---
"Really?" he muttered.
"You could sit literally anywhere else."
"But you choose here?"
The archive offered no reply.
It was as silent as it had always been.
Aside from Harry talking aloud to no one in particular—
and the librarian checking up on him every so often—
it was still. Breathless.
But somehow, silence here wasn't quiet either. It had loads to say.
Somewhere between a library and a cathedral,
it echoed only with turning pages and thoughts not yet spoken.
Harry was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a fortress of open books.
Some had fallen into neat stacks, others into chaotic piles like a nest of half-solved riddles.
His coat was half-off, his hair sticking up like it had given up trying to behave an hour ago—
or maybe a day.
Time here didn't pass like it did outside.
He knew that.
He reached for a slim volume just within reach—
And his hand met soft, inky resistance.
He sighed.
The shadow-familiar—his unwelcome reading companion—had sprawled across the page like it owned the damn thing.
Harry exhaled.
Sat back.
"I should just call the cops on you at this point."
The shadow-creature gave no response. Just blinked its round, glowy eyes once and stayed put.
Harry squinted at it, considering a negotiation, maybe even a bribe—
when a cup appeared beside him.
Porcelain. Still steaming.
The Spectral Librarian stood just behind him, timeless as ever, one eyebrow gently raised.
"You'll think better with tea,"
Harry eyed the cup, suspicious.
"You say that like it's a fact."
He took it anyway.
Sipped.
Paused.
"…Fair point."
---
Harry leaned his head back against the shelf behind him,
tea still in hand.
He blinked slowly at the high ceiling—
its arched stonework both comforting and vaguely oppressive.
How long had he been here, really?
A few hours?
Maybe a day?
It didn't feel long… didn't feel like more than a blink.
But somehow,
he knew it had been.
Long enough that his legs had gone numb at least once.
Long enough that his eyes had stopped bothering to dry themselves between pages.
He glanced at the notes piled beside him—quotes half-scrawled, thoughts half-finished.
"I think…" he said quietly, mostly to himself.
"…I've wrung just about all I can out of this place."
The shadow-familiar blinked up at him again, unimpressed.
Harry looked around at the scattered books,
the scribbled notes, the bookmarked pages that led to even more bookmarked pages.
It would never end.
He could stay here.
Forever.
And he wouldn't run out of things to read. Not in a hundred lifetimes.
But…
"I should go."
He'd gotten what he came for. Maybe not all of it—but enough.
Harry set the cup down on the floor with a soft clink and slowly stood. Brushing dust off his coat,
He started gathering his things.
---
He didn't take more than three steps before—
"You're terribly rude, you know that?"
Harry closed his eyes.
Let out a long sigh.
"…You're still here?"
---
He had just turned away from the wall of books when her voice slipped through the quiet again—light and casual,
like she'd never left.
Harry stopped mid-step.
Closed his eyes.
Let out the faintest breath.
"…You're still here."
"I was always here.
Maybe, you weren't paying attention." she replied.
He turned.
There she stood,
barefoot again on the polished floor, her dress catching the low light like oil on water.
She looked like she belonged here and didn't at the same time.
As usual.
Her eyes flitted to the table tucked under a reading alcove.
Books stacked beside it like uneven staircases.
Two chairs—one empty.
"Join me?" she asked, already walking toward it.
Harry looked at the chair. Then at her.
Then back at the chair.
"…Do I get a choice?"
"You do," she said over her shoulder, settling into her seat with grace that felt just a touch theatrical.
"That's half the fun, isn't it? Seeing what you pick."
Harry still wasn't sure,
he took a step forward but stopped.
"Go on. Sit. I promise I don't bite…
A pause.
Unless you ask me to, of course."
Harry muttered something under his breath, but didn't argue.
He finally stepped over his own mess of open books and approached,
slow and cautious.
When he sat, the chair didn't creak.
But, nothing in here ever did.
She watched him settle in with something close to amusement.
"Comfortable?" she asked, head tilting just slightly.
"Yeah... super comfortable."
he said sarcastically.
"...Now, can we get to the point.
Or should I just leave?"
A small silence settled between them—not awkward, just… loaded.
The table in front of them held no books.
Only, the leftover air of unspoken things.
She broke it.
"You know, harry..
you read too much."
Harry snorted softly.
"First of all—how do you know my name?
"And second of all—"
A beat.
"Who are you?"
She smiled.
