“I can’t do it!” cried Marina. A single bead of sweat ran down her long blonde hair as she panted towards the floor.

“Patience, Marina,” Professor Velaro stated. “You have given up on every form of khor we have assessed, I am sure this will be the one.” He absently tugged at his sleeve.

You mean it has to be the one, she thought. This has to be the one. Marina raised her arms in front of her yet again, and began reciting the incantation.

“Calmus Sarus Pelia!”

The stone sat still on the table in front of her. It had not changed forms.

“Do you not see? I am not an Invoker. I am not anything!” Her voice rang out in the empty hall. Her rounded glasses slipped partially down her nose.

“Marina,” Velaro said. “There are many forms of khor. We cannot give in just yet.”

“What else is there to do? We have tried them all.” She straightened her cloak. It was a light blue, signifying her allegiance to House Iolite. In the dark, the cloak glowed softly. Marina would often imagine the glow was her doing, though it was a quality of the fabric.

“Do you know where our khors come from, Marina?” The question stunned her in its simplicity.

“Khor comes from all around us,” she stated. “It is the manipulation of all that makes us whole, the threads of life and death.” Velaro chuckled.

“Yes, you have read your texts. But that is not exactly true. Yes, it can come from all around us and we can manipulate the latent khor in the air. This is called Invoking.” He waved his hand, and the stone's appearance changed. It was now a fresh loaf of bread, complete with a thin veil of steam. Marina rolled her eyes at his demonstration. “However, it is also the manipulations of the khor within that allows us to do incredible things. This is true in the case of Triptych khors. Wyr-souls, Kir-souls and Fen-souls are examples of these khor adepts. They could be in a khorless room, thanking the Gods those don’t exist, yet they would still be able to produce feats of khor. These users are born with these abilities, and some manifest them early in life while some-”

“Never manifest them at all,” Marina glared at Velaro curtly.

“Well, that is true, but not what I was going to say. Some, Marina, manifest them later in life. Your twentieth birthday is quickly approaching, Marina. The latest a Triptych Soul has ever manifested has been at the age of twenty, and I still have hope that the Headmistress was right about what she saw in you.”

That woman, Marina thought. This is her fault. I shouldn’t be in House Iolite; I should be in House Carnelian. No, I’m such a screw up that I should be in Variscite. Her ears burned with embarrassment. “She must have made a mistake,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am nothing.”

“Child,” Velaro said. “You are everything. Everything that makes this Academy special is within you: strength, intelligence, and will. These are the hallmarks of the three houses. I know that you will find your khor if you just give it time.” He put his hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off.

“I need to get to the library.” Her voice wavered as she said this, and she turned out of the room, leaving Velaro standing alone. She rushed into the hallway, where various students passed. Their blue, red and green cloaks merged together into a sea of fabric which she waded through. The long marble hallway held tall windows that stretched beams of sunlight in, blanketing the passing scholars. She weaved her way through the crowd quickly, with purpose. No one paid her any mind. After all, she wasn’t of much importance to the magical lives of khor adepts. There were several places on the continent of Arisus where those skilled in the use of khor gathered, and the Academy was one such place. There were many wonderful, amazing things that one could do if they only had the talent or the innate skill to harness khor. Marina was of the mind that she simply never would be. She hurriedly turned into the library wing; shelves of books towered over her in the large arched chamber. The golden light of the sunset flooded in from skylights above, illuminating the spines of hundreds of volumes. Wisps of candle smoke rose through these beams of light, hazing the ceiling of the room.

She swerved behind the large wooden information desk facing the door and removed her cloak, revealing the buttoned white shirt beneath. She pulled a length of blue string from the desk drawer, raising it behind her head and tying her golden hair out of her face. The library was mostly empty- Marina could see Grace, the head librarian, stocking a shelf across the room. She could also see her up on the balcony, assisting a student in finding a book. This is because Grace was an Echoer, someone who could create copies of themselves they could separate and control. Echoing was a subset of Transmutation, an Invoked school of khor. For lower level khor novices, this was extremely tiring. For Grace, it was as easy as breathing. This was another reason why Marina felt so useless; Grace hired her onto the library presumably as an act of pity. After all, why would you hire an employee when you alone could fill the roles of the entire staff?

