Chapter-33 Final Lesson

The Fey library was a labyrinth of impossible geometry. Shelves spiraled upward in defiance of gravity, and staircases curved into loops that seemed to fold back into themselves. Dim lanterns floated midair, casting pale golden light over endless rows of ancient tomes. The scent of parchment, aged leather, and something floral yet otherworldly hung heavy in the air.

Frederique sat at a circular table near the center of the vast, echoing chamber. Four books lay open before her, their weight more than physical. Each one had peeled back another layer of the supernatural world she was now part of...a world of threads woven from existence itself, of dreamborn creatures, of hunger and nightmares.

Lysandro perched on the edge of the table, as elegantly dramatic as always. Today, his sharp red blazer was paired with a violet scarf that trailed behind him as he moved. His smile was gentle, but his eyes were watchful as they studied Frederique's face.

She had just finished the last page of Humans, Not According to Them, the fourth book in her assigned reading. Her mind felt tangled, overflowing with questions she couldn't quite put into words. The pages had described humanity not as she had known it, but as a resource... fuel for the supernatural, beings to manipulate, consume, or fear. Yet it had also shown fragments of truth she couldn't deny.

"Finished, my dear?"

Lysandro's voice broke her thoughts.

Frederique nodded slowly, pushing the book closed.

"I... think so. But some of this feels wrong. Or incomplete."

Lysandro's smile widened as he leaned closer, fingertips tracing the worn cover of the book.

"Good. You're learning already. Truth is often a matter of perspective, isn't it? These books..." he gestured to the stack, "... they are tools. Knowledge shaped by the hands that recorded it. You must never take such things at face value."

Frederique frowned.

"So... which parts were true?"

Lysandro tapped his lips with a single painted nail, clearly savoring the tension.

"Ah, but would you believe me if I told you? Or would you think I was twisting the truth, too?"

Frederique scowled.

"You're enjoying this."

"Only slightly."

He winked before straightening, smoothing his scarf.

"You see, my dear, the Fey deal in stories. Lies wrapped in truth. Half-truths told so beautifully they feel like reality. What matters is what you do with what you've learned. Not how comfortable the knowledge makes you."

She crossed her arms.

"So you gave me all these books just to confuse me?"

"Non... to prepare you. The world you now walk in is one of shadows and contradictions. Do you think the hunters who chase us care for the full story? The vampires who turn humans into mindless thralls? The demons who twist faith for power? No, my dear. They tell their truths. Now, you must find your own."

A flick of his wrist, and from the shadows beneath the table, a final book materialized. It was smaller than the others, bound in deep navy leather with silver embroidery forming a spiral pattern on its cover. No title. No obvious markings.

He set it gently before her.

"This one," Lysandro said, his voice softer, "is yours to take home. It will not overwhelm you with legends or philosophies. Instead, it is practical. It contains the tools you would need... should you choose to walk the path of a hunter."

Frederique's stomach twisted.

"A hunter?"

"Not all hunters are fanatics, my dear. Some fight to protect. Some fight because they must. And some fight because it is all they know. This book..." his fingertips rested lightly on the cover, "... teaches how to kill us."

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog.

Frederique stared at the book, hesitant to touch it.

" Why would you give me this? Aren't you afraid I'll use it?"

Lysandro's lips curled into a sharp smile.

"Of course not. Because knowledge, Frederique, is the sharpest blade of all. And you are not ready to wield it. Not yet."

There was a long silence between them. Frederique felt the weight of the library pressing in... so many books, so many lives recorded and lost. Finally, she reached out and took the book, pressing its smooth cover against her chest.

Lysandro's expression softened.

"Read it when you are ready. But remember... "

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper in her ear.

" Knowing how to destroy something is not the same as understanding it."

She nodded, her throat tight.

As she rose from the chair, Lysandro gave a sweeping gesture toward the library's arching doorway, where the impossible shelves seemed to shift just slightly, as though guiding her toward the exit.

"Come now, enough brooding. You've had your fill of philosophy for today. Off you go. Reflect. Think. Perhaps even feel."

His grin returned.

"And if you get lost in the shelves, do try to scream dramatically. It suits the aesthetic."

Frederique let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, shaking her head.

"You're ridiculous, Lysandro."

"Fabulous, my dear. The word you're searching for is fabulous."

With the final book clutched tightly in her hands, Frederique left the Fey library... her mind full of questions, and her heart uncertain of the answers she might find.