ASHER
The soft glow of dawn spilled through the tall, arched windows of the Grand Library, stretching golden fingers across the polished marble floor. The silence was thick and reverent, broken only by the occasional crackle of candle wax or the distant shift of ancient tomes settling on their worn shelves.
I stood in front of the west wing’s forgotten aisle, where books older than the Academy itself lined the wooden shelves, some barely holding together despite years of careful preservation. The brittle pages of the volume in my hand had my attention, its spine cracked with time and its ink faded slightly.
Another page turned under my fingers, slow, deliberate, searching.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
"You refused to attend the overnight survival trial even though your name
