The Royal Library

After changing out of his sweaty clothes, Mirac moved silently through the castle's corridors, heading toward the royal library.

It had been seven years since he last set foot in the library, and the memory of its location had faded, reduced to a collection of hazy fragments. The only thing he remembered clearly was that it was on the second floor of the castle, just like his bedroom.

"It should be around here somewhere, if I'm not mistaken…"

He advanced cautiously along the corridors, trying to recall the route he had taken as a child.

After a few minutes of searching, Mirac noticed a door that stood out slightly from the others.

Looking more closely, he recognized several familiar details: the golden handle, the intricate woodwork design, and its spatial placement within the castle.

"This must be it! Let's give it a try," he murmured to himself, a faint smile curling his lips.

Before hesitation could take root, Mirac grasped the handle and turned it decisively.

A soft creak filled the air as the door swung open, revealing a faint golden glow that seemed to greet him like an old friend.

But before he had time to examine the room—beyond the closest shelves near the entrance—a deep, authoritative voice, charged with unexpected vigor, shouted:

"Damn it! Before entering, you knock!"

Mirac spun sharply to his right, his heart pounding from the sudden reprimand.

At the wooden counter to the right of the entrance sat an old man, draped in a long black robe of shiny, silky fabric, adorned with intricate golden patterns depicting arcane symbols. The cuffs, collar, and a sash wrapped around his torso were embroidered with gold thread, lending him an almost regal air.

The skin of his face, thin and wrinkled, bore the marks of a life spent among scrolls and forgotten volumes, each wrinkle a testament to the passing years. His white beard, coarse and flowing down to his chest, intertwined with strands of sparse, silvery hair peeking out from beneath a medieval linen cap adorned with small embroidered details.

'It's him! The librarian from seven years ago! Or at least I think so..' hypothesized Mirac, a spark of astonishment mixed with a shiver running down his spine.

However, unlike the first time he had seen him, the old man's meticulous attention was not focused on the book he held firmly in his hands. On the contrary, his gaze was fixed on Mirac—piercing and annoyed.

His eyes, the color of aged bronze and framed by black, round glasses, gleamed with an inquisitive light. His silvery eyebrows, furrowed in a stern crease, heightened his scrutinizing expression, making every move Mirac made feel like an invisible interrogation.

"Wait a moment!" the old man began, his eyes widening in surprise. "You, you are..."

The words hung in the air, as though the thought itself had slipped away.

Sensing the moment of uncertainty, Mirac decided to take control of the situation.

"I am Mirac Strongold!" he proclaimed with a voice both firm and youthful, pride resonating in every word. "Son of King Arthur Strongold and Prince of the Kingdom of Ardorya!"

There was no real need for him to introduce himself so formally. Simply stating that he was the Prince would have sufficed. 

But the thought of making such a theatrical declaration amused him, as if it were a small rehearsal for future official ceremonies.

However, noticing the librarian's irritated expression, Mirac quickly added:

"Oh, right! I almost forgot… I apologize for not knocking and for any disturbance I may have caused."

To further emphasize his words, Mirac modestly bent his torso in an elegant bow, attempting to soothe the old man's irritation. 

The latter, observing the gesture, seemed to calm his anger.

A simple huff accompanied his response.

"Hmph! Apology accepted, young Prince…" he said indifferently, before turning his attention back to the book in his hands, its yellowed pages worn with time.

On the counter beside him lay a bronze monocle, its surface catching the light of the setting sun, and an ink-stained quill, clear symbols of a life spent in ceaseless pursuit of knowledge and wisdom.

"Uhm…" Mirac began hesitantly, searching for the right words. "You're the librarian, aren't you?"

The old man tore his gaze from his book, rolling his eyes with a clearly irritated expression.

"Yes, exactly… You guessed it. I'm Matthew Plantagenet, the royal librarian."

His voice was dry, his lack of enthusiasm almost tangible.

Once again, Matthew plunged back into his reading, flipping the pages with the fervor of someone who lived in a world of words.

'I see his obsession with reading hasn't changed one bit in seven years...' Mirac reflected, a hint of irritation rising as he watched the man wholly absorbed in his book.

Struggling not to sigh and maintain his composure, Mirac simply shrugged, trying to ignore Matthew's distant and absorbed demeanor. Frustration simmered inside him, but he forced himself to remain patient and polite.

"Umm, excuse me..." he resumed, careful not to sound too intrusive, his voice dropping slightly. "May I come in and have a look at the books?"

For the umpteenth time, Matthew broke from his avid reading and fixed the young Prince with a gaze that throbbed faintly with annoyance.

"I remind you that you are the Prince! You can enter wherever and whenever you want..."

