"The transaction is complete," the Librarian murmured.
The obsidian quill suddenly lunged forward. I gasped as it pierced through my shirt and into my skin. Curiously, there was no pain—only a strange, drawing sensation as it drank a single drop of my blood, turning the black obsidian into a deep, pulsating crimson.
The quill then moved to the blank, charred page of the book.
"Sign," the Librarian commanded.
My hand moved almost on its own, grabbing the warm quill. I felt the dark mana surging through my stick-thin arm, making my veins turn black for a fleeting second.
I wrote the name. Not the name of the student from my old life, but the name this world recognized.
Rio Aragon.
The moment the last letter was finished, the dark mana exploded. The charred hide of the book unraveled like a blooming flower, and the ink didn't just stay on the page—it flooded out, drowning the library in a vision of the past.
I wasn't in the library anymore. I was standing in a rain-slicked courtyard of the Aragon palace. And there, standing before a younger, golden-scaled King, was a woman with eyes that held the entire Abyss.
She wasn't begging for her life. She was smiling.
"So," her voice echoed, beautiful and sharp as a glass shard. "The Dragon King wants a son? I will give you a son. But I will also give you a catastrophe."
The rain felt real. It wasn't just a vision; it was a sensory assault. The droplets were cold, stinging my skin, and the air smelled of ozone and the heavy, metallic scent of dragon fire.
The younger King stood towering over her. He was a mountain of gold and muscle, his presence so suffocating that the very rain seemed to swerve around him. His eyes, molten gold, narrowed at the woman standing in the center of the courtyard.
"You speak of catastrophes, Demon," the King's voice boomed, vibrating in my very marrow. "While you stand in the heart of my kingdom, stripped of your armies and your pride."
The woman—my mother—laughed. It was a light, melodic sound that seemed to mock the thunder rolling overhead. She didn't look like a prisoner. Even in her simple, dark robes, she looked like a queen who had already won a game the King didn't even know they were playing.
"Pride is for those who have something to lose, Aragon," she said, taking a step toward him. "I have already lost my realm. Now, I simply wish to see yours burn from the inside out."
She placed a hand over her stomach, and for a second, a pulse of violet light flickered beneath her skin.
"This child will not be a bridge between our worlds," she whispered, her voice carrying clearly through the storm. "He will be the crack in your foundation. He will carry the weight of two extinctions in his blood. And when the time comes, you won't find a monster. You will find a mirror."
The King reached out, his massive hand closing around her throat. He didn't squeeze, but the threat was absolute. "I will mold him. I will make him a Dragon. He will be the greatest weapon this continent has ever seen."
"You can try," she gasped, her smile never fading even as her breath was cut short. "But I have already written his beginning. And the end... the end belongs to the boy who remembers what it means to be a void. Not Dragon. Nor Demon. Something far worse."
Suddenly, the vision blurred. The courtyard, the rain, and the towering King began to melt into streaks of black ink. My mother's eyes were the last thing to vanish—they locked onto mine, and for a fleeting second, I felt a warmth that didn't belong in this cold world.
"Survive, Rio," she whispered. "I know you can."
The ink rushed back into the book with a violent thud, and I was slammed back into the reality of the Divine Library. My knees gave out, and I hit the floor hard, my lungs burning as if I had actually been standing in that rain-slicked courtyard.
[LORE REVELATION: THE MOTHER'S MALICE]
[MAIN PLOT PROGRESS: 8% -> 15%]
[RESONANCE STABILITY: 3.3% -> 3.0%]
[WARNING: RESONANCE STABILITY AT CRITICAL THRESHOLD.]
The Librarian stood over me, the book now closed and dormant in his hands. The dark mana had settled, leaving only the faint scent of jasmine in the air.
"You saw it," the Librarian murmured. "You weren't born to inherit a throne, Rio. You were born to be a detonator."
I looked down at my hands. They were still thin, still trembling. But that pathetic mask no longer fit. I was a weapon designed by a demon and kept by a dragon.
"A detonator?"
I looked at my reflection in the polished marble floor. I didn't look like a bomb. I looked like a boy who was one missed meal away from turning into a skeleton.
But Alvis's warnings, Laila's disgust, and my mother's final smile—they all started to form a picture that was far more terrifying than a terminal illness.
"When the time comes, you will come to know about the things you are supposed to know," the Librarian said, his voice returning to that cold, distant rasp.
Without another word, he threw the thin, charred book toward me. It didn't fly like a normal object; it glided through the air, trailing wisps of dark mana like a falling star.
"Take it and get out of here. Before I decide to break my promise to your mother and actually kill you."
I caught the book, the leather cover feeling like warm skin against my palms. The dark mana didn't burn me this time; it felt strangely welcoming, as if the book recognized the blood I had just used to sign my name.
[ITEM ACQUIRED: THE BLOOD-INK TESTAMENT (BOUND)]
[EFFECT: Slowly reveals hidden lore based on Resonance Level.]
"Wait!" I called out, scrambling to my feet. "What promise? What did she give you to keep me safe?"
But the Librarian was already dissolving. His form turned back into a single drop of ink that fell toward the floor, but before it hit the surface, it vanished into thin air.
"Pray you never learn what she paid… to keep you alive." Those were his final words before his existence dissolved, just like before.
The towering bookshelves, the glowing silver and gold volumes, and the golden mist, it all began to retract, the library returning to that vast, empty, bleached-white cathedral.
The heavy silverwood doors at the far end of the hall groaned open, a sliver of the palace's natural sunlight cutting through the gloom.