Marina sat down in a wooden chair at the desk and got to work. A large stack of books sat next to her, which she drew from. Pulling quill from ink, she started jotting down the titles and synopses of incoming books. It was easy work, but she was good at it. There was something she enjoyed about the mindlessness of it. The books phased in front of her, practically nameless in the way she would forget their titles after writing them. Hours passed as she did this, her attention not diverted by the countless, faceless students who wandered past her. When she was finished, she beckoned for Grace to approach her, noticing the blackened skylights above her. Time really can be a tricky thing. Grace stepped across the marble floor, her shoes resounding through the large chamber. Her Echoes walked from between the bookshelves, absorbing into her as she walked past like two drops of water coming together. Her black, curled hair was pinned above her head, a quill protruding from its mass. Her golden eyes fixed brightly between her caramel skin, like yellow leaves of fall complementing the bark of a tree. She was young, especially for her mastery of Echoing. Marina was always envious of that skill. Grace stepped next to the desk, eyeing the work Marina had done.

“You’re a worthy scribe, Marina,” she said.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“It seems to be the only thing I can do right,” Marina stated as she capped the inkwell in front of her. Grace sighed at Marina’s indifference. She had always remarked at Marina’s potential. Marina had faith in herself at one point, too.

“Insecurity certainly won’t take you far,” Grace said.

“Not uncertainty,” Marina replied with a nervous pull on her hair. “Frustration, perhaps. An avarice for excellence.”

“You know, the Headmistress was a late bloomer just as you are.” Grace maintained eye contact with Marina, but her eyes simultaneously darted across the room. Behind the woman’s irises were a second, identical pair, allowing her gaze to reach multiple places at once. Marina scoffed.

“The Headmistress was always destined for greatness.” It was true. Many years prior, the previous Dean of Students was killed in an uprising led by a rogue professor, a means that led to stealing the treasures of the Academy. Dean Quandry, often referenced to the students simply as the Headmistress, uncovered the plot and acted just soon enough to stop the professor from destroying the school, but just late enough for the Dean to be killed. She was, by all accounts, a hero. Something Marina felt she would never be. “I am destined for a life of stacking books, I’m afraid.” Grace’s eyes recentered, her full attention on Marina. She paused, a hint of optimism resting on her tongue. It never escaped her lips.

“Well, I think that we are both finished for the day. I will clean up here, could you please let the gentleman in the historical section know that we will be locking the doors?” Marina gave Grace an eyeless smile, standing from her chair. She straightened her ribbon tie and adjusted her glasses. “That’s the ticket. If I am not here, please lock up when you’re finished.”

“Understood, Grace.”

Marina walked across the hard floor to the back of the library. This area was less trafficked, and so the frequency of surrounding candlelight waned the further she approached the back wall. She turned past the final bookshelf, finally able to see the man Grace had requested she withdraw from the library. He sat at a rounded table next to a large, arched window. He was dressed in a heavy coat, with a tall hat hanging from the edge of his chair. His hair was dark, pushed back in waves and fell roughly to his shoulders. In his hands was a large tome, which he was absentmindedly thumbing through. He sat with his feet propped on the desk, casually leaning in the fine wooden chair. Marina’s brow furrowed immediately upon seeing him. She cleared her throat, causing him to glance up at her.

“Please remove your feet from the table,” she said sternly. The man glanced up at her without moving.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He said. He flicked through a few pages in the book. She stood firm, with her arms crossed between the man and the bookshelf behind her. He rolled his eyes and lowered his feet from the table. “Right,” he said. “Rules.” Marina stood, an unmoving boulder in the darkened edge of the room. A moment of formulation passed in her mind.

