The next few days passed without any major events. Naethan continued attending Master Renor's lessons, while Elias struggled to keep up with the other students. But Naethan wasn’t faring much better either. The telekinesis exercises became increasingly difficult: Now they were supposed to move the piece of aluminum foil in smooth circles across the table. For Naethan, this task felt almost impossible. He barely managed to push the foil back and forth, but making it circle in a controlled manner was far beyond his abilities. It felt like trying to move an invisible arm that wouldn’t obey him. All he could consciously do was feel the physical tension—a constant battle against something that eluded his control.

The persistent pull of the stone at his mana core didn’t make things any easier. Since that strange night, the stone had not spoken to him again. All that remained was its faint, continuous glow. Naethan had no idea what it meant.

He had tried to bring it up with Finn, but when he met him in the courtyard, Finn was deeply engrossed in a conversation with another student in a white robe. It almost seemed like he hadn’t noticed—or didn’t want to notice—Naethan.

Even the Archmage appeared to have no time for Naethan or the stone. His attention was entirely focused on other, seemingly more important experiments. Whatever had been in the box that Naethan had delivered to him, it had completely captivated him. When Naethan tried to bring up the stone again, he was swiftly dismissed—with a coldness that made it clear he shouldn’t expect any answers for now.

However, Naethan had a small success to show for himself. He had been tasked with tidying up the library and was rewarded with shards. Although these weren’t enough to fully meet his increasing mana demands, they at least bought him some extra time. The days passed, monotonous and without major events, and gradually the memory of what the stone—or Finn—had said to him that night began to fade.

Elias quickly made a name for himself with his mana shard dealings, especially among the higher classes. His popularity earned him additional lessons in the basics, allowing him to soon surpass Naethan—despite Naethan’s experience with mana. The difference was clear: Elias had enough shards to practice, whereas Naethan did not.

But there was a small glimmer of hope. Soon, exams would take place, offering shards as rewards—depending on how well one performed in the basics. Even the last-place finisher would receive at least a few. Rumor also had it that a ceremony would follow the exams, assigning students to different towers.

The wooden class would then make room for a new group, as new students arrived every month. However, not many managed to convince the Sphere of Gorganthia that they were worthy of starting their training at all.

Naethan fervently hoped that he wouldn’t perform so poorly in the exams as to risk being expelled from the school—recommendation letter from Alaric or not.

Naethan sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, hands resting gently on his knees. His breathing was calm and steady as he sank into the familiar depths of his meditation. The room around him faded, becoming a blurry backdrop as he turned his focus inward—toward his core.

He could feel how strong he had become. The pulsating energy deep inside him was more powerful, steadier, almost like a heartbeat, reminding him that he was alive. And yet, there was still the pull. That relentless tugging that never ceased, draining him even in his sleep. It felt as if the time stone never truly rested—as if it relentlessly drove Naethan forward on some invisible level, never granting him a moment’s reprieve.

He now needed four shards to fully refill his core—twice as many as just a few loops ago. It was progress, yes, but also a curse. For the stone took as quickly as it gave. The pull grew stronger, more relentless, the longer he remained in this loop. Naethan could already feel the consequences: Every morning and evening, he had to meditate to stabilize his core, lest he be drained before the next day began.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, gazing at the pale glow of the last shard on his nightstand before reaching for it. His fingers trembled slightly—a sign of the exhaustion that never quite left him. The shard felt cool, almost lifeless, but as he held it and focused his will upon it, a faint internal glow began to emerge.

The mana flowed into his core—slowly at first, then faster—a steady stream that filled him. For a brief moment, Naethan felt a strange relief, almost as if he had regained control of himself. But he knew this peace wouldn’t last. The stone in his pocket, that inconspicuous companion, would soon take back what he had just gained.

Reluctantly, he set the shard down and closed his eyes again. Meditation was his only escape—a fleeting refuge from the relentless cycle of the stone. In meditation, he could sense the mana in his surroundings, carefully drawing it in like casting a net to capture every single strand.

The room fell silent—almost completely. Yet in that silence, the hum of the stone persisted—soft, almost imperceptible, but always there. It was like a shadow in the darkness, a constant companion that reminded him of time’s relentless ticking.

“I can’t give up,” Naethan murmured quietly to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. Every moment counted. Every drop of mana he absorbed was a small victory against the inevitable.

