pretty. Annoying, but pretty.'
A flicker of mischief entered his mind. If they were on Earth, he might've leaned back with a cocky grin and said something like: Haven't seen a handsome man before?
But this wasn't Earth.
And he doubted elves had the same sense of humor.
So instead, he settled for something else.
"Do I look like a book to you?"
She blinked.
"What?"
"If you stared at your book the way you're staring at me, you probably would've finished reading by now."
A sharp scoff left her lips. "I don't waste my time on weaklings."
Ash's amusement faded slightly.
Ah.
So that was it.
She had taken one look at him and deemed him unimpressive. Weak. Maybe she could sense it—his lack of control, the instability of his magic.
He wanted to respond. He really did. But causing a scene in a library wasn't exactly on his agenda, especially when he had come here to learn something.
So instead, he simply went back to his book.
The elf finally broke her silence—not by speaking, but by flipping open the golden book that had been on the table when Ash first sat down.
She hadn't been holding anything when she arrived, which meant… she had left it here earlier.
The book's pages gleamed faintly, almost as if illuminated from within.
Ash cast a glance at the other elves in the room. Their books looked like his—aged, worn, ordinary.
But this one… it was different.
'Is it a restricted book?'
His curiosity sparked, but he forced himself to stay focused. He had enough mysteries to deal with.
He returned to reading, soaking in the details of air conjuration, the methods of control, the balance required. The more he read, the more convinced he became—this was his category.
Magic wasn't just about willpower. It was about flow, about harmony.
The energy had to be guided, not forced.
Maybe that's why I lost control last night.
Before he could dwell on it further, the elf across from him stood.
Without a word, she picked up her golden book and walked away, heading toward the restricted section.
Ash's eyes followed her for a brief moment.
'What kind of books need to be kept restricted?'
He considered following, but no. Not today.
Instead, he returned to his reading, letting the knowledge settle into his mind.
Some hours later, Aria arrived, stepping into the library with a tired but determined expression.
She found him easily.
"Time to go," she said, her voice quieter than usual.
Ash closed his book, stretching as he stood. "Long day?"
She nodded, her gaze distant.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what was bothering her.
The harvest.
As they left the library, walking along the winding village paths, Ash finally spoke.
"Alright," he said. "Tell me what's really going on."
Aria exhaled slowly, as if bracing herself.
Then, she began to explain.