Not kindly. But not unkindly either.
Just… amused.
"That's the wrong question, harry."
"Then what's the right one?"
She leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her knuckles.
"What do you want to know?"
"Why come here?"
Harry hesitated.
But he answered.
"…Something about the city."
His eyes didn't leave hers.
"And.. maybe,
About the Governor."
She blinked, slow and deliberate.
Then she sat back, fingers trailing over the wood grain of the table.
"Ah. Him."
There was something about the way she said it. Like it was personal.
Like the word Governor meant something very different in her mouth than it did in his.
"A powerful man," she murmured.
"A man who doesn't like to be watched. Or questioned. And yet…"
She glanced at Harry.
"Here you are. Watching. Questioning."
"That's kind of my job, now."
Harry said dryly.
She smiled again—lazily this time—and reached toward the edge of the table,
She traced something along the wood with her fingers.
Then,
brushed aside a thin layer of dust to reveal an etching carved into it.
Like faded ink.
A faint inscription, barely legible.
It wasn't there before.
It shouldn't have been.
"To receive is to surrender."
He stared.
"That's your free one," she said.
Her voice had shifted. Lower. Heavier.
"The next one will cost you."
---
Harry squinted,
To see it again from where he sat.
But,
the man wears glasses.
Not exactly an advocate for perfect vision.
So, without thinking much of it—
He leaned slightly over.
Closer.
And, a bit closer.
Peering past her shoulder, one hand braced on the table near hers.
Her voice didn't rise—but it curled at the edges with something unmistakable.
"Oh my."
Harry froze mid-lean.
"What?" he asked flatly, not moving.
"No complaints," she said, turning her head slightly toward him.
"I'm just surprised.
I didn't think you were the type to make the first move."
Harry groaned and dropped back into his seat like he'd been hit.
"I was trying to read."
"Mm."
"Not a bad excuse, all things considered."
"Why did I even bother," Harry muttered, dragging his hand over his face.
---
Harry traced the carved phrase with his eyes,
from where he sat.
"To receive is to surrender," he echoed, voice low.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she leaned forward again.
One finger drawing slow circles on the tabletop like she was stalling,
or remembering.
"Frustrating, isn't it?" she said finally.
"When something feels like a riddle but doesn't want to be solved."
Harry's fingers twitched.
"No. It wants to be solved," he muttered.
"Otherwise, why would it even appear in the first place."
"It's practically begging for it." harry added.
He looked up at her again.
"Is this a warning? A curse? A principle?"
"Why not all three?" she said, voice light again.
Then, she added.
"You're clever.
What do you think it means?"
Harry exhaled slowly, leaning back.
His eyes narrowed, gears turning in his mind.
"…Someone's using power they don't fully understand."
His tone was quiet. Measured.
"Taking something... and in doing so, giving something up."
She tilted her head.
"And if they were?"
Harry stared at the inscription again.
"Then the question is—
what does surrender mean in that context? What do you lose?"
She smiled, and for a flicker of a second, it wasn't teasing.
It was sadness.
"You're getting warmer, little owl."
He grimaced.
"Do not call me that."
"But it fits," she insisted, eyes twinkling.
"Wise. Broody. Likes books. Has sharp eyes.
All you're missing are some feathers."
Harry groaned, rubbed his temple.
"Fantastic. I'll add it to my growing list of unwanted nicknames."
"Oh?" she grinned. "There's more?"
"You're not getting a copy."
They sat in silence again, but this time, it wasn't tense.
It was... inquisitive. Shared.
He looked at the phrase again.
Quietly, seriously:
"Surrender what?"
Her voice was almost a whisper now.
"Control."
Harry blinked.
She went on.
"To take something truly powerful… means you let something else steer. Something older. Bigger.
And it doesn't always steer the way you want."
Harry's stomach sank a little.
He didn't know why.
"You're saying the Governor… surrendered something?"
She nodded once.
"And what he received... shaped this entire city."
Harry's voice dropped to a whisper:
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
---
"Then I suppose you should ask better questions."
She tapped her finger on the table where the marks had already begun to fade.
"Now look what you've done."
Her voice was mock-scolding, but light—almost playful.
"You did that."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Yes. Yes, I did," she replied, entirely too proud of herself.
"You see, Harry…"
She leaned in slightly, like sharing a secret.
"The ink doesn't like being watched. Gets shy."
