Finn's mind spiralled with unanswered questions. What did I see? Why did I see it? Why is this happening to me? Each thought twisted into another, forming a knot of confusion that tightened with every passing second.

  A dull ache pulsed behind his temples Why does everything have to be so complicated?

  Had he truly glimpsed an alternate version of himself? Or was it something else entirely? A vision? An illusion? A memory that wasn’t his? The possibilities gnawed at him, each more unsettling than the last.

  He wanted to dismiss it and convince himself it was nothing more than a hallucination—a side effect of mana exposure, a trick played by his mind after stepping into a place as powerful as the Magyo Library. That’s all it was… right? But deep down, he knew better. This wasn’t just some fleeting mirage. It had to mean something.

  Unfair... this is so unfair...

  His knees buckled. He barely registered the impact as his body hit the ground, sliding back against the cold, unyielding wall. His breath came in shallow gasps as he pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, trying—failing—to steady himself.

  He needed answers. Even the smallest hint of what was happening to him—why this was happening to him—was all he wanted. He couldn't keep living like this. Classes start tomorrow. His future was ahead of him. But how could he move forward if he didn't even understand what was pulling him back?

  A shaky breath left his now dry lips. His fingers curled against the stone floor, tightening into fists. His body screamed for rest, for escape—but his mind? His mind burned with sudden determination.

  If I need answers… then I just happen to be in the one place that has them.

  Finn forced his legs to move. The weight in his chest didn’t disappear, but he pushed against it, shoving himself upright. His limbs were unsteady, his muscles tight with lingering tension, but he gritted his teeth and straightened his back.

  Then, finally, he lifted his gaze—toward the vast, endless halls of the famed Magyo Library.

  He knew it'd be massive, but this... this was on a completely different scale.

  The space—if it could even be called that—stretched beyond sight, an endless expanse of knowledge woven into stone and magic. The arched ceiling soared impossibly high, spiralling toward the heavens like the trunk of an ancient, unyielding tree. It dwarfed even the tallest skyscrapers he had ever seen, its sheer scale making him feel like little more than a speck in its vastness.

  Towering shelves stretched beyond sight, their ancient wooden frames lined with countless tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts. Some books pulsed faintly, their covers etched with glowing runes. Others floated just above their shelves, bound by unseen enchantments. High above, crystalline chandeliers bathed the library in soft, golden light, casting shifting patterns across the marble floor.

  In the distance, spiralling staircases wove through the air, seemingly unsupported, connecting platforms and walkways that defied logic. Figures moved between them—students, scholars, and robed mages, their hushed conversations blending with the faint rustling of turning pages and the quiet hum of lingering magic.

  The sight before him was overstimulating.

  The sheer vastness of the library, the weight of what had just happened, the lingering nausea from whatever force had shown him that vision—it all crashed down on him at once. His chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out along his back. His stomach twisted violently.

  No, no, not here—

  His body betrayed him before he could will it otherwise. A sharp gag ripped through his throat, his stomach lurching. He doubled over, bracing himself—

  And then, out of nowhere, a grey bucket popped into existence in front of him.

  It wasn’t summoned with a flourish of magic or a grand display of light. It was just… there. As if it had always been, waiting for this exact moment.

  Finn had no time to question it. He heaved into the bucket, his whole body trembling as his stomach emptied itself. The distant murmurs of the library continued undisturbed as if this sort of thing wasn’t unusual.

  When the fit finally passed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, panting. The bucket remained in front of him, completely unassuming, as if expecting more.

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  Finn blinked at it, still dazed.

  “…What?” he croaked, not expecting an answer.

  "What?” a husky voice echoed back. “Never seen an invisible bucket before? They’ve been quite the rage lately—a very useful household appliance, you know.”

  Finn blinked, his mind struggling to keep up. What? His gaze snapped upward, following the voice that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

  His eyes landed on a figure leaning casually against an ancient bookshelf, a weathered leather book splayed open in their hands. The person was draped in flowing white robes, the hem intricately embroidered with gold thread that caught the soft light, giving the fabric an otherworldly shimmer. His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed as if the surreal sight around them was nothing more than a mild curiosity. His sharp, amused gaze flicked up to meet Finn’s, and for a moment, the air seemed to thicken.

  Finn’s heart skipped a beat. Something about the figure felt... wrong. Not dangerous, necessarily, but off, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

  The man tilted his head, a sly smile playing on his lips as he turned a page in the book. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. One hand absently stroked his neatly trimmed goatee, while the other gestured vaguely toward the bucket. “Guess you haven’t seen an invisible bucket before after all.”