His breathing grew deeper, steadier, as he focused entirely on the mana around him. It felt like a fine mist permeating the air—difficult to grasp, yet still tangible. With each breath, he drew it closer, shaping it in his thoughts into a flowing stream that poured into his core.

For a moment, he was free—free from the stone, free from the burden he carried. But he knew this freedom was an illusion. The pull would return, stronger than before, and he had only a few shards left before he… before he would be sent back to the beginning.

Naethan slowly opened his eyes, feeling the last trickle of mana flowing into his core before the pull resumed its dominance. His core felt fuller, stronger, yet the time stone would never let him forget that he was always just one breath away from losing it all.

He took a deep breath and stretched his hands forward. The room around him was quiet, but the faint hum of the stone echoed in his mind. It wasn’t a sound he heard but a sensation—a pull that never let go.

“How much longer?” he murmured quietly, his voice barely audible in the silence.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Naethan flinched, his heart pounding faster. “Who is it?” he called, hurriedly slipping the stone back into his pocket.

The door opened, and Elias stepped in with a mischievous grin. “Meditating again, Naethan? You really need to learn to take breaks.”

Naethan frowned, trying to keep calm. “Breaks are a luxury I can’t afford.”

Elias raised an eyebrow and flopped onto the bed across from him. “That’s what everyone who takes themselves too seriously says.” He paused, eyeing Naethan for a moment before adding, “You look like you’re running low on shards.”

Naethan tensed. “And if I am?”

Elias shrugged and leaned back. “Then maybe you should think about how to get more before you… well, you know.”

“Before what?” Naethan’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Elias grinned and pulled a shard from his pocket, letting it dance between his fingers. “Before you need someone like me to bail you out.”

Naethan stared at the shard, the hunger rising inside him. Yet the stone’s words echoed in his mind: Time is running out. What would Elias demand if he accepted his help?

“What’s the price?” Naethan asked, his voice quieter and more wary than he expected.

Elias’s grin widened. “We’ll see.”

For a moment, he was free—free from the stone, free from the burden he carried. But he knew this freedom was deceptive. The pull would return, stronger than before, and he had only a few shards left before he... before he would be sent back to the beginning.

Naethan slowly opened his eyes, feeling the last trickle of mana flow into his core before the pull regained control. His core felt fuller, stronger, yet the time stone never let him forget that he was always just one breath away from losing it all.

He took a deep breath and stretched his hands forward. The room around him was still, but the faint hum of the stone echoed in his mind. It wasn’t a sound he could hear but a sensation—a pull that never left him.

“How much longer?” he murmured softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, lost in the silence.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Naethan flinched, his heart pounding faster. “Who is it?” he asked, hastily shoving the stone back into his pocket.

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The door opened, and Elias stepped in, a mischievous grin on his lips. “Meditating again, Naethan? You really need to learn to take breaks.”

Naethan frowned, trying to stay calm. “Breaks are a luxury I can’t afford.”

Elias raised an eyebrow and flopped onto the bed across from him. “That’s what everyone who takes themselves too seriously says.” He paused, eyeing Naethan for a moment before adding quietly, “You look like you’re running low on shards.”

Naethan tensed. “And what if I am?”

Elias shrugged and leaned back. “Then maybe you should think about how to get more before you… well, you know.”

“Before what?” Naethan’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Elias grinned and pulled a shard from his pocket, letting it dance between his fingers. “Before you need someone like me to bail you out.”

Naethan stared at the shard, the desire in him growing. But the words of the stone echoed in his mind: Time is running out. What would Elias demand if he accepted his help?

“What do you want for it?” Naethan asked, his tone quiet and suspicious, even surprising himself.

Elias grinned, but this time it seemed less mischievous and more calculated. He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might be listening. “Well,” he began slowly, “I told you about that upperclassman who’s looking for a rare book, didn’t I?”

Naethan nodded. He vaguely remembered the story. Elias had mentioned it was an old, valuable tome—one that usually didn’t end up in the hands of students.

“I found out exactly where it’s kept in the library,” Elias continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s in one of the restricted sections—off-limits to us students. But...” He let the words hang in the air before making his point. “You work there. You have access.”

Naethan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Access, sure,” he said slowly, “but always under supervision. The librarians never let me out of their sight.”

Elias shrugged as if that were only a minor obstacle. “You’re creative, Naethan. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Naethan crossed his arms and looked directly at Elias. “You want me to steal it.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, falling into the room like a guillotine.

