After the conclusion of the sparring match, Cyril excused himself from the polite congratulations and deference from the crowd. After a moment of consideration, he wandered off in the direction of the Library.
He felt exhausted, and wished to escape from public scrutiny for a while. The true source of his exhaustion was more mental than anything. After the council session and interacting with Soren all afternoon, he wanted some time to focus on himself.
His core, of course, had been depleted in the bout, though it had already refilled by nearly half in the past ten minutes. Reaching Peak Foundation Stage had been a qualitative leap forward, though his reservoirs were no longer as endless as they had been during the battle against the Cult of Leviathan. Since he was no longer consciously pursuing Behemoth’s goals, the augmentation had faded away.
Despite his mood, he returned the greetings from those he passed in the streets. Even the mundanes called out to him, when in most tribes they lived fearfully in the shadows of the local cultivators. Perhaps they were not so awed by his divine presence after living within the Phoenix’s aura these past years. ]
As he walked, he spread his senses out in all directions. Countless seismic tremors from others milling about or speaking to one another threatened to overwhelm his mind. He filtered through them as best as he could, choosing not to focus on any of the information within. In a way, it was like steeling himself against a hostile environment, slowly strengthening his mental stamina and endurance.
Since the battle against the Cult of Leviathan, every waking moment had been spent honing himself in some way. He hadn’t reached the point where he could truly meditate while walking--truthfully, he wasn’t even close to accomplishing such an advanced feat. Still, he could exercise various techniques and attempt to hone his mind through other means: detecting seismic activity, tracing gravity spirals in the air, activating his senses, and whatever other idle activities he could imagine to practice his talents.
Even his leisure activities were a means of progression, such as rebuilding the city to exercise his willshaping abilities. The stress was beginning to wear him down. A constant headache throbbed at his temples.
Cyril summoned a Seven Wills Foundation Pill from his storage ring and popped the expensive treasure into his mouth as if it was no more than a sweet morsel. Invigorating energy radiated out from his core as he digested the alchemical concoction. Most of it rushed up into his mental channels, soothing his headache and sharpening his focus.
Sighing, Cyril held out his hand and conjured a block of basic marble atop his palm. As he walked, he focused on the earthen material, slowly whittling it down with flexes of willpower. Discarded shavings drifted behind him, dissipating into motes of Earth qi. By the time he reached the Library, the sculpture had taken the rough form of a clenched fist.
He had made about a hundred such creations over the past weeks. Loras had been the one that suggested he take up sculpting. The external act of creation would be reflected upon the internal forging of his core.
While the improvement had been negligible, it was something. Many cultivators in the upper echelons had creative hobbies such as painting, poetry, and the like. Not only did it allow them to connect on a deeper, more ephemeral level to the world around them; the path to the heavens was incomprehensibly expensive, and the works of a master artisan could fund their material pursuits.
Cyril stored the half-finished sculpture within his spatial ring and eyed the Library. The huge edifice had come a long way since he had first stumbled upon it. The boulevard of once-broken statues lining the path to the entrance had been reconstructed as much as possible.
Earthworkers, including Cyril, had gathered the scattered pieces and attempted to fill in the gaps as much as possible. Wise, ancient faces stared down the walkway, each of them extending an arm in the direction of the Library. If some of the faces more closely resembled historical figures of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe than one would expect, no one bothered to voice any complaints.
The holes in the facade had mostly been filled as well. As the second-most prominent building in the city, behind the palace, no effort had been spared in repairing the damage. At Cyril’s insistence, some signs of the damage remained--pale scars of scuffed stone, cracks from imperfectly-fitted mortar. Even a few glimmering traces of Star qi remained embedded within the walls, a testament to Lanazel’s mad assault on the city.
History, he thought, should not be erased, especially for the sake of vanity. He clenched his alloy fist.
After a few moments of contemplation, Cyril realized he was blocking the route. Out of respect for him, those attempting to enter the building lingered behind, and those attempting to leave had retreated back inside. He offered them a polite bow of his head before ascending the steps into the Library.
The transformation of the interior was even more shocking than the outside, to say the least. Polished mosaic stones turned the floor into a mystical kaleidoscope that lit the area from below. Once-toppled rows of shelves had been restored to their proper place, and myriad tomes, scrolls, and dreamstones filled their ranks. Grandiose spiral staircases connected the two main levels, while flameless lanterns added their own vibrant hues to the lighting arrangement.
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Most of all, people filled the Library. The majority of the patrons maintained a respectful silence, but the sheer quantity of souls created a cacophony of subtle seismic activity within the area. Orange-robed cultivators made up most of the occupants, but the occasional mundane and drow could be spotted amongst the crowd.
Spirits, too, served as a sort of living ornamentation for the Library. Imps were the most common--little devils that flitted about and poorly attempted to quell their mischievous natures.
