The library was quiet. Beams of light filtered through the colored stained glass, casting red, blue, and gold sparks across the stone floor. The air smelled of ancient parchment and the beeswax of extinguished candles, blending into a scent of knowledge and mystery. The shelves rose up to the ceiling, loaded with worn bindings, as if jealously guarding their secrets. Nyros, always serious, watched his little brother closely.

  — Are you ready? But remember: tomorrow, we begin the training seriously. No excuses.

  Azryel lowered his head, his fingers brushing against a dark leather cover.

  — Yes… understood.

  A heavy silence settled in the room.

  Only the old wooden staircase creaked faintly in the distance.

  Azryel remained motionless, his thoughts in disarray.

  Nyros then placed a firm hand on his shoulder. A simple gesture, yet reassuring.

  — It won’t be easy, he said calmly.

  His voice was deep, marked by the fatigue of someone who had already endured too much.

  He squeezed his brother’s shoulder slightly.

  — But remember why you’re doing this.

  A short silence passed.

  — Not for others. Not to prove anything.

  He lowered his head a little.

  — For yourself.

  Nyros looked up at him.

  — I know what it’s like to survive… without truly living. And I don’t want you to stay that way.

  His hand tightened slightly.

  — So become what you want to become. Even if it’s hard.

  A faint, tired smile appeared on his face.

  — No matter what awaits you… I’ll stay by your side, little brother, without ever judging you. Then, in a low voice, almost to himself, he murmured: With the time I have…

  Silence returned to the room, but it felt a little lighter than before.

  Azryel felt his chest tighten. It wasn’t just fear or fatigue… but a new, fragile, and promising determination.

  — I… I’ll do my best.

  Nyros nodded, a barely perceptible smile on his lips.

  — That’s all I ask. For now, rest. But tomorrow… we start for real.

  Azryel raised his eyes, letting the light from the stained glass reflect in his irises. He knew a new chapter of his life was beginning here, among the shadowed shelves and the silence heavy with knowledge. He activated his eyes in an instant.

  Then—BAM.

  A sharp sound suddenly echoed through the library. Nyros had just thrown a direct punch at Azryel. The fist struck his chest with the force of a normal blow, yet strong enough to make the young boy step back. The impact thumped in his chest like a dull drum.

  — Hgh…!

  Azryel bent his body slightly under the shock. The air left his lungs in an instant, and a small trickle of blood rose to his lips. He coughed lightly, a hand pressed against his chest. For a fraction of a second, a black-and-pink aura flared around his body. It vibrated briefly, like an unstable wave… then vanished immediately.

  Nyros narrowed his eyes slightly.

  — Hm.

  Azryel coughed again, then wiped the trace of blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He looked up at his brother with a gaze mixed with irritation and fatigue.

  — Cough… you could have warned me before doing that…

  His voice was hoarse, but he tried to maintain a shred of dignity.

  Nyros shrugged lightly.

  — If I had warned you, you’d have prepared yourself. And this test would have been useless.

  Azryel sighed softly, still pressing a hand to his chest.

  — …Yes, well… when you put it that way.

  He inhaled slowly to calm the lingering pain in his ribs. Yet deep down, a small sense of satisfaction appeared. The Adhérion had absorbed part of the blow… he thought. He stayed still for a moment, analyzing what he had just felt.

  But if I’m the one controlling it… His eyes shifted to his hands. So that means I have to activate it at the right moment. He frowned slightly. And that… is a problem. Nyros strikes fast. Too fast for someone who has to think before using magic. If I have to think to activate it with every attack… I’ll get hit before I can react.

  An idea slowly formed in his mind. Unless… He inhaled gently. I create a passive friction… a very thin layer around my body… always active. His gaze grew more serious. That way, the impact would already be slowed… and I could reinforce the friction at the moment of the blow.

  But another thought struck him. He remained silent for a few seconds.

  …Wait. His eyes narrowed. But to control the Adhérion precisely… I use my eyes. His gaze fell to the floor, thoughtful. That would mean… a small sigh escaped him… that I would need to keep my eyes activated permanently.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He imagined the sensation: the pressure of mana, the energy circulating constantly in his gaze. It would surely consume more mana… Then he lifted his head slightly. A small smile appeared.

  …But if I manage it… His fingers twitched slightly. Then I could be protected at all times. A glimmer of determination shone in his eyes. It might be worth trying.

  At that moment, rapid footsteps echoed through the main aisle.

  — What was that noise?!

  The moment he saw her enter, Azryel’s eyes returned to their calm, brown, ordinary state.

  The librarian arrived almost running between two rows of shelves. Her dark robe glided behind her, and her glasses were slightly crooked, as if she had hastily adjusted them. She stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the scene. Her eyes flicked from Azryel, slightly bent, to Nyros… then to the small trace of blood on the young boy’s lips.

  — By the eternal archives… what happened here?!

  She approached quickly.

  — Azryel! You’re bleeding!

  Azryel straightened immediately, wiping the blood quickly with his sleeve.

  — I-it’s nothing… really.

  Then he remembered something: he had never told her his name… he thought, surprised. Well, I’ll think about that later.

  Nyros crossed his arms casually.

  — It was just a test.

  The librarian slowly turned her head toward him.

  — A… test?

  Her eyes squinted behind her glasses.

  — In my library?

  The flames in the fireplace crackled softly, casting moving shadows on the shelves filled with ancient grimoires. Azryel breathed slowly to calm the pain in his chest. Yet in his mind, a single thought churned: the Adhérion… The blow had been strong… but for a fraction of a second, he had felt resistance. As if the friction around his body had slowed the strike. So… it works. Not completely. But it works.

  Nyros noticed his thoughtful gaze.

  — So?

