Adrix moved towards the main desk, his boots making near-silent scuffs on the polished marble, a sound swallowed by the colossal hush of the Grand library. Even his quiet approach seemed to resonate in the cathedral-like space.

“Hello,” he said, his voice a polite murmur, yet it carried easily in the profound stillness.

The librarian, a young woman with spectacles perched on her nose and an ink smudge on her cheek, looked up from a hefty, leather-bound book. Her eyes, the color of warm honey, widened almost imperceptibly before a gentle, scholarly smile touched her lips. She carefully marked her page with what looked like a pressed wildflower before setting the book aside and rising. “Ah, welcome,” she replied, her voice as soft as turning pages. “How may I assist you today?”

Adrix offered her a warm smile in return. “I’d like to find some books on ancient history, specifically regarding creatures.”

“Ah, the Old Histories,” she mused, a flicker of academic interest in her eyes. Her finger, slender and slightly stained with blue ink, pointed towards an elegant, spiraling staircase of dark, polished wood. “Ascend to the second floor. You’ll want the rearmost alcove to the right, shielded from the main light. The entire section is dedicated to pre-Imperial histories.”

“Thank you,” Adrix said to her, then turned, gesturing for me to follow him towards the sweeping staircase.

We ascended the graceful staircase in comfortable silence, the soft rustling of pages from unseen readers and the faint, almost spicy aroma of preservation wards our only accompaniment. We navigated a labyrinth of towering bookshelves crafted from ancient, dark wood, each a silent sentinel guarding its trove of accumulated ages. The air itself seemed thick with the scent of old parchment and leather bindings until we reached the far right corner of the second floor. “This is going to take a while,” Adrix murmured, his gaze sweeping over an seemingly endless expanse of spines—leather, vellum, even a few bound in what looked like hide.

“So, do you have a plan,” I asked quietly, “or are we going book by book?”

Adrix released a sigh, thin as a whisper. “Unfortunately, for this part, there’s no quick answer. We’re going to have to go book by book. I can’t exactly announce the full particulars of what we’re looking for. Word still spreads around here, and that does us no good.”

I nodded in understanding. Spotting a rolling ladder tucked against a nearby shelf, I pulled it over to our section. “I’ll take the top,” I offered, stepping onto the first rung, “if you want to start on the bottom.”

“Sounds good,” Adrix replied. “If you find anything that seems promising, just let me know, and I’ll bring it down for you so you don’t have to keep clambering.”

“Okay,” I said, gripping the smooth, worn wood of the ladder. I slid my foot onto the next rung and began my ascent, climbing steadily until I reached the top. Securing my grip with one hand, I started taking out the ancient tomes one by one, their covers often cracked and their titles in faded gilt, carefully skimming through their indexes for any mention of creatures that might hold the key to our current predicament.

After what felt like an eternity of scanning countless indexes, my fingers finally brushed against a title that sparked a flicker of interest.

“Hey,” I called down softly to Adrix, mindful of the library’s hushed atmosphere. “I found something.”

A familiar warmth, the subtle thrum of his mana, reached up like an invisible hand, gently cradling the heavy book. I felt the pressure lessen as his magic took its weight, a precise and delicate manipulation. “Thanks,” I murmured as he offered me a quick, appreciative smile. I turned back to the shelves, my focus renewed, and soon after, another book caught my eye – this one spoke of dark magic in ancient times.

This time, the weight of the massive books and the constant reaching finally caught up with me. My shoulders screamed in protest. “Alright,” I muttered to myself, “time for a break.” I slowly descended the wooden ladder, my feet finally landing on the solid floor with a soft thud. As I released my grip, a dull ache resonated in my arm, a stark reminder of the hours I’d spent reaching and searching. I hadn’t even noticed the strain until now.

“I think I need a break,” I said in a hushed voice, rubbing the gritty feeling from my tired eyes.

“Why don’t we sit at the table here?” Adrix suggested, gesturing to a nearby reading table. He pulled out a chair and sank into it, a visible sigh of relief escaping his lips as his muscles began to relax. I pulled out the chair next to him, and I gratefully settled into it. He leaned in closer, propping his head on a hand, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “So, what do you think?”

“Of what?” I replied, still slightly dazed by the sheer volume of knowledge. “The library… it’s staggering. We’ll be here at least another full day searching.”