  The bucket suddenly stirred, then whizzed toward the mysterious man, vanishing into thin air as it arrived near him.

  Finn’s brain stuttered. “I—what—how—” He pointed vaguely at the spot where the bucket had been, his words caught in his throat. “How does that—”

  "Now, now," the man interrupted, his voice soft yet commanding, tapping his foot against the floor with a casual rhythm. "The bucket's hardly the point, is it, Finn?"

  Finn?

  Finn froze. His brows furrowed, confusion seeping through his veins. “I don’t remember telling you my name...” His eyes flicked suspiciously over the man, trying to pin down the feeling of familiarity that hovered like a shadow. "Who are you?"

  The man smiled, unfazed. “Ah, no need to be so on edge, first-year,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m Aldric. Mage Librarian and designated guardian of Magyo Gate #129.”

  Finn’s mind reeled. 129? Are there really... 128 other doors leading to this library... in Magyo alone?

  Aldric’s eyes flickered with something like amusement, as though he could hear Finn’s thoughts. “Magyo has many gateways, Finn…” His voice dropped just a touch, a quiet satisfaction in his tone. “And you didn’t need to tell me your name. It’s on the small card in your breast pocket, is it not?”

  Finn huffed in irritation, his hand automatically brushing over the pocket as Aldric spoke. Sure enough, the identification card was tucked there—how had he missed it? Of course, Finn thought bitterly. When I stepped through the gate threshold, I suspected the barrier had scanned me. So, of course, it scanned my identification card as well.

  He scratched his head angrily, trying to suppress the feeling of being thoroughly outmanoeuvred. “You really don’t miss a thing, do you?” he muttered, his tone sharper now, frustration bubbling to the surface.

  Aldric gave him a knowing smile, his demeanour unchanged. “I’m just observant,” he said calmly, tapping the side of his temple. “It’s a necessary skill when guarding something like Magyo Gate #129.”

  The glimmer in Aldric's eyes only grew, and Finn’s skin prickled as he realized how easily Aldric dodged the actual question. “You know,” Finn said, the words slipping out before he could stop them, “you’re infuriating.”

  Aldric raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Infuriating, hm? I suppose I’ve been called worse.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes flicking over Finn with a detached curiosity. “But you’ve calmed down now, haven’t you?”

  Finn blinked, thrown off by Aldric’s casual tone. “What?”

  “Most first-years struggle coming here for the first time.” Aldric’s gaze lingered on Finn as if weighing him. “But you... well, you seemed to have a worse reaction than I’ve ever seen before.”

  Finn’s stomach churned at the implication. He nodded almost instinctively, his frustration rising once more. Of course, he reacted that way—how could anyone not, after what he’d witnessed? The strangeness of it all. The impossibility of it. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

  The memory of what he had seen flared in his mind, the overwhelming strangeness of the gate, the sudden rush of power, the air that had buzzed with a dangerous tension—his thoughts seemed to gnaw at each other, a constant, restless ache.

  The vision still haunted him. A flicker of something—someone—else. His heart clenched at the thought, but his mind refused to let it go. Was it him? What did he change? He gritted his teeth, pushing the thought back. He couldn’t focus on that now. Not here.

  Aldric’s voice pierced through his spiralling thoughts, sharp and dismissive. “Anyways, first-year,” he said, his fingers snapping shut around the book in his hands with an air of finality. “I’ve got things to do. Off you trot.”

  “Huh?!” Finn’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, the words barely leaving his mouth as his brain caught up with the sheer audacity of Aldric’s dismissal. “Wait, what? That’s it?”

  Aldric didn’t even look up. He simply gave a small, almost indifferent wave of his hand, as though Finn were an afterthought. “Go. I’m not here to hold your hand.”

  Finn’s voice shook with frustration. "You can’t just—’"But Aldric raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture. His eyes, usually so composed, flickered with something sharper, a glimpse of the mage underneath the mask.

  "You’ll learn soon enough, Finn," he said quietly. "This place doesn’t answer questions. It only gives you more."

  Finn flailed his arms in the air like a kid who didn't get his own way.

  "Whatever..." he scoffed, turning away from Aldric and toward the labyrinthine library. He had more important business anyway.

  ***

  As the young first-year, Finn, walked deeper into the library, a man draped in white robes watched from afar, his hand stroking the neatly trimmed goatee adorning his chiselled chin.

  Aldric’s lips twitched into a smile as the boy's back disappeared into the library. “You’re not here by chance, Finn. But perhaps... perhaps you’ll understand that when the time is right.”