Aether is it?

The Aethercrest Library was impossibly vast.

Vaulted ceilings arched high above, painted with old constellations and swirling runes. Shelves of dark wood stretched up so high they disappeared into the softly glowing chandeliers. Everything smelled like old parchment, polished stone, and something vaguely metallic—like static just before a storm.

"Okay," Noctis muttered, eyes scanning the aisles. "If a book doesn't kill me, the stairs might."

Ava nudged him. "Less whining, more studying. I am not going to flunk a subject called 'Introduction to Aether Theory.' It would be humiliating."

"Speak for yourself. I still don't know the difference between an Arc Pulse and an Overflow Surge. I just nod when people sound confident."

They wandered deeper between the shelves, past glowing sigils that lit up when they approached, activating book-tracking glyphs. Their wrists flickered faintly every now and then—status windows responding to minor sensory updates. Aethercrest used them like second nature.

Everyone did. Stats. Mana levels. Progress bars. It was normal.

But not quests. Not levels. Not the voices that sometimes whispered strange things when they were alone.

Noctis shook his head. Not now.

Ava was already searching through titles.

"Ugh," she groaned, pulling out a leather-bound tome with gold trim. "The Aether Spiral: A Study in Internal Structure. This thing is bigger than Luna."

She set it down on a nearby table with a thump.

Noctis slumped into a seat beside her. "So, plan?"

"Read until we understand something."

A pause.

Neither moved.

"Right," Ava admitted. "This is hopeless."

"Glad you said it first."

"Need a miracle?" said a smooth voice from behind.

They turned.

A tall, confident student stood a few feet away, dressed in the formal black and silver of a second-year. His uniform bore a silver band around one arm—Teacher's Assistant. His ash-blonde hair was swept back lazily, and his slate-blue eyes held the gleam of someone who had mastered both knowledge and sarcasm.

"Cyrus Thorn," he said with a small nod. "I saw you two crash and burn in theory class."

Ava blinked. "We didn't crash—"

"You mistook resonance for radiance, then asked if raw Aether was flammable." He sat at their table without asking. "I'm not judging. First-years always drown in the first month."

Noctis folded his arms. "You always this charming?"

"Only when I'm trying to help," Cyrus said, pulling a book from his satchel and placing it neatly between them. "Foundational Dynamics: Core, Channel, Output. It won't bite."

"Yet," Noctis muttered.

Cyrus grinned.

They sat for nearly an hour as Cyrus explained what their lecture had failed to make clear.

He drew diagrams in the air using trace-light from his fingers—simple models showing three core elements of Aether manipulation:

Core — the personal reservoir of Aether, seated in the soul.

Channel — the body's natural pathways: nerves, focus, emotion.

Output — the way Aether manifests: through weapons, elements, constructs, or enhanced movement.

"Your status windows track raw numbers—capacity, control rate, resonance—but those numbers are meaningless without flow. Think of Aether like water. Your Core holds it. Your Channel moves it. Your Output decides where it hits."

Ava raised a hand. "And if we're still learning to summon Aether into a blade without it evaporating?"

"Then you're normal," Cyrus said, shrugging. "Manifestation is one of the hardest parts. Your stats will climb as your control improves. The trick is not to panic when your first attempts flicker out."

Noctis tried to summon a dagger construct. His fingers sparked violet briefly before it sputtered and vanished. "So… panicking bad."

"Very."

Cyrus walked them through breathing exercises, small Aether draws, and how to stabilize their channels under stress. He corrected Ava's grip on her practice sword and showed Noctis how to keep his pulse steady during focus.

"You've both got potential," he said as they finished a round of exercises. "Not a lot of polish, but there's something sharp underneath. Raw Aether types are unpredictable."

"How do you know we're raw types?" Ava asked.

"Because if you were trained in a structured art, you'd be failing differently," Cyrus said dryly. "Yours burns at the edges. It's rare—but not unheard of."

They absorbed everything. It was the first time since arriving that the theory actually made sense—no riddles, no dramatic speeches, just clear explanation from someone who'd already stumbled through it.

As the sky outside shifted into golds and purples, the library began to clear out. Cyrus stood and returned his books to the shelf, then turned back to them with a brief nod.

"One last tip," he said. "Check your windows often. Stats don't lie, but they don't tell the whole story either. You'll find that what really matters isn't how much Aether you have—it's what you do with it when you're running out."

He started walking, then added without turning back, "If you two need more help, come find me. I'm usually here after dusk."

Once he was gone, Ava exhaled slowly.

"That guy's intense."

"But helpful," Noctis admitted. "For someone who clearly enjoys watching us struggle."

"Better than drowning alone."

They stood up and headed out of the library, books under their arms. Ava's eyes drifted down to her open status window again: faint gold bars, a slowly ticking experience counter, and the usual readouts for resonance and control.

Noctis glanced at his too.

Stats… just stats. The same for everyone.

But not the only thing that existed.

The feeling from the night they were pulled into Aethercrest still clung to him sometimes. Like there was more going on—something under the surface that only they could see.

But right now, with real guidance and clear steps ahead, it felt manageable.

"Hey," Ava said, nudging his arm. "We're gonna get better at this."

He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "One weird lesson at a time."