Elias held his gaze, the smile on his lips unchanging. “I’d prefer to call it... borrowing. But yeah, pretty much.”

----------------------------------------

The following days dragged on, like pale morning mist slowly burned away by the sun. Naethan felt trapped in a rhythm of lessons, meditation, and the constant struggle against the pull of the stone. Yet Elias’s offer lingered in the back of his mind—a quiet whisper that wouldn’t go away.

In the library, it was different. There, he could focus for a few hours on the routines of order—sorting shelves full of dusty books and scrolls that told stories of times long forgotten. The scent of parchment and wax filled the air, and the dim light of floating lanterns made the ancient shelves look like shadows in a labyrinth.

Naethan stood at a long table, sorting a collection of old scrolls assigned to him by one of the librarians. Every movement was monitored by watchful eyes, drifting quietly through the aisles. He had grown used to working under observation, but today their presence felt heavier than usual.

His gaze wandered over the bookshelves and settled on a heavy iron door at the back of the library—the area Elias had mentioned. That was where the forbidden works lay, accessible only to librarians and teachers. A set of keys jingled as one of the librarians walked past, checking the lock and casually sealing the door again.

“You’re creative, Naethan. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Elias’s words echoed in his mind. Creative... but also subtle. He had to think carefully.

A faint hum drew his attention back to the stone in his pocket. Even here, surrounded by the quiet presence of books, the time stone was a constant companion. It seemed to sense what Naethan was planning, reminding him of the urgency of his situation. Naethan felt the pull in his core—soft but relentless. It was yet another sign that he needed to act—and soon.

He straightened up, carefully placing the scrolls back on the table, and looked around. The librarians were busy, and the aisles seemed empty. It would be easy to distract them—or quietly slip the keys away. But how could he make sure no one suspected him? And was it worth the risk?

Naethan let his fingers glide along the edge of the table, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath his hands. “If I don’t do this,” he murmured quietly to himself, “I’ll never have enough shards to survive.”

Naethan sorted the last scrolls when he overheard a hushed conversation. Two librarians stood a few meters away, speaking quietly as they placed a heavy book on the shelf. His attention sharpened as one word rang out across the room: “Poltergeist.”

“Damn it, I bet it was that poltergeist again,” one of the men muttered, sounding more annoyed than frightened. “Always in the restricted sections. I’m telling you, we need to report this to Master Renor at some point.”

The other librarian chuckled softly. “If it even exists. Maybe you should stop working so late at night. That haunting’s all in your head.”

Naethan felt an idea forming in his mind. A poltergeist—or rather, the belief in one. His gaze wandered to the heavy iron door leading to the restricted area. If he could create disorder there, he might find an opportunity to act without immediately drawing suspicion.

He waited until the librarians left, then closed his eyes and focused on his mana core. The time stone in his pocket pulsed faintly—a constant reminder of his dwindling resources. Ignoring its pull, he concentrated and shaped a small burst of mana—nothing big, just enough to set a few bookshelves in motion without making it obvious.

He raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he released the impulse. A barely audible hiss filled the air, followed by a dull crash. Books tumbled from the shelves, and a heavy tome slid off a table, landing with a loud thud. In the distance, he heard the faint clink of a chain rattling against the iron bars of the door.

“What the…?” One of the librarians cursed, cutting through the silence. “Again! Damn it, I bet it’s that poltergeist!”

Naethan immediately bent over the scrolls in front of him, keeping his hands busy as if he’d heard nothing. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain calm. Footsteps approached, and he felt the librarian’s sharp gaze on him.

“You!” The man’s voice was irritated. “Looks like our little ‘poltergeist’ struck again. I don’t have time to clean this up now. Take care of it! But don’t touch anything you don’t understand. And stay away from the sealed shelves, got it?”

Naethan nodded eagerly, trying to look harmless. “Of course, sir. I’ll handle it.”

The man turned and walked away with an exasperated shake of his head. Naethan waited until the footsteps faded, then took a deep breath. The restricted section was now accessible—at least for the moment. The only question was how to make the most of this opportunity without arousing suspicion.

