The next morning, Haruma awoke with a familiar weight in his chest.
He still felt the specter of the execution hanging over him, but his mind would not be quiet.
He wanted something to study—something to get to know.
Magic.
He still didn't know much about how it worked.
The books in Elya's cabin were good, but they were history of a sort, not the deep magic knowledge.
So when he woke and saw Elya ready to leave, he took a stand.
"Miss Elya—"
The words slipped out of his mouth before he knew what was going on.
Elya, buttoning her cloak, stilled.
She turned slowly, her expression inscrutable.
Haruma tensed. Did he say something wrong?
Then, to his surprise — she smirked.
"Miss?"
Haruma scratched the back of his neck. "Just… being respectful."
She scoffed. "Hmph. "If you're going to call me that, don't at least make it seem awkward."
Haruma exhaled. Progress.
"Where are you heading?" he said, bringing up another subject.
"Into town."
"I'll come with you."
Elya raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
"I want to find a library."
She stared at him for a second, then sighed. "Fine. But don't be stupid."
…..
Haruma had never seen a library like the town's one.
It was a tall, circular building made of dark stone with glowing inscriptions cut into its pillars.
Elya had left him there with a warning — "Don't get yourself arrested." —before departing to run her errands."
Haruma stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was how many people there were his age.
The grand hall was alive with the whispers of young men and women examining tomes, sharing notes, and debating theories.
Some donned robes in which silver embroidery marked them as students of the Arcanum.
A magic academy.
Haruma had seen them in stories, but to see one in reality made him… uncomfortable.
This could've been his life.
If he had been born here. If he had grown up here.
He was around their age.
Just like in his past life.
Just as whoever's body he was now inside of.
His jaw tightened and he shook it away. Focus.
…
Haruma walked along rows of books on shelves, looking over the titles.
Many were far too sophisticated — texts inscribed in bizarre symbols, theories about spell formations, and the resonance of the Arcane Veil.
At last, he'd found something to get him through.
"The Principles of Magic and the Arcane Veil.
He took it from the shelf, went to a nearby table, and started reading through it.
"Magic isn't just energy or a force that exists on its own. It is the desire of the world, the breath of the Veil, it connects all things."
Haruma frowned.
He turned the page.
"In order to wield magic, you must first find your resonance with the Arcane Veil. This honing is what gives mages access to Ether—the primal matter of magic."
So Ether was the go-go juice for magic?
"Ether is extracted from within, but it needs tempering. Without discipline, the Veil will swallow the wielder as quickly as it augments them."
Haruma felt his grip on the page tightens.
Magic could consume people?
He looked around at the other students.
So this sort of thing slipped out so easily, to take something like a spell, a rune, manipulation of the Etherous.
How long had they been in training? How long (or how many retries) did it take you to get to their level?
Haruma clenched his jaw. He was behind.
If he wanted to stay alive in this world, he needed to catch up.
…..
Haruma turned the page again—
And then, suddenly, his vision was fading.
A throb beat at the back of his skull.
Not another memory. But a sensation.
He recognized something.
The symbols on the page.
He didn't understand them, but they sounded familiar.
Like he had seen them before.
But that was impossible.
Right?
"I have no idea," Haruma said, exhaling and shaking his head.
Too many questions.
He needed answers.
And the only way to find them was to read on."
…
There was a peculiar silence to the library.
It wasn't the serene silence of a space designed for study. It was something else. Something unnatural.
Haruma did not notice this at first.
He had melted into the pages of The Principles of Magic and the Arcane Veil in order to surmise Ether and magic, and the toll needed to use it. But as the time wore on, as he moved from one book to the next, a creeping unease sank into his bones.
It wasn't the books.
Every so often, as he perused the shelves, his fingers would stop for an instant before some of the books by their very titles. Like he knew what to look for before he even saw it.
How?
He had never been here before. He had never studied magic. And yet, as his eyes scanned those texts, he recognized ideas he should not have.
His breath hitched.
This wasn't his knowledge.
It was the body's.
Haruma clenched his jaw.
He had been trying to ignore the idea, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Due to the fact This body was not his.
….
He shoved the idea aside, looking at the shelves again.
Then, his fingers stopped.
The book was old—too old. Its leather binding had cracked, and the spine was nearly broken with age.
There was no title on the front cover.
No label on the spine.
It shouldn't have been here.
The library contained neatly organized tomes, all cared for by the Arcanum, but this book… seemed out of place.
Haruma took it down from the shelf. The dust that compromised it was thick — years of inertia.
Why?
With a slight pounding of his heart, he flipped over the first page.
There was no author. No introduction. Just lines of thick, old-timey script.
"To worship the Light is to surrender. To submit is to be blinded."
Haruma's breath caught.
The Church.
His fingers clenched the edges of the book as he continued reading.
"The Church of the First Light was divine in nature; it did not birth of divinity. It was built on blood."
Those words made him sick to his stomach, somehow.
The text wasn't history-book writing. It was a warning.
"The Goddess does not listen. She does not watch. Her prayers do not meet the faithful, for she was never here at all."
Haruma exhaled sharply.
This … was bad knowledge.
If this book existed — and what it was saying was true — then everything the Church preached was a lie.
And this is something someone had tried to erase.
Haruma flipped to the next page, but he was trembling.
This book shouldn't exist.
And yet—it felt familiar.
Not in a "Oh yeah, I read this before" way.
But in a way that made his chest constrict, like there was some muscle memory inside him even though there shouldn't be.
As if this wasn't the first time he had read something like this.
As if he somehow knew, deep down, the Church wasn't what it said it was.
His vision swayed.
The words faded for a moment, then moved as if they were alive.
Then—a whisper.
Not in the library.
In his mind.
"You are clean."
Haruma's breath hitched.
It was the same phrase the executed man had uttered before he died.
He slammed the book shut.
His heart thumped in his chest, cold sweat sticking to his skin.
This wasn't right.
None of this was right.
He is not supposed to have discovered this book. He shouldn't seem like he once read it.
His body was responding to what his mind could not comprehend.
He needed to get out of here.
….
Haruma shoved away from the table and stood, holding tight to the book.
Then—he felt it.
A gaze.
Someone was watching him.
He made himself breathe evenly, his instincts hawking at him not to react too quickly.
Carefully he scanned the scene around him.
The library was full of students but none had heard the slap of the Naturist's hand. They were busy reading. No one had turned toward him. No one was paying attention.
But he knew.
Someone had indeed seen him take this book.
The knot of tension in his chest sharpened.
He needed to move.
Now.
Without a moment's hesitation, he put the book under his arm and headed for the exit.
He did not know why he was doing it — why he wasn't leaving it all behind.
But something told him to keep it in the bag.
Since this was not the last time he would hear of the Church's lies.