Gale laid on his back on his bed.

  He stared at the ceiling mindlessly, lost in his thoughts. His thoughts couldn't explain what he had seen. He reminisced about the encounter with Caelan and Zorian.

  A smile appeared on his face.

  What was that power? It was nothing he had seen before. It didn't match any of the other marks.

  Three days later

  The night lured in, bringing a sense of warm, serene calm that surrounded the air. Caelan walked down the narrow corridor, his body still aching from the last encounter with Zorian.

  The last encounter left others wary of him, like an invisible face not to pay any attention to. They didn't talk to him, didn't sit next to him in class, and gave him unsettling, disgusted stares. Caelan wasn't bothered by their antics, although this didn't go according to his plan. The plan to fit in with the crowd had completely crumbled against his will. It was an unfortunate situation. However, this didn't stop him from pursuing his purpose and curiosity. A situation that isn't in your hands deserves to be out of your mind as well. Nothing good comes from overthinking and putting yourself in anxiety.

  He breathed deeply, taking small steps. The dark circles loomed under his eyes. He wasn't getting much sleep at night. It seemed as if the last encounter had left him scared.

  He dreamed. Dreamed of repetition, consistent, undying repetition. He saw himself repeating words, repeating movements, repeating speech without thought, without end, like a program gone wrong. As if the devil himself had visited him. He had exerted himself, brought out too much of the mark's powers last time. Individuals who bring out too much of their mark's power end up going insane. Sooner or later, they end up mentally unstable, unable to snap back to their current reality, as if their fractal mark had taken over their body entirely.

  Caelan was probably experiencing one of these episodes. He sighed. If he wasn't careful, he wouldn't be able to go back, trapped in that hellish repeating for eternity.

  He walked over to the maintained duty of the lower archive library. Not the grand library students boasted about, but the one that no one was allowed to enter. This was part of his punishment for unauthorised student combat and disrupting the academy order.

  That bastard told him off. Caelan clicked his tongue, his face tensed. He was annoyed, but had no choice but to deal with the punishment. The academy didn't even take into consideration his explanation. Of course, they would listen to royalty. They wouldn't want a falling out with the Whitlock family.

  He walked down the stairs. The lower archives were located underground, directly beneath the academy. The entrance was a small wooden door, scratched and dented, covered in dust and neglect. A tiny, dim yellow light shone inside.

  Caelan walked inside the room, the door creaking as he opened it. Dust filled his nose as his surroundings became blurry. This was a clear contrast to the spotless environment upstairs. If they neglected this place for this long, why even bother keeping it around?

  In front of him, he saw a woman in her mid forties with long black hair, pale skin, and a noticeable burn running down her left cheek. She was the archive anchor. Her job was to ensure the structure of the archive held and prevent these forbidden books from rotting. Her name was Ilyen Roarke.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She sat at a desk with a lantern emitting yellow light, the only source of light in the room. In her hands was a book, old and dusted, with no description. She turned the book around, thread in her hands, and started repairing the torn spine.

  Sweat dripped down Caelan's back. It was incredibly hot in the room. He walked over to her.

  She didn't look up at Caelan. Her eyes stayed fixated on the book she was fixing.

  "Touch nothing until I tell you to do so," she said dismissively.

  Caelan nodded. She cut the thread with her mouth, setting the fixed book aside on the table. She looked at Caelan, her face expressionless.

  She got up and grabbed a stack of papers.

  "Your first task," she said while handing Caelan a sheet of stamped paper. It appeared to be a ledger of some sort.

  "Rewrite these catalogue entries as directed specifically in the reference sheet."

  She handed him a stack of reference sheets. It was hard to hold in two arms.

  "I will let you know the next task once you complete this. Now sit."

  Caelan sat down. He couldn't disobey orders. However, this was going to be exhausting, brainless work. He felt the ache in his arms, refusing to cooperate. However, on the outside, he looked calm and steady.

  He looked at the ledger. It was filled with subheadings. Author, title, page numbers, description. Most of them were already full, listed in alphabetical order. He looked at the reference sheet, listing all the things to change and erase onto the new ledger that was completely blank.

  He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

  Time ticked by. It had already been a few hours. Caelan didn't know how long. His mind had now been completely absorbed in brainless work. Even writing as fast as he could, the pages never appeared to finish, the stack never thinning. However, he sensed that he was at the end.

  Ilyen walked around the shelves, putting books according to each category. She seemed tired but wasn't showing it. Her hands trembled as she sorted each book, her face blank.

  Caelan did notice something peculiar. These titles he was changing seemed out of place. They were complete opposites, going from deep, intricate subjects such as "The Search for What's Beyond" to titles such as "Analysing Pattern Wells." They didn't seem similar to each other at all. Were they trying to hide something? For what purpose? Once again, questions arose in his mind, but he didn't pay them any attention.

  He had finished the task. He dropped the pencil and slumped back in the chair, his hands spiking with pain.

  He huffed and walked towards Ilyen.

  "Miss Roarke, I have finished the task," he said calmly.

  She didn't respond. Her hands moved effortlessly as she sorted the books on the shelves.

  She then eyed Caelan briefly and looked back towards the book in her hand.

  "Those piles of books over there, they have stickers of categories on their spines. Sort them out based on that."

  Caelan nodded. This was probably the last task of the day. It was extremely early in the morning, the sun about to rise. Caelan didn't mind. His sleep schedule was nonexistent anyway.

  He grabbed the books. They had strange writing on them, not the empire's native language, and were inscribed with strange symbols. He picked them up, looked at the category on their backs, and sorted them one by one.

  An hour passed. Sweat dripped onto the floor. Boredom had finally gotten to him. Ilyen was nowhere to be seen. His curiosity got the better of him. He opened the book in his hands against orders and examined the pages. They were once again inscribed with that strange writing, unusual symbols, and disturbing drawings of what seemed like beasts. Pages were torn out, entire sections scribbled over. He looked baffled, staring at the pages, but also amused. How old were these books? Why were they here?

  In that moment, Ilyen walked towards him and stood in the narrow passage between two shelves. Her hands trembled, her legs shaking. Her face appeared visibly distressed.

  She lunged towards Caelan, her hands open, her face in tears. She knelt and gave him a hug, squeezing him tightly.

  "I'm I'm sorry, Thalen. Please forgive me. Forgive me that I wasn't there for you," she cried, tears dropping onto the ground.

  Caelan was startled, his body shifting to break free.

  Who was Thalen? Was she hallucinating?

  She looked up at Caelan, her eyes widening as if she came to the realisation of what she was doing.

  Ilyen looked over at Caelan and signed his sheet to indicate the first day completed. He had to do this for a week.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

  Caelan walked out, Ilyen eyeing his back. He had no words to describe what had happened.