Chapter 19 CHAPTER NINETEEN
AERIS
Day two and the recruits assigned to guard the border still hadn’t returned, leaving an almost eerie calm settling over the courtyards and halls. It wasn’t just the absence of first-years…the second and third years were nowhere to be seen either. Whispers were that they had all been dispatched on missions, some critical, some secretive. The Academy had a strange emptiness to it, the kind that made the echo of footsteps feel louder than normal.
Rhea, predictably, was still curled up in bed, snoring softly, the blankets pulled up around her like a fortress. Normally, I’d have joined her in complaining about early mornings or sore muscles but with her out of commission, I had nothing to do. I couldn’t exactly practice alone, and staring at the walls was only so entertaining.
With nothing better to do, I quietly slipped out of the dorm and made my way toward the library. The stone corridors were cool beneath my bare feet, the morning sun casting long, thin stripes of light across the walls.
The library doors were huge and heavy. I pushed them open, and the smell of old books and dust hit me, making me feel…grounded. The quiet wrapped around me like a blanket. I wandered between the tall shelves, running my fingers along spines with titles on magic, combat, and history. I wasn’t really looking for anything.. I just needed a place to think.
I wandered between the towering shelves, fingertips brushing the spines of books that contained everything from elemental theory to battle strategy.
Eventually, a plain, unassuming book caught my eye. Its cover was blank, save for a faint embossed symbol in the corner. No author listed. My curiosity instantly piqued. I pulled it free from the shelf, flipping it open to reveal pages filled with meticulous illustrations of herbs, roots, and strange magical plants, each annotated with notes in precise, flowing handwriting.
I sank onto a nearby window seat, grinning. This was exactly the kind of thing I loved…practical, clever, and a little mysterious. I was halfway through marveling at a page on frost-bloom petals when I stumbled upon a section wri
tten entirely in runes. My brow furrowed as I leaned closer. Something wasn’t right.
“These runes… this translation is wrong,” I muttered, squinting at the page.
The moment the words left my lips, I heard a soft crack from the opposite side of the table, like someone had shifted in their seat.
“Huh?” I mumbled, glancing up, but the silence stretched.
I muttered again, a little louder this time. “No… no, this should read differently. Definitely differently…”
“Excuse me?” A calm, measured voice came from behind me.
I froze. Slowly, I turned and nearly toppled backward. The Grand Sovereign was standing there, hands clasped behind him, mask gleaming faintly in the library light. Only his eyes were visible, sharp and unreadable, but I could feel his gaze drilling into me.
“Oh! I… I had no idea you were here,” I stammered, bowing quickly, my cheeks heating. My hands instinctively clutched the book.
Three run–ins to him in a week.
He tilted his head, one hand brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “I heard the translation was being questioned.”
I blinked, caught between awe and panic. “Uh… well, I mean, this part of the runes—”
“They are correct,” he interrupted sharply, his voice firm, almost defensive. “The author who wrote this knew exactly what she was doing. Every mark, every stroke, every nuance. You are mistaken.”
I raised a skeptical brow. “Mistaken? With all due respect, I’ve cross-referenced these runes with three other texts. This one… it’s wrong. It would change the meaning entirely.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, glinting behind the mask. “You doubt the work of the author?” His tone was a mix of incredulity and something bordering on offense. “Do you realize how much care went into every page? Every translation is precise. Perhaps you lack the subtlety to appreciate it.”
I blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice. I had never seen this side of him before. All the rumors had painted him as cold, distant, untouchable but this? This was different. He was quick to defend, quick to argue, and unnervingly challenging in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Part of me had expected indifference, maybe even apathy, but instead, here he was, sparring with words as easily as breathing.
“Maybe. Or maybe the subtlety is… just wrong?” I countered.
He took a step closer, voice dropping into that low, dangerous calm that made me want to straighten up immediately. “I assure you… it is not wrong. The author stands behind every line, every annotation. You may question it but the text does not lie.”
I tilted my head, trying to keep my expression neutral. “The author… stands behind it?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, tone unwavering. “Every line, every flourish, every word. Do you think the author would compromise the integrity of her work?”
I bit my lip, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth despite myself. “Well… apparently, she or he doesn’t mind being misunderstood by first-year recruits.”
His eyes, sharp and unblinking, fixed on me. “The author does not need your approval. But if you insist on proving your point, then I will listen. Articulate clearly. Otherwise, you waste both our time.”
