Dimensional Librarian

Ten years at the Sixth Circle.

Ten years of meditation, of refinement, of dissecting spell structures and rewriting core formulas. Ten years of feeling the Seventh Circle looming like a door just slightly out of reach.

It gnawed at him.

Not because he lacked discipline. Not because he feared the cost.

But because he had given everything already. He had killed for it. Bled for it. Outlived everyone who might have stood beside him in pursuit of it.

And still… the Circle denied him.

He could feel the boundary. Sense its shape in his dreams. When he cast, sometimes the world trembled, like it wanted to answer but never did. He was standing at the threshold of magihood, and the door simply would not open.

Not for him.

Perhaps never for him.

Velgrin sighed and straightened the cuffs of his robe. He walked to the door of his office, brushing a layer of invisible dust from the handle. Another lecture. Another round of blank stares and half-melted desks. Another day pretending to be content with shaping young minds when all he wanted was to fracture reality itself.

He opened the door.

And stepped into something else entirely.

He didn't notice at first.

The sensation was so subtle that for a moment, his mind filled in the expected hallway. He took a step forward. Then another.

And then he stopped.

The air was wrong.

Not stale. Not fresh.

Too quiet.

He turned his head and saw it.

A vast hall stretched endlessly ahead of him, lined with blackened wood and burnished gold. Towering shelves loomed above, stacked with books of every shape, color, and material. Some leather, some stone, others bound in metallic chains that clicked faintly when no one moved.

Velgrin's mouth dried.

There was no doorway behind him.

Only shadow.

The stone beneath his boots wasn't the grey tile of Henderson Academy, but a smooth, mirrored floor that shimmered with faint star patterns, like he stood upon a still ocean of night sky.

Magic pulsed in the air.

But it wasn't mana.

It wasn't even Law.

It was… older.

Older than any Circle. Older than spellcraft.

This place was stitched together with something primal and unfinished.

The magic here… it wasn't magic.

It was Law before Law.

Structure without form. Power without source.

And then he heard the voice.

"Welcome to the Library of Noctis."

Velgrin turned.

The man who greeted him stood like a Divine Being calm, composed, holding a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. He wore a black coat, plain boots, and had the unassuming look of someone who spent far too much time indoors.

There was no aura. No pressure.

But Velgrin felt as if the universe itself bent politely around the man's presence.

Every instinct screamed.

This wasn't a powerful mage.

This was something above mages.

This man this Librarian was the master of a domain not bound to the Ten Circles of magic.

A place like this shouldn't exist.

Dimensional folding of this scale required Tenth-Tier Space Magic. The highest known form of spellcraft. A feat spoken of only in myth. Reserved for beings like the First Wizard, the one who supposedly carved runes into the sky and created worlds from ink.

Even he hadn't built a place like this.

And yet here Velgrin stood. On a floor made of stars, in a library stitched together with impossibility, and across from a man calmly sipping tea.

Velgrin dropped his gaze.

Fear, sharp and unfamiliar, rooted itself in his gut.

This… this was beyond him.

"I…" His voice caught. "Forgive me, I… did not mean to intrude."

The Librarian smiled faintly. "You didn't. The Library let you in."

"That's… not possible. I didn't cast anything. I opened a door."

"And the Library opened one back," the Librarian said, tone polite, but firm. "It chooses who enters."

Velgrin swallowed.

"I… see."

He adjusted his robes, hands steady by force of will alone. Even now, surrounded by impossibility, he clung to dignity. He had once burned an entire warfleet from the sky with a single spell. But here, he felt like a child holding a sparkler in the middle of a sun.

The Librarian stepped forward.

Velgrin instinctively lowered his gaze and bowed slightly.

The gesture surprised even him.

But it felt… necessary.

"You said this is the Library of Noctis," Velgrin said. "May I ask… your name?"

"You may," the Librarian said. "But I doubt it would help. I am the Librarian. That is enough."

"Yes," Velgrin said quickly. "Of course."

He forced himself to stop trembling.

The Librarian raised his cup and took another sip. "You are the first patron. So I'm obligated to explain how this works."

Velgrin straightened slowly. "Patron…?"

"Yes," the Librarian said. "You've been brought here because the Library has determined that your soul carries a hunger. A need. You seek something."

