A book

A Book

The ground floor of the restaurant buzzed with energy—waiters darted between crowded tables, delivering plates of sizzling food, their arms a blur of practiced motion. Laughter and chatter rose like a warm cloud.

But on the first floor, silence ruled.

Cabins lined the hallway, each offering privacy to those who preferred quiet conversation over clamor. In one such cabin, a group of boys and girls sat around a table, food in front of them untouched as they whispered in low tones.

Elias leaned forward, a glint in his eye.

"Miss Saintess," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Have you brought the thing I asked for?"

Caelistra, serene as ever, nodded. "Mr. Hero, I already have." Her tone was gentle, and her soft smile was one that could bring peace to even the most hardened soldier—a smile befitting the Saintess of the Valhalla Church.

"Good." Elias nodded, returning her smile. A dangerous plan was unfolding behind his calm eyes.

Georgina tilted her head curiously. "Your Highness, what exactly did you ask her for?"

"I asked," Elias said, lowering his voice, "for an artifact—one that will make Arthur Valerian give up his position as Yearlord."

Veylan's eyes narrowed. "What kind of artifact?"

"One that can replicate his mana," Elias said. "Perfectly. Complete and identical."

Veylan frowned. "You're saying it can copy his mana? That's useless. Any high-ranker can tell when mana is artificial. It lacks soul—it's empty."

Caelistra shook her head. "Not this one. No being alive can detect that the mana is artificial. It was forged by a Divine Smith. It is flawless."

Veylan's expression darkened. Memories of his past life flickered—he had once been a Demon Prince. He had no love for the church, especially when they spouted words like divine. "You're saying this was made by the legendary Divine Smith? If you're lying…" his tone was edged with threat, "you know what happens to liars."

Caelistra met his gaze without fear. "I would never dare lie to someone chosen by God himself."

Georgina looked disapprovingly at Veylan. "You're too harsh. She's always gentle. She never complains, even when you speak like that."

Veylan scoffed and looked away. "Tsk."

Caelistra smiled again, unbothered. "Mr. Hero," she said softly, "if you need anything else, please tell me."

Elias paused. For a fleeting moment, a forbidden thought crossed his mind—he considered asking her to sleep with him. But he quickly discarded the idea. He couldn't afford to sour his relationship with the Church.

"No," he said. "Not now. But I need you to plant the artifact—exactly where I'll instruct."

Veylan leaned forward. "You still haven't told us your full plan."

Elias looked around at the group, eyes cold with precision. "Many people will die. The blame will fall on Arthur Valerian. Of course, he'll eventually clear his name—but by then, his reputation will be in ruins. That's when I'll strike. I'll ask the Headmaster to remove him and choose a new Yearlord."

Georgina looked concerned. "But… what about Synthros? If Arthur falls, Synthros is the most likely replacement. He's—"

"Stronger than me," Elias admitted. "Yes. But I know all his tricks."

He remembered it all. Every move, every skill. He had read the story like scripture. Synthros—the Inheritor of the True Dragon.

And True Dragons… were creatures of legend, said to hold power on par with the gods themselves.

Veylan stood, his chair scraping softly against the wooden floor. "Well, I'm done here. Got alchemy homework."

Caelistra stood as well. "Have a good day, Mr. Hero. I'll take my leave, too."

As the door closed behind them, only Elias and Georgina remained. Silence fell, thick and intimate.

Without a word, Elias leaned in and kissed her.

"I'm quite hungry," he murmured, voice low.

Georgina smiled coyly, pressing herself into him, her ample chest against his.

"I am too," she whispered.

But they weren't alone.

Unseen, from a room nearby, someone had been watching it all. Every whispered plot, every smile, every kiss.

Arthur Valerian stood by his window, his eyes cool and unreadable.

And then…

He smirked.

—————————

My name is Toran.

I am a demon.

Despite that, I've always felt different from others of my kind. While most demons treat humans with disdain—calling them weak, short-lived, or lesser—I've never understood why. Personally, I find humans fascinating. They're not the strongest, the fastest, or the most magically gifted. But they are relentless. They're the only race that can do a bit of everything—cast spells, forge weapons, brew potions, create artifacts. And some of them don't just dabble… they master these arts to a level that surpasses even those born for it.

I, on the other hand, love books. I'd rather be in a library than on a battlefield. And today was no different.

As I walked toward Elydrion Academy's grand library, I noticed a boy walking toward me down the marble corridor. Black hair. Golden eyes. I knew him instantly—everyone did.

Arthur Valerian.

The Yearlord. Technically the leader of all first-years.

I straightened my posture and greeted him. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur smiled politely, regal even in casual conversation. "Hello. Are you Toran? I've heard about you—quite the scholar, I hear."

I smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's just… I love to read."

Arthur nodded. "Reading is a passion worth following. Some people chase glory. Others, truth. You sound like the latter."

"Thank you for the appreciation," I replied with a small bow.

Arthur continued on his way, and I resumed mine.

Soon, I reached the Elydrion Library.

If a palace and a mountain of books had a child, it would be this place. Towering shelves reached toward the domed ceiling, carved with stars. Books floated freely through the air, called upon by name by students. Tables were scattered across reading halls, with cozy corners filled with tea, coffee, and sweet pastries. There were even private cabins for deep study.

It was paradise.

As I stepped inside, my eyes caught an elf boy seated in one corner, deeply immersed in a book. The intricate cover shimmered with gold and silver script. I couldn't help myself—I walked over.

"What are you reading?" I asked, curious.

The elf glanced up. "A volume on the war against the Dark Order, led by the Elydrion Empire."

"Oh," I said. "I've heard of that. The empire completely wiped them out, didn't they?"

The elf closed the book slightly, his gaze sharp. "You're wrong. This book says they survived. They still exist."

"What?" I blinked. "That can't be right. The Emperor himself claimed the Dark Order was annihilated."

"You don't believe it?" the elf said, raising an eyebrow. "Read it yourself."

I sat beside him and opened the book. As I flipped through the pages, my eyes widened.

This happened? I muttered under my breath.

The details… they were too vivid, too precise to be fiction.

And yet—why was it not in any official record?

"Why isn't this public knowledge?" I asked, stunned.

"I don't know," the elf replied.

As we spoke, another student—a human boy—walked over. "What are you two talking about?"

We explained. He narrowed his eyes. "Let me see that."

He read it for a few minutes, then scoffed. "This is fake. Has to be."

The elf's ears twitched. "How could a forged book exist inside Elydrion's own library?"

The human snapped back. "Maybe someone planted it."

They started arguing—one voice after another joining in as more students gathered. Some were intrigued. Others were skeptical. Whispers filled the aisles, rising into heated debates.

But none of them noticed it.

Something was changing.

Not around them.

Inside them.