Harry peeked at her through his fingers, unimpressed.
"Meh, It's magic ink. It can get over itself."
A beat of silence.
Then he pointed at the now-blank wood between them.
"More importantly—how did you do that? Just now?"
"Do what?"
"That."
She tilted her head, feigning confusion.
Harry exhaled sharply and looked back at the table.
Then at her.
Who was smiling innocently.
Then sighed.
"…Never mind."
---
Harrys mind had already drifted away from the table,
Typical.
He got up.
And,
Somehow, in the span of a few seconds—
snagged a book off the shelves, returned to his chair,
and opened it with the kind of quiet reverence only the most dangerous minds possessed.
The woman looked at him.
Blinked.
"Do you go to sleep with a book as well?" She said.
Harry looked up. Stared. Made a face.
Then went back to whatever the heck he was reading.
Just then,
Footsteps. Soft. Familiar.
The Spectral Librarian appeared again—graceful, unbothered—
and gently set a single cup of tea on the table between them. One cup. No words.
Then vanished.
Harry, barely looked up, gave a nod of approval to the librarian.
Who was already long gone.
The woman, she beamed.
Sat up straighter, pulled the cup closer,
and opened a random book laying nearby—upside down,
but with the solemnity of a scholar mid-thesis.
For a few minutes, they sat there in silence.
Harry reading.
Her... pretending to read.
Both sipping tea
From the same cup.
Until—
Harry paused.
He looked down at the empty cup in his hands.
A Blink.
He turned to her.
Eyes narrowed.
"That was fast."
She glanced at him innocently.
"What?" she said,
as if he were the one being ridiculous.
"What? It was half and half." she said.
Harry squinted at her.
"You have just committed an unforgivable sin,"
"half... and half?"
she said, almost apologetically.
"There's no such thing as 'half and half' with my tea."
She shrugged, unfazed.
"Time's weird in here. Maybe it evaporated."
"Into your mouth?"
She shrugged again.
"Stranger things have happened."
He let out a long, quiet sigh and reached for the book again.
"You're welcome," she said sweetly, sipping the last drop from the cup.
---
Harry closed the book with a soft thud. Not a dramatic slam—he didn't have the energy for that.
Just final enough to make a point.
He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat, looked around,
then grabbed a different book from the table edge.
The one she was reading.
"Where are you going?" she asked, blinking up at him.
"Away," Harry said flatly.
"...That's not a direction."
"Anywhere that doesn't involve my tea being stolen."
She grinned, leaning back in her chair like she'd won something.
"God. Harry,
You're such a drama queen."
Harry didn't bother replying. He just moved—shoulders tight, movements efficient—
his eyes scanning the vast archive like a tired animal looking for a new den.
Somewhere. Quite.
He looked across the chamber toward another alcove farther from her.
He passed rows of ancient tomes, old chandeliers swaying gently overhead.
A quiet spot waited near the corner where the shelves curved inward,
almost like an alcove made for isolation.
He slipped into the seat there. No table this time,
just a small window ledge, where a few books had been carelessly left behind.
He cracked one open, took a deep breath,
"Phew. Finally."
But before the moment could stretch,
A shadow stretched across the page.
She slid into the space beside him.
"Fancy seeing you here."
"Wha—"
He quickly got up, and started walking.
He found a narrow little alcove tucked behind a leaning stack of periodicals.
It had a window slit and a single dusty chair.
Perfect.
He thought. As he sat.
Cracked open the book.
Took a breath.
And—
"Oh good, you found my spot."
He nearly dropped the book.
She stood at the entrance of the alcove, arms folded, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"How—"
"It's like hide-and-seek," she said sweetly, already walking in.
"Except I always win."
Harry stood without a word. Walked off again.
Found another space.
This one deeper, past where the ceiling dipped low and the shelves narrowed.
A tucked-away desk with ink stains and a creaky stool.
He sat. Again.
Not even ten seconds.
"You didn't even try this time," came her voice from behind him.
"What—do you have a tracking spell on me or something?"
"Please. I'm just gifted."
Harry groaned audibly and walked off once more. No words. Just escape.
Fourth time.
He was too tired to walk normally now.
But, he still trudged along, trying to get away from his unwanted follower.
After a long walk,
Harry ducked between two cracked pillars and found what had to be the loneliest corner of the entire archive.
It reeked of old scrolls and disappointment.
No light. Barely breathable.
Perfect.