“Why don’t we call it a day?” Adrix proposed softly. “We can head over and get some food from the kitchen, and then I can show you to your room.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” I admitted, my eyes protesting at the thought of more reading. “My eyes can’t handle looking at any more books. I don’t know how Finnian does it.”

Adrix chuckled quietly. “If Finnian were here, we never would have been able to cover looking through this many books. He would have wanted to read each one cover to cover.”

“That’s true,” I said, a smile softening my lips as I thought of Finnian’s meticulous nature.

Adrix’s violet eyes, usually alight with sharp wit, softened. He leaned in a fraction more, the space between us suddenly charged. “You know,” he confessed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet, “I’m actually quite glad it’s you I’m buried alive with under these dusty old tomes. It makes the prospect… considerably less tedious.” A ghost of a genuine smile touched his lips, and his gaze lingered, warm and unsettlingly direct.

I tucked a stray strand of hair that had escaped my bun behind my ear, the simple movement feeling suddenly awkward under his intense gaze. “I’m glad that I can help,” I replied, the words coming out a little quieter than I would have liked. He held my gaze for another moment, a lingering warmth in his violet eyes that made my stomach do a little flip. “Alright,” I said, finally dragging my attention away from his captivating gaze and focusing on the five books stacked between us on the table. “We should probably let the librarian know we’re taking these.” I stood up, gathering the books into my arms.

We made our way back to the main floor, the weight of the ancient books surprisingly comforting in my arms. The librarian, the young woman with her nose now practically touching her own book, efficiently noted the titles we were taking, her quill scratching softly against parchment. With that task completed, Adrix led me through a set of unassuming doors I hadn’t noticed before, and we found ourselves in a bustling, warmly lit kitchen. The aroma of roasting meats, herbs, and freshly baked bread filled the air, a welcome change from the dry scent of old paper. We enjoyed a quiet dinner, the conversation light and easy, before Adrix finally guided me up another set of stairs, these less grand than the library’s, and to a cozy room tucked away on a higher floor.

The room Adrix led me to was surprisingly spacious and possessed a quiet, lived-in warmth. A large, four-poster bed draped in deep blue velvet, its thick comforter and numerous pillows promising a restful night. In the center of the room, a comfortable-looking couch sat opposite a small, round table. Against the far wall, a sturdy oak desk stood beneath a mullioned window, its surface a chaotic landscape of scrolled parchments, open books, stray quills, and the faint, metallic scent of drying ink—clearly Adrix’s own workspace. “Thank you,” I said, assuming this was my temporary lodging and expecting Adrix to bid me goodnight.

“Of course,” he replied, and that flicker in his violet eyes intensified, a spark I couldn’t decipher. He gestured vaguely around the room. “But I believe there’s a slight misunderstanding, Lyra. I’ll be staying here as well. In a Tower of this nature, the primary resident—that’s me, in this case—typically shares their quarters with their… long-term associate or companion.” The slight emphasis on ‘companion’ made my breath catch.

My eyes widened slightly, a knot forming in my stomach. “Oh. Uh… well, I suppose I can sleep on the couch then,” I offered, already making my way towards the inviting cushions.

“No,” he said gently but firmly, his gaze following me. “You will have the bed. You are my guest, technically. I’ll be perfectly comfortable on the couch. Besides,” he added, a softer tone entering his voice, “it’s not the first time we’ve shared a sleeping space on our travels, remember? You can relax, Lyra.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, a hint of unease in my voice, my eyes flicking between the bed and the couch, the memory of that previous shared space doing little to ease my current apprehension.

“Yes, Lyra,” he assured me, a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes gracing his lips. “I’m quite sure. Get some rest. We have more books to explore tomorrow.” He moved towards the couch, but his gaze flickered back to me, a brief, intense scrutiny that seemed to map the lines of my face in the dimness, before he finally turned and settled onto the couch. An unspoken awareness remained, hanging in the air as thick and charged as the ozone before a lightning strike, almost visible in the moon-drenched silence.

I tried to sleep, but it did not come. The thought of Adrix and I sharing this room, in the quiet intimacy of the Mages Tower, made me inexplicably nervous. My skin felt too tight, a strange energy prickling beneath it. I rolled over, the crisp linen sheets tangling around my legs, trying to get comfortable. It’s absurd, I thought. We’ve slept practically on top of each other under the stars, taken watch mere feet apart in the echoing solitude of ancient ruins. Why is this bugging me so profoundly now? Why does his presence on that couch across the room feel more potent than when he was a breath away in the wilderness? I rolled over again, the movement feeling jerky and loud in the stillness, and this time a soft sigh, more frustration and a confusing flutter than simple weariness, escaped me.