"I seek the Seventh Circle," he whispered. "I've slaughtered friends. Betrayed masters. Given my sanity to cursed tomes that laughed as they devoured it. I've burned every bridge behind me. There is nothing left."

He raised his head, madness gleaming in his eyes. "Take what's left of me. My body. My soul. My name. I offer it all. Just… show me the path."

Levi watched in silence. The shadows in the Library stirred.

Only after a long pause did he speak, voice like the rustle of pages turning themselves.

"Desperation is common here," he said. "But true sacrifice…"

He leaned forward, eyes unreadable.

The Librarian nodded. "The Library will offer it. But it is not free."

"I understand," Velgrin said immediately, his voice too fast, too eager. "What is required?"

"Three things," the Librarian said. "First, you must follow the rules."

Velgrin listened intently.

"One. No taking books out of the Library. Two. No fighting in the Library. Three. No damaging the books."

Velgrin nodded solemnly. "Of course."

"Second," the Librarian continued, "you must answer my questions honestly. Every patron receives a book tailored to their character and desire. That requires understanding."

Velgrin bowed again. "Then I will be honest."

"Third," the Librarian said, "you must pay."

"Pay?"

"In whatever currency you choose. Gold, mana, soul fragments. It doesn't matter. The Library will convert it into something useful."

Velgrin hesitated only a moment. "Understood."

The Librarian's gaze lingered on him.

Then he spoke softly.

"Tell me, Velgrin of the Spiral Order… what kind of man are you?"

Velgrin froze.

It was a simple question.

But something in the way the Librarian asked it made it feel final. As if his answer might not be spoken into the air, but written into the shelves around him, carved into spines and pages, remembered forever.

"I…" Velgrin inhaled deeply. " My name is Velgrin Archwizard of the Spiral Order, Sixth Circle Pyromancer, Former Commander of the Flame Artillery Division of Elther's Royal Army. I am a man of discipline. Of logic. I seek the truth through fire and structure. I don't crave power for vanity — I pursue it because the world is built on those who shape it. I want to understand what lies beyond the Sixth Circle. I want to break through."

The Librarian said nothing.

Velgrin added quickly, "I've never hesitated to sacrifice. Not lives. Not limbs. Not even my soul, if necessary. I've burned cities to protect the greater realm. I would do it again."

Silence.

Then:

"I see."

The Librarian set his tea down on a floating end table that hadn't existed a moment ago.

"Now," he said, turning toward the shelves, "let's find your book."

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This old man is insane.

Levi Warwick kept his face neutral as he led Velgrin up the curving marble stairwell toward the seventh floor. His long black coat swept behind him, immaculate, tailored — the kind of formalwear that suggested professionalism, mystery, and "please don't ask me what I'm doing because I have no clue."

He had chosen it intentionally. First impressions mattered. And the moment the Library connected to the outer realms and dragged in its first-ever patron, Levi had one instinct:

Look like you belong.

Even if internally you were screaming into a mental paper bag.

Velgrin followed behind him like a noble in a temple, every footstep precise, every breath measured. He hadn't said a word since they left the foyer.

Which would've been comforting.

If Levi weren't certain the man was calculating 47 ways to destroy the entire Library if it turned out to be a trap.

Why is this guy so intense? Who walks into a pocket dimension made of pure forbidden knowledge and reacts with polite reverence? Levi thought.

Oh right powerful wizards.

Velgrin had introduced himself with enough titles to fill a resume: Archwizard of the Spiral Order, Sixth Circle Pyromancer, Former Commander of the Flame Artillery Division of Elther's Royal Army.

That sounded impressive.

But it was the way the man looked at Levi with a blend of reverence and outright terror that made things much worse.

He thinks I'm a god.

Levi's palms were sweating under his gloves.

What the hell am I supposed to give him? These are novels. Actual novels. Like, paperback, fun, ridiculous, "I have a farmer system" kind of novels.

They reached the top of the stairs. A wide landing stretched into yet another endless corridor of perfectly maintained shelves. Here, the air was warmer. The smell of smoke and paper mingled, as if the books themselves had once flirted with flame.

This section had always been Levi's favorite. It was full of stories he'd read during his first few years in the Library. Tales of fire-wielding warriors, passionate martial artists, monks who used exploding soup to defeat demons.

He scanned the shelves, trying to calm himself.

