Alden blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the library.
His heart thudded in his chest, heavier than before. He looked around, scanning the towering shelves packed with ancient tomes.
A cold breath escaped his lips.
"I'm back…"
The familiar scent of ink and dust triggered a strange sense of déjà vu — like stepping into a dream half-remembered.
"Guess that answers how this works," he muttered.
But then a new worry hit him.
"Wait… did the librarian see me disappear?" he blurted, louder than intended.
"Oh, I saw," a voice said behind him — melodic and amused.
Alden froze.
He turned, slowly.
She stood there, half-glowing in the soft light. Her long white hair shimmered, her eyes like moonlight caught in still water. Unnatural, in every sense of the word. Beautiful in a way that hurt to look at.
He forgot to breathe.
She tilted her head, smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"So," she said, voice laced with teasing, "you've inherited the Eclipse Codex."
His thoughts stopped.
How does she know that?
"How do you know about that?" he asked, voice now sharp.
"I've been its guardian longer than I care to admit, thanks to that unreliable man — I mean, the founder of your family and his brilliant ideas."
"Guardian?" he echoed, confused.
"Yes," she said with dry amusement. "I'm the spirit bound to the Codex. As long as it exists without a chosen bearer, so do I."
Alden's brows furrowed. "So... you're not—"
"Human?" she cut in with a raised brow. "Not even close. I was the founder's contracted spirit. He wanted someone to babysit his precious tome. Lucky me, I got the eternal job."
"You've been here all this time? Watching?"
She let out a laugh — half-bitter, half-wry. "What else could I do? Go on vacation? I've been tethered to this family for centuries. Couldn't leave even if I wanted to."
Alden paused, his voice quiet. "That sounds... lonely."
Her expression shifted, just slightly — the smile flickered.
"Maybe. But that's not your problem, is it?"
He stared at her, unsure.
"You've inherited the Codex," she continued more softly, "so I'm no longer bound to it."
"…So you're leaving?" he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the endless rows of shelves. "No," she said, turning back to him with a smirk. "I think I'll stick around a while."
__
Days PassedWeeks blurred together.
Alden tried to attune himself to the Eclipse Codex — but found no need. His mana vessels had already been forcibly aligned the day he inherited it. The searing pain he'd felt wasn't initiation — it was transformation.
Yet what pulled him back to the library wasn't magic.
It was her.
At first, they barely talked. When they did, it was awkward — him stumbling over questions, her answering with detached grace.
But something changed.
Not in words, but in silences.
Not in explanations, but in the way she lingered longer after speaking. The way she began to ask him things too. Slowly, with every passing day, the library became less a sanctuary for knowledge — and more a place where Alden remembered how to be human again.
__
It was evening when Alden, breathless and soaked in sweat, trained alone in the courtyard.
His hands trembled from effort. The sword felt like it weighed twice what it did in the morning.
He slashed, clumsily. Missed his mark. Growled in frustration.
"Is that how you plan to wield a sword?" came a sharp voice behind him.
He turned. Ellara stood with arms folded, eyebrow raised in that all-too-familiar way.
"What?" he snapped. "It's not as easy as it looks. I am trying, you know."
"Clearly," she said coolly. "But flailing around with brute force isn't trying. It's wasting energy."
Before he could argue, she was suddenly in front of him — moving so fast it was like she'd blinked into place.
She snatched the sword from his hand.
"Watch."
She moved.
The blade danced.
Not with force, but grace. Her body flowed with every step. Each strike was precise — a conversation of balance and intention, not power.
She wasn't fighting the sword. She was partnering with it.
"This," she said, "is what control looks like. Strength doesn't live in your arms — it starts in your stance. Your mind. Your breath."
Alden stared, breath held.
"I didn't know swordsmanship could be… beautiful," he whispered.
She turned, smiling faintly. "Watch closely. No magic. Just mastery."
She tossed the sword to him, the hilt landing in his palms.
"Again. Try."
He swallowed.
Focused.
His first strikes were weak — too stiff. But he remembered her words. He let go of force, and focused on flow. Balance. Presence.
"Better," she said. "Still too rigid. Relax. Swordsmanship is a reflection of your mind. Still your mind — the blade will follow."
__
Day by day, she taught him. Technique. Posture. Control.
At first, she was sharp and critical. But the edge dulled. Her voice softened. Her eyes lingered. Alden began to notice the quiet between them wasn't awkward anymore. It was comfortable.
And slowly, something fragile bloomed between them.
She watched him fight frustration, fight fear, fight weakness — and continue. Even when no one was watching.
She saw him not as a child of a noble family, but as a soul clawing his way out of despair.
And he, in turn, found in her not just a teacher, or a mystery — but a presence that anchored him.
She who had watched countless generations fade…
He who had never had someone truly see him…in this life
They found, in each other, a quiet understanding neither expected.
Alden began to realise that Ellara wasn't just teaching him to fight.
She was teaching him how to live.
And somehow, without knowing when or how —
She began to live again, too.