I straightened, gripping the book tighter. “Fine. Look at this section…the runes describing frost-bloom petals. In your translation, it says they are toxic. But the correct interpretation, the way the symbols interact… it’s actually a healing property. If someone followed your text exactly…” I trailed off, letting the implied disaster hang between us.
His gaze flicked to the page, and for the first time, I saw his mask tilt slightly, a shadow of amusement or was it exasperation? in his eyes. “Interesting… yet, I maintain the author intended it as written.”
I blinked. “The author?”
“Yes,” he said, voice calm and unyielding. “Every line, every mark. You doubt it, question the authority, question the intent..but the work stands. And the author stands behind it.”
My heart skipped a beat. That phrasing, that certainty… Could he mean—? I swallowed, trying to hide the surge of something between shock and amusement.
He gave me a faint, almost smug tilt of his head. “Now. Are you going to prove your point or continue muttering to yourself?”
I narrowed my eyes, gripping the book tighter, feeling that familiar spark of challenge in my chest. “Oh… I’m going to prove it.”
His eyes glimmered behind the mask, and for the first time, I felt the thrill of being matched not in magic, not in battle but in knowledge, with someone who wouldn’t let me off easy.
I flipped the page back to the frost-bloom section, fingers tracing the runes like a sword. “Look. Here…these strokes are off. See this little loop? It changes the tone of the word entirely. Frost-bloom petals aren’t toxic; they’re restorative when prepared correctly. Anyone following your text exactly would poison themselves.”
He leaned slightly closer, the faintest rustle of his cloak punctuating the silence. “Restorative?” His voice was smooth, almost amused. “That is… a bold interpretation for someone who has spent less than a week studying them.”
“Bold?” I shot back. “I’ve spent enough time observing them to know what these runes actually mean. You just… misinterpreted a small nuance in the strokes!” I jabbed a finger at the offending mark.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Misinterpreted? I assure you, the author who knows far more than any first-year recruit was precise. There is no nuance to misinterpret. The text is flawless.”
I blinked, then narrowed my eyes. “Flawless? Really? If someone eats frost-bloom petals following this exact translation, they’d be lucky to survive the taste, let alone the effect!”
His eyes sparkled behind the mask, sharp, challenging. “Ah. So now you claim to know better than the author. Very well… show me. Explain how your interpretation differs. With clarity. Not conjecture.”
I gritted my teeth, leaning forward on the table. “Fine. Frost-bloom petals when handled raw, they release trace toxins. That part is true. But the runes here suggest toxicity for all usage. That’s wrong. Properly prepared…dried and soaked in moonwater,they’re a potent restorative. The runes should reflect the preparation method. Without that detail, the text is dangerously misleading.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Just that masked gaze, piercing and unyielding. Then he exhaled slowly, the sound almost like a chuckle. “You… are insistent.”
I crossed my arms, trying not to smirk. “Insistent? I’m not done yet.”
“Clearly,” he said, leaning back slightly, arms crossed behind him. “I’ve never seen such… audacity from a first-year. Most would have bowed their heads, muttered apologies, and moved on.”
“Good thing I’m not most first-years, then,” I shot back, unable to hide a grin.
He leaned closer again, voice low, almost teasing. “Do you realize—?”
“Do I realize what?” I asked, matching his gaze. “That the text is wrong and I’m proving it?”
“Not that,” he said, almost sharply, “but that arguing with me is dangerous.”
I blinked. “Dangerous? You’re in a library. Unless you can magically fling books at me—”
He straightened suddenly, the faint scrape of his cloak against the floor echoing in the quiet library. “Tomorrow,” he said, voice calm but edged with command, “come prepared. Bring your arguments, your translations, your observations. Defend your interpretations thoroughly. I expect rigor. No half-measures. No assumptions. No mistakes.”
I blinked, surprised at how formal and… intimidating he suddenly sounded. Yet there was still that faint glimmer of amusement behind his mask.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, slower this time, almost savoring the word. “I will not be so… lenient. Bring your reasoning. And make it unassailable.”
I felt a thrill curl in my chest, equal parts nerves and excitement. “Tomorrow,” I echoed, trying to match his tone even as my hands shook slightly. “I’ll be ready. And I’ll prove it.”
He gave a small nod, the only acknowledgment before he began to step back. “Do not disappoint me, first-year. I do not suffer incompetence lightly.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I muttered, grinning despite myself.
As he turned and his footsteps faded down the aisle, I sank back into my chair, heart racing.
I just went head to head with the Grand Sovereign.