“You know Lyra, that doesn’t sound like you’re sleeping.” His voice, low and unexpectedly gentle from the couch, startled me, sending a shiver down my spine despite the mildness of the night.

“I can’t sleep,” I said in response, the admission feeling more vulnerable than I intended. I pressed my hand to my head, as if to physically halt the chaotic dance of my thoughts.

Adrix shifted, then sat up on the couch. The rustle of fabric was surprisingly loud in the stillness. His movement was slow, deliberate, and my eyes were involuntarily drawn to the silhouette of his broad shoulders against the silvered window, the moonlight carving his form from the shadows. “Do you want to talk for a bit?” he asked, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge, replaced by something softer, more inviting.

I sat up, my own movements mirroring his caution, and met his violet eyes. In the ethereal wash of moonlight that spilled through the arched window, they seemed to deepen, holding ancient secrets and reflecting not just the silver light, but an unnerving, gentle understanding that saw far too much. His features, usually sharp and often accompanied by a sarcastic smirk, were softened now, made more prominent by the shadows and light, drawing my attention in a way that made my breath catch. The sharp line of his jaw, the way a stray lock of dark hair fell across his forehead – details I’d seen a thousand times, yet suddenly they felt new, significant. He really is handsome. My heart, which had been nervously fluttering erratically, now began a distinct, insistent thrumming against my ribs. “Sure, I would like that,” I responded, my voice a little breathless, barely a whisper. I wiggled towards the end of the bed, the small distance between the edge of my mattress and the couch suddenly feeling charged, like the air before a storm. “Have you been here a lot, at the Mages Tower?”

“I’ve been here a few times. I came when I first started learning about my magic. I didn’t have someone to teach me so I had to teach myself.” He paused, his gaze drifting towards the moonlit window for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before returning to mine.

“No one?” I echoed, genuine surprise lacing my tone. I tried to reconcile the powerful, controlled mage I knew with a solitary learner. “But… you wield your magic with such precision, such innate grace. It seems as natural to you as breathing.”

He smiled then, a genuine smile that, this time, did reach his eyes, crinkling the corners. “Of course I do, it is me we are talking about,” he said, the familiar sarcastic tone returning, but it felt lighter now, less like a shield and more like an old, comfortable habit. I know I thought I knew his type, but the more I get to know him, the more I feel like there is so much more beneath his sarcasm, layers he only rarely lets show.

“You know Lyra,” he continued, his voice softening again, “you wield a sword pretty well yourself. Who taught you?”

“My dad taught me since I was young,” I replied, the memory bringing a faint smile to my own lips. “We used to train every day, and I’ve never stopped since.”

A comfortable silence settled between us then, filled only by the soft sounds of the night and the growing, unspoken connection that seemed to hum in the air. It stretched, becoming less about shared history and more about a quiet, charged anticipation. I found my gaze drawn back to Adrix. The moonlight had shifted slightly, carving his profile into sharper relief, and his violet eyes, when they met mine again, held an intensity that went beyond mere conversation.

He leaned forward, just a fraction, from the couch, the movement so slight I might have imagined it, but the air between us seemed to compress, thrumming with unspoken words. My own hand, resting on the cool linen of the coverlet, twitched with the sudden, fierce impulse to bridge that tiny chasm, to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the warmth of his skin. To… what? I didn’t dare complete the thought.

Adrix was the first to break the spell, his voice a low murmur that nonetheless felt loud in the stillness. “We should… probably try to get some sleep, Lyra,” he said, and was that a hint of reluctance, a slight roughness in his tone that mirrored the sudden knot in my own stomach? “Tomorrow will be here before we know it.”

He was right, of course. The logical part of my brain knew that. But the thought of letting this moment, this fragile connection, dissolve into the ordinary act of sleeping felt like a distinct loss. “You’re right,” I managed, my voice softer than I intended.

I lay back down, turning slightly so I could still see him. He watched me settle, and before he turned away to arrange his own bedding on the couch, his eyes met mine one last time. It was a deep, lingering look that held no easy answers, only more questions, and a promise of… something.

“Goodnight, Lyra,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress in the quiet room.

“Goodnight, Adrix.”

I closed my eyes, but the image of his face in the moonlight remained. Sleep, I knew with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, would be a distant shore.