I am labeled dangerous for refusing to be controlled, and the losers call me a rebel, when all I want is to stand on my own without licking anyone's boots the way they do.'
Candlelight illuminated every word in the book, the darkness of the library unable to hinder it even slightly, Dex turned the page.
'Am I allowed to call it fate, so I don't have to honestly admit that it was the result of my own decisions.'
His eyes were so focused reading word by word, even though he was only sitting on a wooden bench his mind felt like it was exploring a vast world.
Around him, bookshelves towered like silent Towers of Babel, storing thousands of voices from thoughts that still whispered to anyone willing to listen.
The night wind crept through the gaps of an old window, making the candlelight dance like a ballet dancer who had lost her rhythm.
'They say I'm arrogant because I don't bow, they say I'm lonely because I don't join the herd, but how can I explain that bowing makes my back hurt, and the herd is moving toward a cliff?'
Though he sometimes disagreed with what he read, Dex kept thinking about it as if that was what kept him alive in this vast world.
It had been 6 months since he came to this library, a library nearly forgotten by people, located in a corner of the city, far from the hustle and bustle of the market and the mansions of the nobles, its walls cracked, its roof leaking in several places, and dust covering almost every surface, but for Dex, this place was a small paradise, Dex found this place a week after his awakening, when he was wandering without purpose.
No one drove him away here, no one stared at him with disgust, just him, the old books, and a silence that was almost comfortable.
Dex closed the book in his hands, a diary from someone long dead, the handwriting rough, but honest.
Like someone who wrote not to be read by others, but for himself.
He placed the book back on the shelf and picked up another, the cover worn, the title nearly illegible.
He read only to fill the emptiness, because if he did nothing, his mind would drift back to that hut, to the four mounds of earth, to faces he would never see again.
But slowly, something changed, he began to sink into the lives he read.
A merchant crossing the desert for months, fighting sandstorms and bandits, just to bring rare spices to his hometown.
A palace dancer who lost her voice after witnessing the slaughter of her family, yet kept dancing because it was the only way she could feel alive.
An orphan raised by wolves in the forest, who ultimately had to choose between returning to civilization or staying with the pack that had saved him.
Every story opened a window to a different life.
Every life taught something,
Dex began to understand, this world is not just about black and white, not just about the strong and the weak.
There are thousands of shades in between, life is complicated, and he wanted to see all of it.
Dex had read hundreds of books, not just travel notes or memoirs, but also collections of folk tales, legends from various regions, even poems written by ordinary people about their daily lives.
Dex also learned about economics, war tactics, the basics of swordsmanship and magic, he read everything he laid eyes on.
He learned about the Lantern Festival in the southern port city, where families who had lost loved ones released lanterns into the sea as a prayer.
He read about the traditions of the mountain tribes who considered the wind a messenger from their ancestors, he smiled bitterly reading that, remembering his own power.
He found the diary of an old farmer who wrote every day for fifty years, recording trivial things like the weather, the harvest, the birth of his grandchildren, a simple yet full life.
With every page, Dex's world expanded, he began to understand that the tragedy that had befallen him, though devastating, was just one of thousands of tragedies that happened every day throughout this world.
And among those tragedies, there was also small happiness, genuine love, quiet sacrifice, courage that was never recorded in history books.
So many places, so many lives.
And he had only ever seen a narrow little corner.
For the first time since the massacre, Dex felt something other than anger or sadness.
Curiosity.
The desire to see.
To witness with his own eyes how people lived in those places, to hear their stories directly from their mouths.
***
A full year Dex spent in that library.
Now he was fifteen years old, his body taller, not much, but enough to make his old clothes look short, he stole new clothes from a clothesline in the merchant district, promising himself he would pay for them someday, black, simple, practical for travel.
His hair had grown longer, he tied it with a string so it wouldn't get in the way.
He rarely left the library, but when he did, the way he looked at the city had changed.
Before he only saw poverty and wealth, injustice that was painful, now he saw more.
A mother selling bread by the roadside, smiling at her customers despite her tired face.
A guard who had fallen asleep at his post, perhaps because he had to work a double shift to support his family.
Even a young nobleman passing by in a luxurious carriage, looking bored and hollow despite being surrounded by luxury.
Dex no longer saw them as enemies or victims.
He saw them as humans with complicated lives, and he wanted to understand those lives.
His control over the wind also developed, not because he trained hard, but because he kept using it naturally, making books float while reading, creating a gentle breeze to drive away the heat, flying briefly from the first floor to the second floor of the library.
All of it became like breathing, no need to think about it.
But more important than his physical strength was the change in the way he saw the world.
Before, the world was a cruel place, black and white, good and evil.
Now he understood, the world is vast, complicated, full of color.
And he wanted to see all of it.
***
The second year.
Dex now read not only about people, but also about places.
Books about the architecture of ancient temples in the northern mountains, said to have been built by a civilization that had already perished.
Books about strange natural phenomena, hailstorms in the desert, auroras visible even during the day in the southern poles, forests whose trees glowed in the night.
Books about rare animals, the phoenix bird said to nest in active volcanoes, giant wolves that could run on water, snakes whose venom could cure disease.
Every book added to the mental list of places he wanted to visit.
He began making his own notes, a small book he assembled from blank pages in the margins of other books.
Dex read various books, history, geography, politics, economics, philosophy, mana theory, even books about plants, animals, astronomy.
Not just one topic, all of it, he read every book in that library,
because he realized, to truly see the world, he needed to understand the world.
How systems work, why people act the way they do, what shapes civilizations.
He read about the War of a Thousand Days, not to know who won or lost, but to understand why that war happened, economics, politics, hidden interests.
He read about the structure of kingdoms, how power flowed from king to noble to commoner, how taxes were collected, how laws were enforced.
Every book opened a new layer of understanding.
And with every understanding, the world he wanted to see became clearer.
***
The fourth year.
Dex was now eighteen years old, his body had changed completely, his height nearly one hundred and eighty centimeters, his body lean with muscles that had formed, not from lifting weights, but from the constant circulation of mana over the years.
His hair he cut with his own wind power.
His face had lost the softness of childhood, replaced by sharp lines that made him look older.
This morning, Dex stood in the library for the last time, he had read every book that could be read here.
He had seen everything that could be seen in this city.
Now it was time to leave.
He picked up his notebook, filled with maps, place names, observations, every place he wanted to go.
He gazed out the window, the sun had just risen, the road to the city gate was visible from here.
Dex smiled faintly.
He walked out of the library, the door closing softly behind him, and Dex began walking toward the city gate.