With that, he returned to his book, as if the only world that mattered was the one contained between its pages.

'Huh! What a grumpy old man...'

Letting out a deep sigh, Mirac crossed the threshold of the door he had hesitated to pass under the librarian's piercing, scrutinizing gaze. With a decisive motion, he closed the door behind him, feeling a shiver of freedom.

"Well then, I'll be on my way…" Mirac said vaguely, his words drifting in the silent air as he ventured into the library.

However, he received no reply from Matthew, who remained engrossed in the pages of his book, as if nothing could distract him from that world of paper and ink. Ignoring him again, Mirac didn't wait for an answer and continued deeper into the vast library.

As he walked, the air around him grew increasingly saturated with an enveloping scent: a blend of ancient paper, aged leather, and beeswax, which teased his nostrils, awakening the memory of his first visit as an infant.

The red walls, entirely lined with dark wooden shelves, rose dizzyingly toward the ceiling, so high that they made one feel lightheaded. Massive wooden stairs wound along the tracks, ready to lead anyone who wished to explore the oldest volumes, kept high like inaccessible treasures.

In every corner of the library, heavy oak desks seemed to invite him with their austere elegance, offering a place where one could immerse themselves in reading.

But before doing so, Mirac had to find the right book! The one he had come all the way for.

"Alright! Let's begin the search."

Irresistibly drawn to the books, Mirac lightly brushed his fingers over a row of leather-bound tomes, their covers bearing the unmistakable marks of time. Their rough surfaces conveyed a sense of ancient wisdom.

"Marvelous!" he murmured to himself, a smile lighting up his face as he gazed at the immense variety of volumes, each one different in size and color.

Walking between the shelves of the "Magic" section, he gently slid his hand along the spines of the books, carefully observing each possible choice.

For every title that caught his attention, he began to softly pronounce its name, as if savoring the sound and imagining the secrets each book might hold.

"Magical Zoology... Chronicle of the Seven Journeys... Runes and Arcane Languages..."

After several minutes of exploration, he came across books that told the complete history of the Kingdom of Ardorya, others that delved into the study of potions and alchemy, and still others that covered the geography and biomes of the seven kingdoms.

But unfortunately, nothing seemed focused on the Chaotics and their hunt.

"Psychology of Magical Creatures... Arcane Magic..."

Suddenly, Mirac stopped. His finger landed on a book with a golden cover, its title shining in bright white letters, almost unnaturally vivid despite the centuries the volume had behind it.

With a smooth motion, he pulled it from the shelf and lifted it before him. He stared at it for a moment, rereading the title to ensure he hadn't made a mistake.

"CLASSIFICATION of SYNTONIES"

Mirac sighed, scratching his head.

"This isn't exactly what I was looking for. But, well, I have to start somewhere, right?"

Quickly, he made his way to a nearby table by the window, not far from the shelf, where the sunset light gently filtered in, caressing his face.

He grabbed a chair, sat down on the soft red cushion, and placed the book in front of him. The volume, surprisingly thin, seemed ideal for a quiet and focused read. Taking a deep breath, he opened the first page and dove into the book.

* * *

The beginning of the book was a general introduction to Magic, with a vague explanation—similar to what Vincent had given him—about the division of Magic into the Seven Elements.

So, nothing new.

But just a little further in, Mirac came across something he hadn't learned yet.

~ SEQUENCE of SYNTONIES ~

The Degree of Sintony of an individual—if not also the Magical Power they can unleash—depends on their Sintony with their own element. The first stage of the Sintony sequence is purely random, determined by the innate and natural talent of the person.

Syntony is not just a matter of practice, but an harmonization with the element itself.

Primary Syntony: An individual can cast simple, low-level spells, such as lighting a fire or creating a small gust of wind. At this stage, the Syntony is purely mental.

Secondary Syntony: The caster can begin to manipulate the element on a larger scale and combine multiple effects, such as controlling a water current or erecting a wall of earth. At this level, the Syntony resides in the heart.

Tertiary Syntony: At this level, the wizard becomes a master of their element. They can generate impressive phenomena, such as firestorms or earthquakes. Here, the Syntony involves the entire body.

Perfect Syntony: Only a very few reach this level. It allows one to become one with their element, gaining almost divine powers: turning into pure fire, dissolving into shadow, or becoming invisible like the air. At this stage, the Syntony involves the very soul.

Divine Syntony: Only one person in the world for each magical element manages to reach this level of Syntony, being loved and chosen by the Gods themselves, who embody and symbolize them. The seven individuals who succeed are known by the title of "Elemental Angels," and work closely with the Seven Deities.

* * *

'That's odd... This book doesn't seem to mention the Chaotics or the Anomalous Syntonies even once.'