He dropped onto a stool.
Didn't even check for dust.
Pulled the nearest book into his lap, cracked it open, and exhaled.
Silence.
Finally.
But then—
A faint shimmer of robes.
The Spectral Librarian. Harry gave a sigh of relief.
Not the woman.
She appeared beside him like a ghost with impeccable timing,
her hands as steady as her expression as she gently placed a fresh cup of tea on the narrow desk.
Harry stared at the cup.
Then up at her.
Then back to the cup.
"...Seriously?"
She said nothing. Just nodded,
respectful as ever, before beginning to float away.
And then, out of nowhere—
A weight.
Sudden. Familiar.
Settling right in his lap.
Harry's entire body tensed.
He looked down.
Slowly.
There she was.
Sprawled there like this was her personal throne,
one leg delicately crossed, her grin infuriatingly relaxed.
"Are you okay?" she asked, all fake concern.
"You look a little... frantic."
Harry's eye twitched.
"...Are you serious."
From out of nowhere,
his shadow-familiar plopped itself beside him,
Clearly the culprit behind this chase. All along.
It flicked its tail and calmly climbed onto Harry's head like a hat made of betrayal.
"You're supposed to be on my side!"
The cat blinked once. Zero guilt.
The woman burst into a quiet giggle, leaning comfortably back against his arm.
"You must be very popular."
She gestured vaguely to the tea, the cat, the librarian.
"Even the library refuses to let you be alone."
The Spectral Librarian, still unbothered,
circled back and gently placed a second cup beside her, without comment.
Then glided away.
Harry didn't move. He just closed his eyes and muttered under his breath.
"I give up."
"Let's just get this over with."
"Took you long enough."
She passed him his cup—empty, of course—and smiled sweetly.
"So. Where were we?"
---
She returned holding a book after a moment—
dragging a narrow wooden stool behind her, its legs scraping softly across the stone.
Harry didn't look up.
Not until she sat.
Right beside him.
Closer than before.
Elbows nearly touching.
She leaned in as she sat the book down and opened it, chin resting in one hand,
watching the open book on the table like it was a stage play.
"You know…" she murmured, her voice softer now, "You might actually be fun."
Harry gave a dry laugh under his breath.
"I hear fun is deadly in this city."
"And knowledge isn't?" she countered easily.
He didn't reply right away.
Instead, he stared at the page in front of them—
at the strange shifting text beneath layers of protective gloss, the script coiling, reforming.
Alive, almost.
"Think less like a scholar, Harry…" she said gently.
"And more like someone making a wish."
He blinked.
"Making a wish?" he asked, turning to look at her.
But her eyes weren't on him—they were still fixed on the page.
Fixed on something he hadn't fully seen yet.
Harry looked back down,
stared at the shifting page he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of,
his heart beat once—hard.
"Explain," he said sharply.
"Why is the page doing that?"
She didn't flinch at his tone.
Instead, her smile widened—
"Magic always has a cost, little owl."
Harry bristled.
"Stop calling me that."
"Would you prefer a different name then?" She asked,
almost curious.
Harry just raised an eyebrow, didn't answer.
"How about.."
A beat.
"Little star."
"Little... star?"
"That ones special. So you better like it."
He just groaned.
The phrase still lingered on the page, flickering faintly,
as though daring them to speak again.
"What do you think power is, Harry?"
Her voice dropped—low, thoughtful.
Harry blinked at the sudden question.
For a while, he said nothing.
Only his fingers tapped against the table's edge.
Then—
"Power is… influence," he said at last.
"The ability to change something."
"Change what?"
Harry exhaled.
"Reality. People. The course of events."
She nodded slowly.
Then, without a word, she turned the page.
The ink shifted.
The letters bent and twisted until a familiar phrase emerged—
"To receive is to surrender."
It pulsed faintly.
She watched him closely.
And then—
she leaned in again.
"And if that change demanded something from you?"
Harry's brow furrowed.
"…Then it's not just power, is it?"
His voice had gone quiet now.
His breath caught.
Something clicked in his mind.
A cost.
A bargain.
A power that does not come freely.
He slowly looked up—
She was still watching him.
Waiting to see if he'd understand.
Harry swallowed.
"The Governor isn't just ruling this city."
Her gaze lingered.
"No."
She leaned in—closer now, her voice almost reverent.
"He is holding something that was never meant to belong to a mortal."
