"Yes," the Prince said. "You helped us—allow us to return the favor."
Ron's fingers tightened on the tablecloth. For a heartbeat, the noise of laughter and clinking glasses faded. There was only the sound of his pulse—and her voice, faint and distant, calling his name once more.
"There's a book in your library," he said softly. "I don't remember its title, but the author's name is Dream."
"That book?" the younger princess repeated.
"Do you… know the author?" the elder asked carefully. "Or are you connected to it somehow?"
Ron's hand froze above his plate. His throat tightened. "Why? Is there something wrong with that book?"
The Prince exchanged a glance with his sisters. "It's strange," he admitted. "The book appeared out of nowhere, in library. It's the only one of its kind. No copies exist anywhere. I have confirmed with the staff, no one knew about it."
Ron's heartbeat quickened. "What's inside it?"
"Nothing," the Prince said. "When I opened it, every page was blank."
For a moment, the world around Ron dimmed. The laughter, the clinking of silverware—all faded. A quiet draft rippled through the hall, making the chandelier lights waver. It almost felt like the room itself had heard her name.
He remembered.
That same book.
The day he found it in library, when flipping through pages he remembered the last words he saw before he was called out:
>"If you're reading this, it will help you survive."
Was it was a message?
From her.
"Your Majesty," Ron said quietly, lifting his gaze, "I'd like to request that you give me that book—permanently."
"Hahaha, just a book?" the King chuckled. "I expected you to ask for a mansion or gold. But very well—why is it so important to you?"
Ron's lips parted, but no words came. The ache in his chest returned.
Before he could speak, the Old Man set down his glass and said gently,
"This book belonged to his late wife."
The room fell silent. Every head turned toward him.
"It's the only thing she left behind," the Old Man continued, voice heavy with sincerity. "Please, Your Majesty. Allow him to take it home."
Then—to everyone's astonishment—he stood and bowed deeply.
The air itself seemed to pause. For a man like him to bow—it was like watching a mountain kneel.
"You don't have to bow," the King said quickly, his tone softening. "Please, take any book you like."
Then he looked toward Ron. "And… I'm sorry for your loss."
Ron lowered his eyes. He didn't cry. He only bowed his head—but for a moment, his reflection in the polished table looked like a man made of cracks.
"You may take the book," the King said, setting his goblet down.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ron replied with a small bow.
The King studied him for a moment, then asked, "Sir Ron… are you a Fire Element user?"
Ron blinked. "Mostly, yes."
The King's smile widened. "My son also commands fire."
"And my sisters control water," the Prince added proudly.
Ron nodded politely. "I see. Well… I use both fire and lightning."
The moment the word lightning left his lips, he felt the air change. Eyes turned to him—curious, almost disbelieving.
"Lightning?" the Queen repeated, surprise glimmering in her tone.
"Lightning is the rarest of them all," the King murmured, leaning forward.
"Can you show us a glimpse of it?" the Prince asked, unable to hide his eagerness.
Ron hesitated for a second, then raised his right hand.
A faint hum filled the air. Sparks of silver-blue light crawled over his fingers, then wrapped around his forearm like a living current. The chandeliers flickered as if bowing to the sudden energy.
Gasps echoed around the table.
"Incredible…" the King whispered.
"So that's the power of lightning," the Queen said softly, awe and fear mingling in her voice.
The Old Man chuckled, breaking the silence. "Now, now—Ron, don't you have something important to do?"
Ron nodded, letting the lightning fade into harmless light. "You're right."
He stood and bowed respectfully. "Thank you for the dinner—and for the book."
The King smiled warmly. "Wait." He signaled a servant, then took a sheet of parchment. With practiced strokes, he wrote a few words, stamped it with his royal seal, and handed it to Ron.
"Give this letter to the librarian," he said. "It'll grant you access."
Ron accepted it with both hands. "Understood."
And then—he vanished.
A faint flash of light rippled through the air where he stood.
The Queen's eyes widened. "What… just happened?"
"Where did he go?" the Prince asked, half-rising from his chair.
The Old Man sipped his wine calmly. "Teleportation."
The King frowned. "Teleportation? I thought it was just a myth."
"Rumors, yes," the Prince muttered. "But I never thought—"
"Oh, I didn't know either," the Old Man interrupted, stretching. "Well then, Your Majesty, I have something to attend to."
Before they could question him further, he stood and left, cane tapping lightly as the grand doors closed behind him.
Ron appeared instantly inside the vast royal library. Shelves rose like towers around him, their shadows swallowing the room in ancient silence.
He moved quickly, the echo of his boots following him through aisles of forgotten books. His eyes caught the familiar spine—dusty, unmarked—and he pulled it free.
At the librarian's desk, an elderly man looked up as Ron placed the book and letter before him.
The librarian opened the parchment, reading the King's seal. His gaze lifted slowly to Ron, studying him with quiet curiosity, as if scanning something beyond flesh. Then he nodded once.
"Permission granted," he said simply.