"Interesting…"
Suddenly, both Lark and Myne froze, cold sweat running down their backs. Myne instinctively began sneaking away in the opposite direction.
Fael blinked and turned around to see where the voice had come from.
A tall woman stood behind them, hair tied back in a neat blond tail, brown robes swirling slightly from her sudden appearance. She held a tattered, dusty book in one arm while using her other hand to adjust her glasses—revealing sharp, piercing blue eyes behind the lenses.
In an instant, the air turned cold.
"Mr. Lark," she whispered.
Lark flinched, turning his face away like he could dodge the sound of her voice.
"You brat," she snapped. "Next time I catch you sneaking around my place, I'll bury you myself."
Her tone had changed so suddenly, even Fael shivered.
She was Mrs. Marie, the local librarian… and Myne's mentor.
Fael tried to sneak away.
She is scary!
"Halt!" she shouted. "Stay right where you are."
Lark stiffened and slowly turned toward Mrs. Marie. "It was my idea to steal the mushroom bread. Fael isn't guilty..."
"I'm here to speak with him," she replied coldly, eyes locked onto Fael.
"How long do you plan to stand there? Get out of my sight."
Lark vanished instantly.
After a brief pause, she stepped closer to Fael with slow, deliberate steps.
"Your mother asked me to grant you access to the library. Follow me."
Only those personally permitted by Mrs. Marie were allowed inside. This was standard practice across all libraries to protect ancient texts—only those deemed skilled or trustworthy enough could read them.
They walked past the gazebo toward a colossal Tursim tree—the largest in the Grove. Fael had seen it many times before but had never been inside.
Mrs. Marie opened a wooden door carved into the trunk, revealing a small room lined with neat, orderly bookshelves. In the corner sat a simple planked table and chair—her usual spot. The room wasn't especially wide, but it stretched upward across three floors, each with a similar layout connected by wooden ladders.
Beyond books, grimoires, and scrolls, the library housed various artifacts: strange stones, glowing crystals, and bottles filled with mysterious liquids.
The room was filled with the scent of aged paper and all the flowered pots that Mrs. Marie had placed. The dim light emitted by the hanging oil lanterns gently illuminated the library.
No wonder Sister likes this place so much.
Mrs. Marie sat at her usual spot and gestured at Fael to sit at a chair on the other side.
Reaching behind, she pulled a dusty old grimoire from one of the shelves and placed it gently on the table between them.
"For starters, I'll be testing your affinity with Asyth," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Fael blinked, puzzled.
"…What is Asyth?"
Maybe I should not have asked that and listened silently...
Mrs. Marie pushed back her glasses. "Asyth is the fundamental particle of this world. It exists in all things—living, dead, or inanimate. It exists in both you and me, although in different concentrations."
"Different concentrations?"
She nodded.
"Different races contain different concentrations of Asyth. A druid, for instance, typically consists of about 55% Asyth, whereas a dwarf averages closer to 20%. Elves, on the other hand, have the highest recorded levels—around 75%. The Asyth present inside things or bodies is inert Asyth which is not controllable. Asyth that is naturally present everywhere else is manipulated and used for all sorts of things."
The ever-curious Fael couldn't hide his excitement. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, eager to know more about Asyth. Seeing his growing interest, Mrs. Marie gave a faint smile and continued.
"The general term Weaver is used for those who can manipulate Asyth to craft spells," Mrs. Marie explained. "It requires years of study in the fields of Asythology and spell crafting. Your sister is working hard to become one."
Fael's eyes lit up. "How can I learn to manipulate Asyth?"
"That's exactly why I brought you here," she replied.
"Now that you know the basics," she added, tapping the grimoire gently, "let's begin the test."
Fael gave a small nod, his expression serious.
Mrs. Marie opened the grimoire with a swift motion. Its aged pages let out a faint rustle.
"Place your left hand on the page," she said calmly. "And close your eyes."
Fael did as instructed.
The moment his hand touched the parchment, the grimoire began to glow faintly. Ripples of shifting colours danced across the surface—crimson, jade, gold, and azure—spilling like auroras from the ink and lines.
Then, gradually, the shifting hues faded... until only one remained.
A deep, resonant purple.
That looks similar to my eye colour!
...
Mrs. Marie flinched.
Her gaze lingered on the glowing page for a moment longer before she whispered, almost to herself, "You truly are blessed… a deep affinity like this is rare."
"That being said..." she continued.
"A colour from the Blue family signifies power suppression. In other words—" she paused briefly, eyes narrowing behind her lenses, "—you're not operating at your full potential right now."
Fael looked up at her.