“The library is closing for the evening,” she said expectantly. The man put his book on the table.

“Are you well versed in history, Marina?”

“How do you know my name?”

“The woman at the front addressed you,” he said. “I overheard.”

He said it as though it was obvious. How did he hear that from all the way back here? “I will indulge you in this thought alone. I am experienced in Arlaiin history, but not the broader histories of the Kingdoms of Arisus.”

“Excellent,” he said. “What do you remember of the Second Arlaiin War?” She was beginning to grow impatient, but something about this line of questioning intrigued her. Her curiosity fueled her endurance.

“The Tyrannical Emperor Kailor usurped the Arlaiin throne.” The man raised his eyebrows, prodding Marina to continue. “He declared war on Solaria, forcing Emperor Shen to find a way to stop him. Under the guise of a diplomatic operation, the current Emperor traveled all across Arisus. He enlisted the help of tribes of Dragon Descendants, the Solar Guard, and the Ralian Army to descend onto Teras and take back the throne.” She recited these facts almost exactly as they appeared in her texts. Marina’s skills in khor may not have been great, but she at the very least had a good memory. “What makes you so curious?”

“I haven’t gotten to that quite yet. In my studies, I mean. Excellent retelling.” He stood, affixing his tall cap onto his head as he did.

“Nor sure how I can remember that,” she said, “And yet I can’t cast a single spell.”

“History can be very important,” he said as he stepped towards Marina’s position. “More powerful than any khor, some would say. I would say… Most khor.” Marina lowered her head at his mention of the word. Her lack of khor was in a constant state of weighing on her mind.

“History has not been important nor kind to me. I am only interested in a grander future.” This caused the man to smile. “Do you not consider your own future before the history of others?”

He took a deep breath in. “I do consider it, from time to time. I do also consider the futures of those who interest me. Keep reading, Ms. Ridley,” the man instructed. “I think you’ll find it very important.” A glimmer sat in the man’s eye for a moment. Marina felt as though he was looking through her, at a part of herself that she didn’t even know was there. He turned the corner around the bookshelf, leaving Marina with her thoughts. Something about that man felt very familiar. She had that feeling sometimes, as though she was coming across someone she could swear she met before, but she was sure she hadn’t. It was more like she was going to meet them. It felt like, somehow, their fates were intertwined. Perhaps they were intertwined by this chance encounter, or perhaps she would be seeing the man again, sometime in the future.

That is when she realized. He called me Ms. Ridley. Her body tensed. The room seemed to spin around her. Grace never said my family name. She quickly peeked around the corner, searching for the man across the vast library. The large chamber, except for Marina, was completely and totally empty. She hadn’t even heard the sound of his footsteps, nor the large library doors opening and closing. Did he know her? She had never seen him before. What had he been reading? She turned back, eyes fixed on the large book sat upon the table. The moonlight seemed to shine upon it, drawing her gaze. She slowly walked to it, running her hand across the hard leather binding. The book had no title on its cover nor spine. It simply had a thick leather cover portraying the raised image of a beast’s mouth, wide agape. She sat, absorbing the silence of the library.

Feeling the top of the book, Marina discovered a small protrusion- a bookmark. She opened the book to find a playing card, which held the place of the reader. She gently placed the card on the table next to the book. The words in the book were unlike any she had seen; it was a language she did not understand. She did notice, however, an illustration. Five figures were gathered around a stone structure. Within the structure, three painted shapes were gathered in a triangular pattern. She looked around, unsure if she really was alone in this library. It didn’t feel like it. To Marina, it felt as though she had an audience- a large one. Quickly, Marina closed the book and took it under her arm as she returned to the front of the library. She didn’t know what was so special about this book, but she was certainly drawn to it. She exited the library, locking the door with Grace’s key, and set to work deciphering the mysterious text.