Okay. Fire mage. Obsessed with power. Clearly a little unhinged. He wants to push into some kind of god-tier magic. Just give him something inspirational. Something fiery. Maybe he'll think it's symbolic and go home happy.

Levi's fingers stopped on a book.

A thick, well-worn hardcover. The cover was a painted illustration of a young man in flowing Daoist robes, holding a small flame over a humble cooking pot. The title, written in bold calligraphy, read:

Cultivating the Immortal: Start by Lighting a Fire to Cook Rice

Levi had read it three times. It was charming. The protagonist slowly ascended to demigodhood using nothing but discipline, basic kitchen tools, and a knack for setting things on fire while making soup.

Perfect.

Levi's hand moved with intention as he reached toward a shelf. His fingers paused over a few spines. Then selected a single volume.

He turned, holding it out in both hands as if offering a sacred relic.

Velgrin's breath stopped.

The book.

It burned.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

The cover writhed with lava-like heat. The leather bubbled and pulsed with molten veins. Ancient glyphs carved themselves across the surface, glowing in hues of ember and blood.

The title seared itself into Velgrin's mind:

Law of Flame: Might of the Lord of the Fire Giants, Surtr

His knees hit the floor without thought.

He's giving this to me? Me? A mortal stuck on the threshold of the Seventh Circle?

He looked up, trembling.

The Librarian said nothing for a moment. Then spoke in a calm, measured voice.

"This one suits you, It doesn't shout. It burns slow. Steady."

He speaks of restraint. Of intention. Of control over the fire within.

Velgrin carefully reached out. The heat did not scorch it tested. He felt his magic recoil, then align. Like the book had acknowledged his right to hold it.

He dared not speak. He dared not even blink too quickly.

The Librarian continued, his voice low. "Many rush toward flame for destruction. But the wiser ones… know it's a tool for cultivation. Precision. Warmth. Even creation."

He speaks in riddles. Yes. Of course. The flame that forges is greater than the flame that consumes. Why else would the Law appear as a tome? It must be studied. Understood.

Velgrin accepted the book into both hands, bowing his head. His entire body vibrated with the hum of unseen power. He could hear it a faint, distant chant made of burning syllables.

The Librarian inclined his head slightly. "You'll find the lessons deeper than they seem at first. Pay attention to the rhythm. It's subtle."

Even his warnings are layered. Rhythm? Of course flame has cadence. The pulsing of lava beneath the skin of the world. He's telling me the Law is encoded in the structure of the text itself!

"There's a reading alcove down the hall," the Librarian said, gesturing with quiet confidence. "Take your time. The Library is never in a hurry."

Never in a hurry… yes… because Time burns here, doesn't it? It obeys him. This being. This shadow in black. This mind that speaks in fire.

Velgrin bowed lower, arms trembling, and then slowly rose, clutching the tome against his chest like a sacred child.

He walked to the alcove as instructed.

The moment he sat and opened the book, it came alive.

Pages ignited softly without being consumed. Lines of text rearranged themselves, reshaping into flame-glyphs older than language. A low, volcanic chant poured from the spaces between the letters. Velgrin could barely breathe.

This is no text. This is a living fragment of Surtr's Will. A splinter of the Law. How many aeons has he guarded this?

He turned a page.

The flame thickened. It didn't burn his hands, but his soul felt it. Each word seemed to test him, weigh him, ask silently:

Are you prepare to sacrifice every thing to the flame ?

Across the hall, Levi exhaled and dusted his coat sleeves.

Still composed.

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Did he just drop to his knees? Over a book about spiritual grilling and emotional rice? No. No, seriously is this man okay? Did I miss a stroke?

Luna padded up to him and sat at his foot, tilting her head.

Levi muttered under his breath, "I didn't even say the name of the book. He just… stared at the cover like it whispered flame secrets directly into his soul."

"Meow."

He stared blankly ahead.

Okay. Either this old man's having a full-on magical hallucination… or the Library is pulling a prank. Or I've accidentally handed a pyromaniac a religious experience.

He rubbed his temple slowly.

"I mean… it's a good book. I liked the soup chapter. But it's not like it's not a sacred relic, man."

Luna flicked her tail against his ankle.

Is he delusional? Or worse… what if he's actually seeing something I'm not? What if the Library customizes the books? Holy crap, did he just ascend emotionally from reading about rice?

nally from reading about rice?