The lights above flickered once. Just once.
As if the room itself had heard it, too.
"...Power drawn from something unseen... yet intertwined with the city itself..."
Her voice lowered, almost to a whisper.
She looked at him, her gaze unreadable.
Harry swallowed.
"Let me tell you about the power that built this city."
---
She tapped her finger on the open page between them.
"You've read about the foundation of Vash'Kael,"
"How it was built on something ancient. Something powerful."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Ley lines. The city's positioned at a convergence point." his voice a little shaky.
She nodded, pleased.
"Good.
But ley lines are not the true source of power here."
She looked back down, at the book.
And, lifted it gently to her face—turned a page.
Then,
She turned it toward him.
A single phrase glowed faintly in the dim light.
"Wishes are not merely words.
They are the echoes of the unseen."
Harry read it aloud.
Then repeated,
slower—
"…Wishes?"
---
She stared down at the book for a long moment.
Silent.
As if weighing something—
whether to say more.
Or to leave it buried.
Then, slowly,
she looked up.
Harry was watching her.
Calm.
Unmoving.
Eyes steady and resolute.
That seemed to settle it for her.
She spoke again—
this time, gentler.
Almost playful.
"The Governor, dear Harry, is no ordinary ruler.
He didn't earn his power.
He asked for it."
Harry's grip tightened on the edge of the book.
His mind racing.
"Then… something must've answered."
She smiled.
"Now you get it."
The light above them dimmed—
just slightly.
Harry exhaled, composing himself.
"...So,
…What did he ask for?"
She looked at him.
Her lips curled into a slow, unreadable smile.
Low, teasing,
she leaned back.
"Now, now.
If I told you everything, where would the fun be?"
Harry's glare was instant.
She laughed softly—
like she lived for that reaction.
Then she stood, stretching as if nothing had happened.
"You'll figure it out, my little star."
"Still hate that name," Harry muttered.
He ran a hand through his hair.
Below the table, his shadow-familiar gave him a soft headbutt.
"Yeah, yeah," Harry sighed.
"We should head out too."
She chuckled—
and as she turned, her voice dropped to a murmur.
Soft. Careless.
"Father's going to be so mad at me…"
Harry's fingers froze.
Did she just—
But by the time he looked up—
she was gone.
And for the first time since arriving at the library…
Harry felt cold.
---
The air outside felt sharper than Harry remembered.
The silence of the archives clunged to his shoulders as he stepped out beneath the night sky,
the city stretching before him.
Now, a little quieter than before.
Maybe too quiet.
His coat tugged in the wind.
His shadow-familiar paced beside his feet, tail flicking as if sniffing for danger.
Harry stood still for a moment.
Taking it all in.
He looked above,
Where the towers of the Governor's estate loomed like watching eyes.
He walked. Not slowly.
But not urgently either.
He looked around,
And saw the streets empty, no people around. Just guards here and there. Patrolling. Watchful.
The Patrolling and the watchful guards grew lower and lower,
As he finally reached the estate.
Harry approached the entrance.
But,
Something felt… off.
Then—he saw them.
John.
Finn.
Aurora.
Surrounded by guards. Headed inside.
Harry immediately steped into the shadows,
"Wow, guys, this is such a warm welcome. Really rolling out the red carpet for us, huh?"
Finn spoke to the guards.
"We can walk ourselves, you know." John said, firm.
The guards didn't respond.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
His fingers twitched at his side.
This is bad.
For a split second, Harry considered running.
He could disappear back into the city.
Stay hidden.
Figure things out alone.
But—
Then,
John turned his head, just slightly,
as if sensing something.
And, their eyes meet.
Held.
Harry blinked.
John didn't say anything.
He just… nodded.
Quietly. Steadily.
And in that moment,
Harry exhaled.
Stepping out of the shadows,
"You always have to get caught in something, huh?"
Finn lights up the second he sees him.
"HARRY! You're not dead!"
Aurora holds his mouth,
but then shouts herself,
"HARRY! WE THOUGHT YOU DIED IN THE LIBRARY!"
"Shh, guys keep your voices down!" john whispered.
Then—calm as ever—he nodded toward him.
"Welcome back," he said. Already smiling.
"Glad you're here." john added.
Harry smiled back.
Then,
he fell into step beside them, keeping his head low.
The gates of the Governor's estate opened ahead.
And then slowly, silently—
closed behind them.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 15]