Barnabas had been the first and only imp present when Cyril first discovered the Library. The little tyrant had fought all attempts to introduce higher-level spirits into the Library’s hierarchy, but the sheer level of activity had necessitated a more advanced and--dare he say--sophisticated personnel to attend to the establishment’s burgeoning needs.
Such Libraries operated in a symbiotic sort of manner. As more patrons frequented the establishment, so too did the Library itself grow. Cyril’s presence had been enough to relight the beacon and bring the basic functions back to life. Now, dozens, if not hundreds, of people milled about seeking knowledge, or reclined upon the cushioned furniture as they enjoyed the Library’s offerings.
Most of the original information from Beljeza’s halcyon days was beyond anyone’s ability to restore. However, in exchange for merit, various people had added their own personal collections, musings, and memories to the gallery. Historians and other interested scholars had delved into the remaining relics stored within the Library, attempting to sort them into a coherent narrative.
Cyril regretted that he had lost the tablets and scrolls he had taken in a misguided attempt to bring the story of Beljeza back to his civilization, though he had since recorded everything he recalled to replace the lost knowledge.
As soon as Cyril stepped into the premises, a djinn materialized in front of him.
The entity was waiting patiently, hovering a few feet above the ground with its four arms clasped together in a meditative mudra. It was mostly humanoid, clad in flowing golden robes covered in countless depictions of random objects: crescent moons, arrows, flames, smiling faces, a miniature depiction of the Library itself, and so on. There was an almost hypnotic quality to the robe that made him feel like he could study it for hours.
Instead, he looked up at the djinn’s face. Or at least, the open book propped open upon its neck. The pages were blank papyrus, but, now that Cyril was focusing on them, words etched themselves upon them in ink:
Greetings, Librarian Cyril/Behemoth. You made it for your shift.
“Fine day to you, Librarian Djinn-Three,” said Cyril. While it wasn’t the most inspired name, most of the spirits were more concerned with their duty than any degree of self-actualization. Barnabas was, for better or worse, an exception to many rules.
Activity has increased by 8% today, up 35% over last week. In recognition of your personal efforts to expand the Library, a corresponding increase in your salary has been deposited in your name. Soon, we will be able to open one of the lower levels and turn them into true Knowledge cultivation chambers.
“Excellent, excellent,” said Cyril.
He meant it, too. Though his Destiny had grown far beyond his initial duty of becoming the Wandering Phoenix Tribe’s Librarian, he felt a sense of accomplishment at seeing how things were progressing. The benefits from accumulating merit weren’t anything to scoff at either.
The usual? wrote Librarian Djinn-Three.
Cyril smiled. “No, actually. I think it’s about time to cash out and see the results of my little experiment.”
Best of luck, then. Shall I escort you to the Crystal?
Cyril nodded. It wasn’t necessary, but he had learned that just utilizing the personnel gained a small amount of merit for himself and the Library. The ultimate source of the Knowledge qi that empowered the whole operation was still a mystery, but he was happy to take advantage of it as much as possible.
He followed Djinn-Three as it floated towards the nearest staircase. His steps were light, confident. Though everyone still stared at him as soon as they noticed his presence, he felt more at ease in the mantle of a Librarian than some political figurehead. While the position wasn’t exactly one people may have imagined for the Vessel of the Earth Titan, Behemoth didn’t have much of a reputation as a ruler either.
Excitement built up in Cyril’s chest as he ascended one of the staircases to the second floor. Though he wanted to rush to the Crystal as soon as possible, he took a deep breath and turned to face the first floor. Most of the people present were already staring at him and whispering among themselves.
One final performance for the day.
Cyril clapped his hands. The sound reverberated throughout the Library, echoing with an intensity that captured the attention of anyone still not paying attention.
“The time has finally come,” he announced. “For the past couple weeks, you have chosen to invest your time and energy into empowering this Library. Much has changed for the tribe recently, and many people have their own matters to attend to. I do not mean to shame those who have not joined us, as they have their own parts to play. But my heartfelt thanks go out to those that have participated in this experiment. Not to mention, the benefits of studying here are plentiful, as evidenced by all you new faces brought in by their allure.”
He pointed at a few unfamiliar patrons, eliciting some mocking cheers and laughter from the crowd.
“We all know the many virtues of my elder sister, Elys, and what she has sacrificed to ensure the survival of this tribe--our home. That is why my principle concern has been bringing her back into the fold. She is alone out there, in hostile territory. So it is my goal to remind her that she remains in all of our hearts. Hopefully, this experiment will allow us to connect with our dear Matriarch again, and begin the process of repaying the many favors she has afforded us.”
Cyril bowed his head, and the cheering turned into roars of approval. As their approval reached a crescendo, he held up his alloy hand and clenched it into a fist.
Satisfied, he turned and smiled at Librarian Djinn-Three. The entity extended its hands in a gesture that may have been supplication or impatience.
Are you finally ready?
His smile widened into a savage grin. “It’s time for a couple breakthroughs."
