After class, Damien headed off with a group of his other sycophants, nobles from prominent families who orbited him like moons around a planet. Normally, the original Lucian would have been right there with them, basking in Damien's reflected glory and sneering at anyone they passed.
Today, I turned in the opposite direction.
Every instinct in my body, honed by years of reading stories like this, screamed that I needed more than just a flicker of practical skill. I needed knowledge. The original Lucian was ignorant, content to let Damien do the thinking. But I was Aiden. I came from a world built on information, on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe. To survive here, I had to understand the laws of magic.
My destination was the heart of the academy: the Grand Library of Aldren.
Pushing open the towering twin doors of oak and bronze, I was met with a scene of breathtaking, scholarly magic. The library wasn't just a building full of books; it was a living repository of knowledge. The main chamber was a vast rotunda that soared hundreds of feet high, lined with endless shelves that curved and spiraled upwards into the gloom. Instead of ladders, small floating platforms drifted lazily between the aisles, waiting for a user's command. Books with glowing spines hovered in the air, returning themselves to their shelves. The only sounds were the soft rustle of turning pages and the quiet, rhythmic footsteps of the library's guardians: silent, stone-faced golems who patrolled the halls, their crystal eyes glowing with a soft, blue light. The air smelled of ancient paper, dried ink, and the faint, clean scent of ozone that always accompanied powerful enchantments.
It was magnificent. For a moment, the book-loving nerd in me completely forgot the life-or-death situation I was in.
Shaking off my awe, I focused on my task. I bypassed the sections on offensive spells and grand histories. I needed the fundamentals. After a few minutes of searching, I found the section I was looking for: "Foundational Mana Theory."
I pulled a heavy, leather-bound volume from the shelf, its title embossed in silver: An Introduction to the Nature of Mana. Finding a secluded table in an alcove overlooking one of the academy's serene inner gardens, I sat down and began to read.
The book started with the basics, much of which I already knew from the novel. Mana was the energy of life, flowing from every living thing and from the world itself. These flows created invisible currents beneath the earth, known as Ley Veins, which were rivers of immense power. Places where Ley Veins converged, like the floating islands the academy was built on, had incredibly high mana density, making them ideal for magical training.
But then the text went deeper, into the kind of detail the novel had always glossed over. It described the Mana Core not just as a power source, but as a spiritual organ that resonates with a person's soul. Its growth wasn't just about training, but about experience, emotional maturity, and one's understanding of the self. This was why a grizzled war veteran with a lower-ranked Core could often defeat a young noble prodigy—their mana was tempered by real-world experience, making it more efficient and potent.
That's it, I realized, a jolt of excitement running through me. The original Lucian had the emotional maturity of a spoiled child. His mana was likely inefficient and unfocused because his entire being was unfocused. If I could cultivate my own mind, my own resolve, my Core would respond. Hard work wasn't just about practicing spells; it was about forging my own character.
I read for what felt like hours, devouring information on the different classifications of magic. Elementalism was the most common, but there was also Runic Magic, which bound spells into symbols; Enchanting, the art of imbuing objects with mana; and even forbidden arts like Soul Magic, which the book warned was a path to madness and ruin.
As I delved deeper, I found a reference in a footnote to an older, more obscure text: The Way of the Patient Stream: Meditations on the Mana Core. Intrigued, I commanded a nearby floating platform and ascended into the higher, dustier levels of the library. I found the book tucked away in a dark corner, its cover unmarked and its pages brittle with age.
Blowing a layer of dust from the cover, I opened it. It wasn't a spellbook. It was a philosophical guide on mana cultivation. Most of it was archaic and esoteric, but one chapter captivated me. It was titled: "On Mana Breathing."
The text described a technique that was less a spell and more a state of being. It was a deep meditative practice where a Mana Weaver would synchronize the rhythm of their own Core with the ambient mana in the atmosphere—the gentle, ceaseless flow of the world's own life force. By breathing in harmony with the world, one could absorb ambient mana directly, purifying it and using it to slowly polish and refine their Core.
According to the author, this method was incredibly slow and difficult, requiring immense patience and mental discipline. It had been largely abandoned by modern Mana Weavers in favor of mana potions and core-strengthening artifacts, which offered faster, more direct results. But, the author argued, while those methods were like adding more fuel to a fire, Mana Breathing was like rebuilding the furnace itself—making it more efficient, more resilient, and capable of a far greater heat in the long run. It built an unparalleled foundation of control.
This was what I needed. Not a flashy spell to win a single duel, but a method to fundamentally change the weak foundation I had inherited from Lucian Greyfall. This was a path of hard work that promised real, lasting strength.
I was so engrossed that I didn't hear the light footsteps approaching my table until a soft voice pulled me from my trance.
"Excuse me."
I looked up, startled. Standing there was a girl with hair the color of spun gold, braided loosely over one shoulder. Her eyes were a brilliant, intelligent shade of sapphire blue, and she held a stack of books clutched to her chest. She wore the standard female uniform, a tastefully tailored dress and jacket, but she carried herself with an elegance that set her apart.
I recognized her instantly from the novel's descriptions and illustrations. Seraphina Vael. Daughter of a Marquis, a prodigy in Runic theory, and the primary love interest of the hero, Leonidas.
My entire body went rigid. I was Lucian Greyfall, Damien's shadow. In the eyes of everyone in the hero's circle, I was the enemy.
My Soul Resonance flared, and I felt the emotions wafting off her. There was a strong sense of caution, a definite wariness. But underneath it, there wasn't the disgust or hatred I expected. There was… curiosity. And a sliver of something that felt like academic appraisal.
"Could I trouble you for that volume?" she asked, her voice polite as she pointed to the book lying next to me, the one on Runic Symbology I'd glanced at earlier.
The old Lucian would have sneered, made a cutting remark, or deliberately ignored her to show his disdain. It was a perfect opportunity to be an antagonist.
I did none of those things. I simply met her gaze for a second, my expression carefully blank, and pushed the heavy book across the table towards her.
"Here," I said, my voice neutral.
She seemed momentarily surprised by my straightforward lack of hostility. Her sapphire eyes studied my face for a moment, the curiosity in her emotional aura intensifying. She had seen my display in class. She was likely trying to reconcile the image of Damien's arrogant dog with the focused student who had earned a rare nod from Professor Elara.
"Thank you," she said, her voice a little softer this time. She picked up the book and, with one last, thoughtful glance, turned and walked away, disappearing into the labyrinthine shelves.
The brief encounter left my heart hammering in my chest. It was nothing, a simple exchange. But it was also everything. I hadn't acted the part of the villain. And she hadn't treated me with outright hostility. The script had been bent, ever so slightly.
As the enchanted lights in the library began to dim, signaling its closing, I took the old book on Mana Breathing and headed to the front desk. The golem librarian stamped it with a silent, glowing rune, marking it as checked out to me.
Holding the book in my hand, I stepped out of the library into the cool evening air. The twin moons were now bright in the twilight sky, casting long, ethereal shadows across the academy's courtyards. My shadow stretched out before me, long and dark.
In the novel, Lucian's shadow was always attached to Damien's. But tonight, walking alone with a new purpose clutched in my hand, I felt for the first time that my shadow was entirely my own. I wasn't just avoiding my fate anymore. I was preparing to build a new one.