The Bookkeeper's quill scratched steadily across parchment, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent library.
"Northbend Sect," he said without looking up.
Cael waited, hands folded behind his back.
"They borrowed three archival volumes six years ago," the elder continued. "Not training manuals. Not public texts. Reference works. Annotated."
The quill paused.
"They were meant to be returned within a year."
Cael hesitated. "Elder… why send me?"
The Bookkeeper finally raised his eyes. They were sharp, assessing, far too calm.
"Because you are unawakened," he said, "and therefore unthreatening."
Cael absorbed that quietly.
"If I send a proper disciple, they argue. If I send an enforcer, they posture," the elder went on. "If I send you, they delay."
He dipped the quill again. "Your task is not speed. It is restraint."
Cael nodded.
"You will retrieve volumes N-17, N-23, and N-41. Check the bindings. Northbend has a habit of 'misplacing' marginal notes."
"And if they refuse?" Cael asked.
"They won't," the Bookkeeper said. "They will test patience instead."
A sealed note slid across the desk.
"Dry," the elder added. "If it rains, shield them with your body."
Cael accepted the seal with care.
The road east was long, quiet, and hot.
Dust clung to boots. The sun bleached the land pale. Jin filled the silence with idle commentary while Bo and Ren kept an eye on the road.
The bandits came poorly prepared and left worse off.
One lunged early, panicked. Cael slipped on loose gravel, twisted awkwardly, and felt cloth tear as the knife passed too close.
Luck—not skill—saved him.
"That was luck," Jin said firmly afterward.
Cael nodded. "…I know."
Northbend Sect rose from the land like a clenched jaw.
Its outer wall was lower than Northbrook's, but thicker—stone stacked without ornament, patched in places with darker repairs. Wind chimes hung above the gate, clinking softly with a sound that felt more watchful than welcoming.
Two gate disciples stood guard.
They didn't greet the group.
They stared.
"Purpose," one finally said.
Jin stepped forward and presented the sealed note.
The disciple broke the seal, read once, then again—slower the second time. His expression tightened.
"…Wait."
They were not invited inside.
They stood beneath the archway while disciples passed in and out, glancing at them with open curiosity. Some whispered. Others stared openly at Cael's torn shirt.
After a long while, they were waved through.
Inside, the sect grounds felt… compressed. Paths were narrower. Buildings clustered closer together. The air smelled faintly of incense and old paper.
A junior disciple led them without speaking.
Past training yards.Past meditation platforms.Past a library that looked older than the walls protecting it.
They were left standing outside.
Again.
Time passed. Lamps were lit. Cael shifted the books in his pack, careful not to crease the covers.
Finally, the doors opened.
The Northbend library elder sat waiting inside, hands folded, expression sharp and unsmiling—as if they were already late for something he had never told them about.
"So," he said coolly, "Northbrook remembers their books now."
As delays stacked atop delays, exactly as predicted, Cael felt something stir deep in his chest.
Not a prompt.
Not yet.
Just the system—quiet, coiled, attentive.
Waiting for patience to end.
And Cael, standing in borrowed shade inside a borrowed sect, realized the Bookkeeper had sent him here not to fetch books—
but to see what he would do when nothing happened.