RISE OF THE SWARM

The cold of the stone floor seeped into Liams robes a sharp chill that kept him grounded. The echo of Alistairs laugh had faded but the sting of his words and the shove in the corridor stayed with him. It burned in his chest, like shame that wouldnt wash off. He looked down at his hands, soil from the greenhouse still caught under his nails. They were plain hands—honest, hard working hands. A farmers hands. They were all he had.

Running back to the greenhouse to Magister Briars calm care seemed like the easy thing. It would be safe there. But safety, he thought with a sudden cold jolt, was only a trick here. Her greenhouse could not protect him from Alistair in the halls, from Kaelens sharp and cutting words or from the heavy truth of his own useless magic.

Something colder grew inside him, a new resolve like ice forming in water. If he was to stay an outsider then he would be an outsider who knew more than anyone else. If he couldnt spark fire he would learn every single word ever written about fire. He pushed himself up, his back sore from hitting the wall. He turned away from the path back to the greenhouse. On the stone wall symbols glowed: a book and a quill pointing toward the library.

The library of the Aurelian Academy was not just a hall of books—it was another world. Liam stopped at the great entrance his breath caught in his throat. It was a round tower, so wide and high the ceiling vanished into a dome of stars, where faint glowing orbs drifted like caged will-o-wisps. The shelves carved from dark ancient wood climbed the walls like the ribs of some giant creature asleep. They held thousands upon thousands of books, scrolls bound in leather, even shining crystal pages that pulsed faintly with light. Long ladders of brass slid on rails, giving access to the dizzy heights above. The air smelled of old paper and leather, dried plants and a faint tang like lightning after a storm. The silence itself felt alive, heavy and endless, broken now and then by a page turning or the faintest scratch of a quill.

The sight scared him and comforted him at once. Here among all these words he felt very small but also, strangely, he felt the spark of hope. If there were answers in the world then surely they were here.

He stepped softly like he was intruding into a holy temple. His boots sank into thick carpets woven with star maps and astrological signs. He had no idea where to start. The sections were marked in silver writing: "Thaumaturgical Theory" "Historical Apocrypha" "Advanced Elemental Manipulation" They were like continents on a map for which he had no compass at all.

Wandering deeper he found a quiet corner. Between shelves marked "Botanical Metamorphosis" and another more dangerous one "Geomancy and Telluric Currents." There sat a single chair of dark worn leather, high backed and a small black stone table beside it. It looked like a safe place to hide—to think to try to calm his mind.

He sank into the chair staring at the spines of books he could hardly read. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice anyone approach. There was no sound.

"You are sitting in my place"

The voice was like ice water running over stone. Not angry not annoyed, not even curious. Just flat. A fact spoken with no weight at all.

Liam jumped, almost slipping as he turned. A girl stood there. For a heartbeat he thought one of the glowing saints from the stained glass had stepped into life. She was tall slim, her skin pale like moonlight on fresh snow. Her hair silver-white, straight as thread, falling to her waist like shining silk. Her eyes struck him the most: wide, shaped like almonds, and deep violet, calm and unreadable. Her robes were simple grey like his own but the cloth was fine elven silk, lined with faint silver frost at the hems.

"I.. I'm sorry" Liam stammered as he scrambled to stand. "I didn't know anyone sat here."

"It is of no matter" she replied flatly. "The chair is not alive it cannot care." She did not sit. She simply stood, looking at him with a gaze that felt like a study. "You are the new one. The anomaly. The null."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement plain as stone.

Liam swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

"I saw what happened in the corridor. With the human Alistair Blaiken."

His cheeks burned hot again "You saw that."

"I see many things. It is required. To survive." She tilted her head just a little, the movement so exact it seemed mechanical. "His attack is not unusual. It is a common response to something different. It is predictable. Boring."

"He said I dont belong here" Liam said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. For some reason her total lack of emotion felt safe. She was like a wall of rock—cold but steady.

"His judgement though simple, is true" she replied. "You do not."

The bluntness hit him harder than Alistairs shove. He froze, no words coming.