"I… don't understand."
Mrs. Marie tapped the grimoire gently.
"This book reveals how Asyth responds to a person's presence. In your case, the reaction was unusually strong. Your affinity is very high—two shades deeper than Myne's, actually."
Fael blinked, surprised.
"Is that… good?"
She allowed herself a rare smile.
"Affinity alone doesn't decide everything," she explained. "But a darker hue usually means your spirit harmonizes well with Asyth. You won't struggle to control it."
She closed the book softly.
"In other words—congratulations. You're a natural Weaver."
Fael felt a sense of pride after hearing that.
Mrs. Marie exhaled softly, brushing dust from her robe as she slid the grimoire back into its place on the shelf.
"Alright. I'll give you a book and a scroll to begin with," she said, turning toward the stairs. "You are to study them here in the library and finish them by next week. No excuses."
Fael nodded eagerly, his arms straight at his sides like an obedient student.
They climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor, where shelves stretched high and tight, filled with aging tomes and brittle scrolls. Mrs. Marie walked with ease, her fingers gliding along the spines until she stopped at a shelf marked with old druidic glyphs.
She retrieved a wide leather-bound book, its spine worn but intact, and then reached behind it to get a yellowed scroll, tied neatly with a brown ribbon.
"These should suffice for now," she said, handing them over to Fael.
Fael took them carefully and read the title of the book.
The Evolution and History of Asyth Part I.
"If you have trouble understanding anything," Mrs. Marie said as she descended the creaking steps, "ask either me or Myne. But only after you've made an honest effort."
Fael nodded and settled into the chair beside the table, his legs swinging slightly as he pulled the book closer and started reading through it.
The beginning few pages entailed the same information that Mrs. Marie had just explained definitions of Asyth, the varying concentrations among different races, and a breakdown of the inert and active forms.
Fael's eyes drifted from the pages to the scroll beside him.
Curiosity tugged at him.
He carefully untied the brown ribbon and unrolled it. Unlike the neat lettering in the book, the scroll was handwritten with diagrams and charts.
There are so many cool drawings in this!
Fael's eyes lit up as he traced one of the diagrams with his finger. Magical circles overlapped with sketches of flowers, animals, and strange glowing patterns.
One of the charts included a short incantation—basic and harmless, supposedly—and simple hand gestures to accompany it. He stood up beside the table, rolled up his sleeves with determination, and whispered the words softly.
His fingers danced clumsily in the air, mimicking the hand signs.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—sparkles.
Tiny golden flickers shimmered around his hands, and suddenly, a gentle fluttering noise filled the room.
A dozen butterflies burst into existence from thin air, swirling around him. Their wings glowed faintly with hues of gold and violet.
Fael's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open in awe.
"I did that...?" he whispered.
The butterflies floated gently across the room, a few landing on the shelves and parchment. One settled atop his shoulder, fluttering its wings slowly.
He laughed, softly.
One of the butterflies drifted toward the lower floor. It fluttered down softly and landed atop Mrs. Marie's desk.
She looked up from the papers she had just begun sorting. Her eyes followed the delicate creature as it opened and closed its wings slowly, like a breathing petal.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
***
The clouds had shrouded the moon, and the wind had grown colder. It was almost the time everyone goes to sleep in the grove.
Fael stepped out of the library after a few more minutes of reading and ran toward the gazebo, where Lark and Myne were still chatting under the soft glow of lantern fungi. His hands were hidden behind his back.
Lark spotted him and waved. "There he is!"
"Look what I brought!" Fael grinned.
He proudly revealed two slices of mushroom bread—still warm—wrapped neatly in a cloth. "Mrs. Marie gave them to me!"
Lark's eyes widened, and he clutched his chest dramatically, tears welling up. "You… you're divine," he gasped. "Truly, a gift from the heavens!"
Myne's eyes locked onto the bread. Her lips parted slightly, and she muttered with a dazed look, "My mouth is watering…"
Fael giggled, "You guys are so weird," he said, handing them each a slice.
While they both enjoyed their mushroom bread, Fael turned to Myne, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I told Mrs. Marie about everything, and then she tested my Asyth affinity... The colour it showed was deep purple!"
"A purple, huh?" Myne paused, chewing thoughtfully. "That means you'll have to study and train extra hard then."
She smiled, her words slightly muffled by the bread still in her mouth.
"But don't worry. I'm always here to help you—ask me anytime."
"Understood!" Fael replied with a firm nod.
"My siblings are just too clever," Lark sobbed, tears welling up as he floated on cloud nine—his sweet tooth thoroughly satisfied.