Mirac closed the book with a decisive gesture, his face calm despite the slight disappointment that hovered over his brow. The remaining pages gently folded under his fingers, as if the book itself had resigned to his incomplete reading.

'But it doesn't matter!' he thought suddenly, a determined smile forming on his lips. 'After all, even before coming here, I knew I wouldn't find the information I was looking for right away. And besides, learning new things about Elemental Syntonies isn't a waste of time at all. In fact, even though this information doesn't relate much to me, it might still prove useful in the future!'

Even before that comforting thought crossed his mind, Mirac realized that, from that moment on, he would need to continue his search with determination, not giving up until he found the answers he was seeking.

If one book wasn't enough, he would read another, and then another, without stopping, until he had inevitably gone through the entire Royal Library!

Not that he minded reading all those books, actually.

'But... As much as I want to, I can't come here every day. Not only will I be busy with my studies and swordsmanship lessons, but I also need to avoid looking too desperate in my search for answers,' he thought, as a downcast yet serene expression appeared on his face. 'I could still come here with the excuse of wanting to study every now and then, but it's best not to overdo it so I don't attract the attention of the gossipy servants!'

The thought made him smile bitterly. The palace rumors spread as fast as a raging river, and he didn't want to become another topic of discussion among those who always gathered in the kitchen to giggle and exchange gossip.

Pulling himself slowly away from those thoughts, he rose from the chair with a deep breath, stretching and yawning, feeling each vertebra of his back relax under the movement. A small sigh of relief escaped him as the tension in his muscles melted away. 

Then, walking between the imposing rows of shelves, he made his way toward the spot where he had found the book. His steps, light but determined, seemed to dissolve into the solemn silence of the library.

He placed the book back in its spot, next to many others that, with just a glance at their titles, had caught his curiosity.

"Hmmm..." he murmured, reflecting. "With this sunset, I think it's almost time for dinner. If that's the case, it might be better to start heading toward the dining hall to avoid being lat-"

Before he could finish the sentence, a sudden thud made him jump.

The sound shattered the deep silence of the library like a stone thrown into a pond, vibrating the air and breaking the stillness.

Mirac spun quickly to his left, his heart racing from the fright.

But there was nothing to worry about: a book had simply slipped off the long shelf, landing with a sharp thud right on the floor, just a few steps away from where he stood.

"Dammit! You gave me a scare!" he muttered, walking over to pick it up.

He bent slowly, feeling the wooden floor creak beneath him as he reached out for the book. He grabbed it carefully, his fingers grazing the leather cover.

"How strange though," he thought. "How did it fall on its own?"

As soon as Mirac finished getting back on his feet, a shadow caught the corner of his eye, prompting him to quickly turn his gaze to the right, down the opposite aisle from the shelf.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, a shiver of unease running through him. "I could have sworn I saw someone..."

He gave a quick glance around, scrutinizing the opposite aisle of the shelf.

But finding no one, he shrugged, trying to shake off the useless anxiety that the uncomfortable feeling of being watched had caused.

"Maybe I should get more sleep..." he said to himself with irony, trying to brush off the moment and put a smile back on his lips.

Most likely, he thought, all the stress from the recent period was starting to take its toll, turning into strange tricks of the mind.

With a deep breath, Mirac refocused on the book he had just picked up.

It was thin but heavy, wrapped in a soft burgundy leather cover that faintly reflected the light of the library. The edges of the cover were decorated with golden geometric patterns that seemed to dance and intertwine in a play of light.

At the center, the title stood out with authority, engraved on the skin in large elegant letters that captured attention. 

"ELEMENTARY MATHEMATICS: Discovering Numbers"

Mirac paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, reflecting his disapproval.

"So it's true that you haunt me everywhere, Math..." he muttered to himself, a mix of irony and annoyance in his voice.

But the book was not done with him yet.

Right below the title, something smaller caught his eye.

Another golden inscription.

"What the hell…?!"

As he read the words, Mirac's eyes widened in disbelief.

A sudden tightness gripped his chest, so strong that he had to grab the edge of the shelf to keep his balance. He took a step back, his legs shaking, and stared at the title as if he were looking at something profoundly wrong.

"N-No, it can't be..."

A cold shiver ran down his neck as he lowered his gaze, almost unwillingly, to the bottom of the cover. There, a small golden inscription gleamed faintly under the soft library light.

Mirac held his breath.

And everything stopped.

The breath. The thoughts. Almost even his heart.

Reading that name, his eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and the book began to tremble in his hands.

"Dave Arangot"

That was certainly not the name of a publishing house, but of the author.

Or rather...

"DAD?!"