She kept going, her tone still flat. "Alistair Ravenhold is by measure only average. His mana core is not strong. His noble house is small, part of the Krazian Empire, once lifted by war now sinking into obscurity. He stands low even among them. His show of strength hides weakness."

Her violet eyes focused on him sharper like glass cutting. "If you find him too much then your vision is flawed. You are watching ripples while great shapes move in the deep."

She stepped forward so quiet it was as though she floated. "The true powers of this academy are not even here yet. The term begins in one week. The strongest of the Elves are still at the Sunken Court finishing their rites. The prodigies of the Eastern sects are still walking their paths of meditation. The heirs of the Dragon Empire are still bonding with their clutches. The Atlantean princess is binding the tides to her house. The princess of the Fey—the Daughter of Mana herself—has not crossed the veil. And the fiercest of the Krazian heirs, the true lords not the pawns, are still finishing their bloody rites."

Her words dropped one by one like hammers. Each name, each title carried a weight Liam could barely imagine.

"And that is not all. There are the beast folk champions from the wild lands. And" her eyes flickered "the crown jewel here—the Princess of the Aurelian Empire, studying in secret. Compared to these, Alistair Blaiken is a minnow, stirring silt in shallow water. You have not yet seen the sharks or the krakens or the old serpents who swim the depths. You are not ready for their gaze. His words are nothing but his existence is a sign. The truth is simple. You. Do not. Belong."

Each word was cut clean, with no anger behind it. She was not cruel. Just certain.

Liam felt despair creep in, but then his chest tightened with something else. Defiance. "The Emperor and the Headmaster seem to think I do belong."

For the first time a faint flicker crossed her violet eyes. Not emotion, but more like numbers shifting in her mind. A new calculation. "The choices of rulers are too complex. Their reasons are their own. That does not change the truth. You are a null in a place of power. You will be crushed by pressure. Not opinion. Fact. Probability near certainty."

She stopped speaking, head turning slightly, as if hearing a sound far away. A faint shimmer like silver mist passed over her body. "I am called elsewhere."

Without another word she turned. She did not walk away like others. After two steps her form blurred at the edges, light and shadow pulling her apart until she was gone. No noise no stir of air. Only silence deeper than before.

Liam stood alone, her words echoing sharp in his mind. You will be broken. The chance is nearly certain.

Liam looked around the towering shelves. All that knowledge stacked up around him like cliffs, shadows stretching high above. She had spoken of sharks and krakens of monsters in the deep. The minnows wanted him gone. The great beasts had not even noticed he was in the water.

He slowly sank back into the leather chair. Her chair. The cool leather touched his back. He waited for despair to fall on him like a heavy wave. It didn't. Instead her sharp words had cut him open like a surgeons knife—draining away false hope and self pity. What was left was bare truth.

Truth: He was different. An anomaly.Truth: He was surrounded by magic he could not reach.Truth: Even those with little power already wanted him gone.

But there was another truth, one she had not spoken.

Truth: He carried something they could not measure. Could not place, could not name.

He might not belong in their world, but he was here. And while he was here he would not be a small fish waiting to be eaten. He would learn the currents. He would find his own way through the deep.

He stood jaw tight. A grim weight of purpose settled in him. He didn't head for the exit, no. He walked straight to the main desk where an old librarian sat. The man's eyes cloudy like pale stones behind glass, peered down at him.

"I need" Liam said, his voice low but steady "books on the history of magic. The oldest you have. Before the Cataclysm. And anything unusual. Strange events or gifts. Anomalies."

The librarian raised his white brows slowly. He adjusted his crystal spectacles. "The Antiquities wing. West spiral third level. Be cautious of the second ladder, it shifts. And the books there... they are not always willing to be read."

Liam gave a nod, feeling a shiver of something close to excitement run down his spine. He turned, following the man's words, toward the twisting stair and the high shelves above.

His hand caught the brass ladder. He began to climb into shadow, into dust, into the waiting silence.

The leviathans were coming.He had much reading to do.