Chapter 195: Prohibian

Shern looked from Shmichael to the letter one final time, as though hoping that either the Earl’s seal or the words written beneath it would change if he delayed long enough, yet neither one did.

"Wait here, please," he said at last.

He disappeared through a side door beside the administrative entrance, taking Patrick’s authorization with him. The delay that followed was shorter than Ravian had expected, and there was no hour-long argument over whether an outsider deserved what most students could not obtain. Patrick had evidently prepared the ground before sending them, and his sealed letter supplied whatever else was required.

Or perhaps Patrick’s name alone was more than sufficient for something like this.

If so, Earl Patrick held far greater standing than Ravian had previously estimated.

Shern returned carrying a narrow metal badge and a registration ledger. He placed the ledger upon the reception counter, wrote Rayan Veyr’s name beneath a classification reserved for private researchers, and pressed the Academy’s stamp beside Patrick’s authorization.

"This badge will permit you to pass the archive checkpoints," Shern explained as he handed it to Ravian. "It does not permit you to remove anything from the building. Materials marked for supervised study must remain in their designated rooms, and any damage caused by you will be reported directly to House Viola."

He delivered the final part while directing his gaze toward Shmichael.

Ravian turned the badge once between his fingers. It bore the same three-starred key engraved upon Shern’s necklace, though a thin black line crossed its center to distinguish a visitor’s authority from that of an administrator.

"Understood," Ravian said.

Shern waited, perhaps expecting a complaint or an attempt to negotiate for even more privileges. When none came, he looked faintly disappointed for some reason Ravian could not understand.

Shmichael remained until the administrator entered Ravian’s name into a second record and confirmed that every floor had accepted the authorization. Only then did the elderly servant incline his head toward Ravian.

"My duty here is complete, Mr. Rayan. The carriage will return for you before sunset."

Ravian nodded, his eyes still fixed upon the badge in his hand.

"I’ll be ready," he said.

Shmichael’s eyes lingered upon him for a moment.

"I sincerely hope so."

Ravian smiled, and Shmichael departed without allowing that irritating smile to provoke another conversation.

Shern gestured toward the inner doors.

"You may enter."

The doors opened, and Ravian finally stepped into the Grand Archive.

For several seconds, he forgot to move.

The central chamber was absurdly large.

Hundreds of reading desks spread across the floor beneath the black-iron dome, arranged in long concentric sections around a sunken circular hall. Lamps stood at measured intervals between them, their light falling across open books, stacks of paper, and the bowed heads of researchers. Shelves taller than houses formed walls between entire fields of study, while broad staircases and suspended galleries rose around the chamber toward floor after floor above.

Ravian counted twelve visible levels before the curvature of the dome and the crossing bridges obstructed his view. More stairways disappeared into adjoining towers, and signs pointed toward collections stored beyond the central structure. What he had seen from outside had not been one building filled with books, but several libraries fused into a single organism that had continued growing for generations.

Students and researchers moved through it with practiced familiarity. Some carried three or four volumes at a time, others pushed narrow carts loaded with manuscripts, and several sat at desks surrounded by enough material to occupy an ordinary scholar for months. Their footsteps, the turning of pages, and the occasional murmur of a librarian blended into a restrained current of sound that never became true noise.

’All right,’ Ravian thought as his initial amazement settled into hunger. ’Let’s see how much of you I can steal without taking a single book outside.’

He did not mean theft in the legal sense, as that would have been far too inefficient.

Ravian approached the nearest directory and spent several minutes studying how the archive was organized. Languages and translation occupied sections of the first three floors. General soul theory began on the fourth, Aura and bodily refinement dominated large portions of the fifth and sixth, while mana, magic, and spell structures continued through the seventh. Historical records, races, religions, political studies, and restricted research were scattered across the higher levels according to age and sensitivity.

It was more than he could properly read in years.

Fortunately, he had never intended to read like a proper person.

’Absolute Focus.’

The change occurred without any visible sign.

Unnecessary sounds receded from his awareness. The movements of distant people ceased to matter, and the enormous architecture became irrelevant. Every book he needed became part of a larger structure rather than an isolated object.

If he began with advanced Aura theories, unfamiliar terminology he had never encountered before would inevitably slow him down. If he began with the history of soul refinement, his incomplete knowledge of ancient languages would leave gaps in his understanding. He needed to start with the most fundamental priorities and work forward from there.

Naturally, languages came first.

Ravian made his way toward the section dedicated to them.

’Now, where should I begin?’

He began collecting introductory texts on languages, especially the strange tongue he had found himself able to understand despite never studying it. He had already, and quite naturally, attributed that knowledge to the memories of his current body, which led him to gather everything connected to language. To his surprise, he soon discovered that languages differed from one race to another.

He added works on comparative scripts and terminology used by Soul Refiners, then began reading each page at an extraordinary pace.

His hands moved with such speed that the pages seemed to fall over one another. Anyone who happened to notice him would have assumed he was either insane or some fool trying to attract attention, and for that reason, no one paid him much mind.

Ravian had already done the same to them.

His eyes swept across paragraphs, tables, and examples while Absolute Focus separated rules from exceptions, compared repeated structures, and stored unfamiliar roots according to their likely meanings.

One book led to another. Modern terms had descended from older historical expressions; old military records used rank titles differently; words translated as soul, spirit, will, or essence sometimes referred to entirely separate phenomena depending upon the century in which a text had been written.

It also became clear that this world was at least tens of thousands of years old. Based on what he found within the books, Ravian did not rule out the possibility that its history stretched back millions of years with ease.

The discovery explained several contradictions he had already encountered.

It also led him to a language he recognized.

Prohibian.

’Curses!’

That was the only response Ravian could summon at the moment of realization.