Naethan carefully pushed the heavy iron door open, and a faint creak echoed through the restricted area of the library. The room was just as dim as he had imagined: towering, dusty shelves, flickering lanterns, and the soft crackling of ancient books filling the silence. He stepped cautiously inside, holding his breath as he listened.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded behind him. He spun around, his heart pounding in his chest. A shelf wobbled, and a few loose books tumbled noisily to the floor. “Damn it!” he hissed, reaching instinctively for his mana core. The poltergeist? Or was it the pull of the stone?

“Oh, really? That was definitely you!” A voice rang out—unexpected and mocking—so much so that Naethan nearly knocked over another stack of books.

Before him, a shimmering figure took shape, barely solid, like it was woven from mist. The poltergeist had no eyes, but Naethan could feel its gaze—and its grin.

“You knocked that over! Not me!” said the poltergeist, drifting closer. Its voice was amused, as if it was thoroughly enjoying Naethan’s shock. “And then you blamed me. You know, that’s pretty rude.”

“What… what are you?” Naethan stammered, stepping back until his back pressed against a shelf. It wobbled slightly, and the poltergeist let out a theatrical gasp—or what passed for one in its ghostly form.

“Oh, I’m just a harmless ghost,” it said, raising a misty hand as if to calm him. “A completely ordinary poltergeist who just happens to be stuck in a dusty library. But YOU…” Its voice stretched, filled with dramatic flair. “You’re the real troublemaker here.”

“Me?” Naethan blinked, confused. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh, really?” The poltergeist crossed its translucent arms. “Wasn’t that your little mana burst that knocked the books off the shelves? I mean, I usually do that, sure. But this time? That was all you.”

Naethan opened his mouth, then closed it again, clenching his fists. “Okay, maybe that was… partially… my fault.”

“Partially?” The poltergeist laughed—a deep, melodic sound that echoed through the library’s aisles. “Kid, you’re so bad at lying, it’s almost cute.”

“I needed a distraction,” Naethan finally admitted, his voice quieter. “I’m looking for a book.”

“A book?” The poltergeist floated closer, its wispy form rippling like smoke. “A book! Now that’s a new one. Most people sneak in here looking for secret rituals, forbidden spells, or the key to eternal life—but you? You just want a BOOK.” It shook its head, its form fluttering. “Very original.”

“It’s for someone else,” Naethan muttered, and the poltergeist suddenly fell silent. Then it shot forward so quickly that Naethan flinched.

“For someone else?” The poltergeist leaned in, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That only makes it more suspicious. You’re either incredibly kind… or incredibly stupid.”

Naethan sighed. “Can you help me find it or not?”

The poltergeist rested a hand on its non-existent chin, as if thinking. “Hmm. I could. But where’s the fun in that? How about a little guessing game?” It drifted between shelves, humming dramatically.

“What are you doing?” Naethan asked impatiently.

“Guessing!” The poltergeist chuckled and pulled a book from one of the shelves. “This one?”

“No.” Naethan crossed his arms. “That’s not even the right shelf.”

“Oops, my bad.” The poltergeist put the book back and repeated the process until it finally stopped at a shelf Naethan recognized.

“Hmm… let’s see.” It pulled out another book—this time a large, old tome with yellowed pages and a dark leather cover. “This one looks important.” It held it up triumphantly. “Am I right?”

Naethan’s heart skipped a beat. It was the exact book Elias had described. “How… how did you…?” he stammered.

The poltergeist burst into laughter. “That was easy! I knew I’d be right. Honestly, kid, you’re so predictable.”

“You… you guessed?” Naethan asked in disbelief.

“Of course!” The poltergeist grinned broadly. “I’m brilliant at guessing.”

Naethan grabbed the book, clutching it tightly. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem, little thief.” The poltergeist floated upward, beginning to drift through the shelves again. “Oh, and next time you cause chaos, at least admit it’s your fault. We ghosts have a reputation to maintain.”

Naethan shook his head, pressing the book to his chest. As he turned to leave, something fell against his back. He spun around and saw a scroll on the floor. The poltergeist hovered nearby, feigning innocence.

“What’s this?” Naethan asked suspiciously.

“Oh, just a little gift,” the poltergeist said casually. “You never know when a bit of old wisdom might come in handy.”

Naethan picked up the scroll. It was old, its parchment worn and sealed with red wax. “Why?”

The poltergeist grinned widely. “Let’s just say I like your knack for stirring things up. And I love surprises! Good luck, little mage.”

With a mischievous laugh, the poltergeist vanished into a wisp of mist, leaving Naethan alone—with a book, a scroll, and a host of new questions.