  Azryel slowly lifted his head. A faint, tired smile appeared on his lips.

  — Semi-successful.

  Nyros smirked slightly. The librarian, meanwhile, let out a long sigh.

  — One day… you’re really going to destroy something here.

  Azryel watched his hand discreetly. He concentrated a little mana. And in his mind, a thought crossed him. Just a bit more… and I’ll really understand how it works.

  About thirty minutes passed. Nyros had gone to take refuge at the inn, leaving Azryel alone on the couch. He remained there, motionless, absorbed in his research, as if drawn into a world no one else could see. The oppressive silence of the room seemed to nourish his concentration… until a sudden, brutal thought struck him.

  He suddenly remembered that the librarian knew his name. His heart skipped a beat. How… could she know? This simple question made his entire being shiver. The air around him seemed to thicken, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

  He knew it was a little silly, but he needed to know…

  How did this librarian know his name? But he could clearly see she realized she had made a slip in saying it.

  He entered the silent room. Beams of light filtered through the colored stained glass, casting dancing reflections on the shelves.

  She stood there, motionless, her eyes luminous as they were fixed on an ancient manuscript.

  — You know why I’m here… he said hesitantly.

  She didn’t answer. She simply turned her head, her gaze piercing.

  Then, in a soft yet strange voice, almost like a whisper from elsewhere:

  — Some cracks… are not there to break you. They exist to let pass what cannot exist elsewhere.

  Azryel shivered. But damn… what the hell was this? His mind was boiling, unable to grasp the meaning of what he had just realized. Ideas shot through his head, whirling and contradictory, some frightening, others almost absurd. Each thought seemed to collide with another, yet none gave him a clear answer. He clenched his fists on his knees, trying to anchor himself in reality, but the more he tried to understand, the deeper the mystery of the librarian sank into him like an endless labyrinth.

  Azryel exhaled, his chest heavy.

  — Alright… fine. I won’t get my answer.

  Tomorrow, I’ll do more in-depth tests… but for now, I need to understand the Adhérion. But for now, I’ll try to materialize it properly, he thought.

  He took a deep breath and focused his energy. The Adhérion, initially invisible, began to manifest gradually: no visible form, just a transparent presence, yet he could feel it. His eyes returned to their original appearance.

  He closed his eyes and began sensing the molecules of the Adhérion. Every movement of his hand, every breath influenced the flow. He paid attention to several details with each attempt:

  First attempt: the black filament trembled and twisted. Azryel realigned his fingers, adjusted the pressure of his palm, and fine-tuned his focus to stabilize the energy. Result: a fragile, still unstable filament.

  Second attempt: the filament held for a moment, then burst. His concentration was too constant and rigid. He relaxed slightly, letting the flow “breathe.” The filament lasted a little longer.

  Third attempt: he tried to form a compact sphere, but it exploded. Azryel corrected the angle of his hands and the speed at which he condensed the molecules, learning to synchronize movement and energy.

  Fourth attempt: a black cloud stabilized for a few seconds. He adjusted his arm position, subtly modified the flow intensity, and felt the filament become more malleable, undulating without dispersing immediately.

  Yes… he finally understood one thing: the Adhérion has no fixed form. Wanting it to stay solid all the time wouldn’t work. Moreover, it’s not his mana that controls it, but his posture.

  Fifth attempt: he managed to contain the flow a little longer. He realigned his fingers and regulated his breathing, finding a rhythm to maintain cohesion without overexerting himself.

  Sixth attempt: he played with concentration pressure. The flow held almost ten seconds, but he felt his energy drain. He corrected tension in his shoulders and torso to better channel the flow without burning out.

  Seventh attempt: finally, an almost stable, dense, and vibrant filament took shape. Azryel adjusted the tension in his hands and his breathing rhythm to maintain the connection. He felt the Adhérion accept his direction, fragile but real.

  With each attempt, he corrected a detail: palm pressure, finger angle, breathing, posture, focus intensity. Each adjustment brought the Adhérion closer to a stable flow he could manipulate.

  Azryel thought, sighing: Actually, I should train my body… if some magic depends on posture, it makes sense that it helps. In the end, my brother was right, a smirk forming: I just hope he doesn’t teach me to be a swordsman or a samurai, like him…

  Azryel plunged into his thoughts, but fatigue quickly overcame him. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing slow and steady. The crackling fire in the hearth echoed in his ears like a warm whisper, punctuated by the occasional snap of splitting logs. The sweet smell of burning wood mingled with the slightly cool air of the room, and each breath seemed to caress the back of his neck. The firelight danced faintly on the objects around him, casting moving shadows over his hands still warm from the Adhérion. Gradually, the world blurred, sounds softened and faded, and Azryel sank into a deep sleep, lulled by the soothing rhythm of the fire.

  It was then that the librarian entered. Her steps were almost imperceptible, padded, and the firelight made her eyes glint behind her glasses. Azryel slept deeply, his breath even, his hands still slightly warm from the energy he had just manipulated. His lashes shadowed his closed eyes, and the reflections in his glasses faintly caught the dancing light.

  She paused for a moment, hesitating between intervening or merely observing. A strange aura seemed to surround her: a scent of old parchments mixed with something indefinable, almost electric. Her fingers brushed the shelves, and the books themselves shivered under her touch, as if the library breathed with her.

  Then, a detail caught her attention. Even through the fatigue of sleep, one of his eyes opened slightly, revealing an unusual glow. A violet, shifting light danced there, imperceptible yet alive, as if a hidden force were awakening. Azryel shivered unknowingly, while this eye seemed to hold an ancient secret.

  The librarian gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as if she understood the meaning of this glow. Without a word, she turned as softly as she had come, leaving behind a chill of strangeness in the room, and an eye now charged with mystery.