Chapter 5: The Language He Almost Remembered
The book didn't belong there.
Chad knew that the moment he saw it.
Every other shelf in this section carried weight—rows of thick, well-kept volumes, categorized, maintained, respected.
But this one?
Alone.
Worn.
Forgotten.
"The Science of Alchemy."
His fingers moved before his thoughts caught up.
"Alchemy?"
The voice came from behind him.
Sharp.
Dismissive.
Chad paused.
Turned slightly.
A boy—about his age—stood there, arms loosely crossed, eyes already judging.
The boy let out a short laugh.
"You're reading that?"
Chad said nothing.
The boy shook his head, smirking.
"That's trash."
He turned, already losing interest.
"Only failures waste time on alchemy."
Footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
Chad stared at the book for a second longer.
"…Strange."
Not the insult.
The reaction.
"If it's useless…"
He murmured quietly.
"…why preserve it at all?"
No answer came.
So he picked it up.
He returned to his seat.
Sat down.
Opened the book.
And the world… shifted.
Symbols.
Not mystical.
Not abstract.
Structured.
Precise.
Familiar.
Chad's eyes widened—just slightly.
"…No way…"
Equations stretched across the page.
Balanced expressions.
Material conversions.
Energy ratios.
Not guesswork.
Logic.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the parchment.
"…Finally."
A breath escaped him—quiet, almost reverent.
"This… this is it."
Not magic.
Not instinct.
Understanding.
He leaned in, eyes moving faster now.
Hungry.
"This is crude…"
He muttered.
"Too many assumptions… no stabilization constants…"
He flipped a page.
Then another.
"…And this is wrong."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"Completely wrong."
He closed the book halfway, already thinking ahead.
"I need to fix this."
Chad stood and made his way toward the front desk.
His father looked up as he approached.
"…Chad?"
Chad hesitated—just slightly.
"I need something to write with."
A pause.
His father's eyes narrowed, not in suspicion—
But curiosity.
"…What for?"
"To study."
Silence.
Then—
His father's expression lit up.
"…To study?"
The shift was immediate.
Almost too immediate.
"Of course! Of course—here—"
He moved quickly, pulling out items with practiced ease.
"A quill… an inkwell… and parchment."
He handed them over, almost eagerly.
"…Don't waste the ink," he added, though the smile never left his face.
Chad took them.
Carefully.
"…Thank you."
As he turned to leave, a thought crossed his mind.
'…So he didn't study before.'
Back at his seat, Chad set everything down.
Opened the book again.
And began.
Ink touched parchment.
Fast.
Precise.
He rewrote equations.
Rebalanced structures.
Corrected ratios.
"…If this is the input… then the output should stabilize here…"
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
"Unless…"
He paused.
Adjusted.
"No… that's inefficient."
More corrections.
More calculations.
Pages filled.
His hand didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't stop.
Then—
Footsteps.
Multiple.
"Well, well…"
Chad didn't look up.
The same boy stood there again—this time with others.
"You're still at it?"
A second boy leaned in slightly.
"Is he seriously reading alchemy?"
Laughter.
"Guess he gave up on real magic already."
"Figures."
Chad's pen didn't stop moving.
"…If it works, it works."
Chad muttered.
The boys blinked.
"…What?"
Chad finally looked up.
Calm.
Unbothered.
"If a system produces results, dismissing it without testing it is irrational."
Silence.
Then—
"…What's he even saying?" one muttered.
"Who cares?" another scoffed. "It's still useless."
Around them, a few readers had begun to notice.
Murmurs spread.
"Alchemy…?"
"Such a waste…"
"Poor child…"
Disappointment.
Not anger.
Worse.
Chad glanced around once.
"…Interesting."
He looked back down.
And kept writing.
'…So it's not just children.'
He thought.
"Alright, that's enough."
The voice cut clean through the noise.
His father.
The boys straightened slightly.
"This is a library," he said calmly. "Not a marketplace."
The boys muttered among themselves, backing off.
The room settled again.
His father turned to Chad.
For a moment—
He said nothing.
Just looked.
Then—
A small smile.
"…Don't overdo it."
And he walked away.
Chad watched him go.
"…Noted."
Then returned to the page.
Time blurred.
Ink stained his fingers.
Light shifted across the floor.
Pages filled.
And slowly—
The system began to make sense.
Not perfect.
But workable.
"…They were close."
He leaned back slightly.
"…Just incomplete."
...
The library began to empty.
Closing time.
Chad exhaled softly, glancing over what he had written.
"…Not bad."
Not perfect.
But progress.
He reached for the book.
Paused.
His thoughts drifted.
Uninvited.
A memory.
A structure.
A formula.
Aetherion.
His eyes unfocused slightly.
"…It required…"
Silence.
"…What did it require?"
His brow furrowed.
"…No…"
That wasn't right.
He knew this.
He built it.
Every layer.
Every reaction.
Every constant—
"…Why can't I remember?"
His fingers tightened slightly.
Fragments surfaced.
Then slipped away.
Like trying to hold water...
"…There was something…"
Important.
Critical.
Just out of reach.
He looked down at the page.
For a split second—
The formula shifted.
Not fully.
Just—
Wrong.
A symbol misplaced.
A ratio distorted.
Not the way he remembered it.
Not the way it should be.
Then—
It snapped back.
Normal.
Chad froze.
"…That's not possible."
Silence answered him.
But something had changed.
Not in the book.
Not in the room.
In the space between what he knew…
And what he could no longer remember.