Upon hearing the question from his maid, Kilian laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound that seemed to echo slightly in the hushed library.
"It did look like I was picking up girls on the street, didn't it?" he quipped, turning to Elara with an amused grin.
"But no, no. You heard me earlier when I was talking to Mina. I have a good eye for talent."
His smile broadened, becoming more calculating.
"Those people are going to be great assets for the future of Noxhaven, or for me."
"So, I want them on my side."
He then clapped his hands lightly.
"Come on now, let's go to the history section. Mina didn't even point to the right direction."
Elara, still a touch confused by his casual explanation of "picking up talent," nevertheless followed her young master.
Her expression remained composed, though a subtle furrow in her brow betrayed her private thoughts as they navigated the aisles of towering bookshelves.
After a minute, they found themselves in the sprawling history section.
Kilian surveyed the shelves, his gaze sweeping over countless ancient tomes.
"Elara," he instructed, turning to his attendant, "help me find anything to do with the history of Aethelgard as a whole."
"Any significant events, people, places, or items in history that made a huge impact on the present of Aethelgard."
After what seemed like an hour of intense searching and poring over ancient tomes at one of the library's heavy wooden tables, Kilian's relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by an expression of profound shock.
He slammed shut the brittle cover of a particularly old volume, the soft thud echoing in the quiet space.
He had stumbled upon a crucial detail, a terrifying discovery he never could have guessed.
"Aethelred, The Script-Weaver, vanished about 300 years ago?!"
Kilian's mind raced, connecting disparate pieces of lore he'd dismissed as flavor text in the game.
"He disappeared alongside the magic they blessed and bestowed upon the Tome of Arcana, and to the world itself."
"They called the years after his disappearance 'After the Silence' or AS."
"And after 200 AS", his thoughts continued, a chilling realization settling in, "after decades of desperate research, countless sacrifices, and groundbreaking, often gruesome, discoveries, they finally found a way to revive magic."
"But not as it was before. No, they did it by using their own bodies' life force, their own innate magic."
"From talent, effort, life force, everything and anything inside the body could revive a Tome of Arcana, as long as the magic book itself deemed the person worthy to harness its power."
The implications of this change were staggering, far more profound than any game mechanic could convey.
Kilian's mind raced, a furious storm of deductions and questions.
He had to connect the dots, to understand the far-reaching effects and profound changes wrought by the sudden disappearance of the Script-Weaver, the very god of this world.
"Is this why the Gloomrot effects are worse on Domina's mother?" he pondered, recalling the emaciated woman's fragile state.
"The game's version of Gloomrot might have been calibrated for a world where magic was abundant and flowed freely, where bodies were inherently more robust or capable of resisting such spiritual corruption."
"But if magic now drains from the very life force, then a disease born of tainted magic would naturally be far more devastating on a body already weakened by poverty and lacking an innate magical wellspring."
"Is this why a lot of commoners or the staff in the castle, like Elara, can't use or don't own a Tome of Arcana?"
The pieces clicked into place.
If accessing magic required such a profound, almost sacrificial, expenditure of one's own being, then only those with immense talent, privilege, or desperate need would ever attempt it.
It explained the rarity, the reverence, and the danger. Commoners, without the resources or perhaps the inherent spark, would be left behind.
Then a chilling thought struck him, bringing him back to his own perplexing situation.
"Then why don't I have my own Tome, or feel any magic in my body?"
What happened to this body before I woke up in it this morning?"
The questions spiraled.
He was Kilian Onyx Noxhaven, a noble, a Grand Duke's son in this world.
Surely, he should possess some innate magical ability, some connection to a Tome.
The absence of it, combined with the inexplicable transfer of his consciousness, now became a new, unsettling mystery in the altered landscape of Aethelgard.
As Kilian sank deeper into his thoughts, Elara watched him, a subtle frown creasing her brow.
Confusion, laced with a growing suspicion, began to cloud her serene demeanor.
"Why would Young Master need to learn the history of Aethelgard again?" she wondered.
"Did he forget about it? Why would he? It can't just be the alcohol from last night, can it?"
Then, like pieces of a scattered puzzle, she began to recall all the bizarre and strangely uncharacteristic things her young master had done in this single day, ever since he'd awoken that morning.
He smiled a lot, made jokes, and spoke respectfully with his family, a stark contrast to his usual volatile temperament.
He hadn't lashed out at her, never hurt her or raised his voice.
He had even eaten breakfast with her, a rare and startling act of normalcy.
He was respectful to her, sweet even, and had even gifted her the onyx necklace she now unconsciously touched, her fingers tracing the smooth, dark stone at her throat.
And then there was the feline family.
"He knew about the mother's dire circumstances, knew where to find them, helped them without hesitation, and even intended to invite them to live in the castle."
He had even extended an offer to Mina, the librarian, asking her to contact him once she entered the academy.
"How did he know she would be trying to get into the academy?" Elara pondered, her gaze sharpening on Kilian's distant profile.
"Does he really only have a good eye for people? Or is there something far more serious at play here?"
A shiver, not of cold but of burgeoning uncertainty, ran down her spine.
Elara's thoughts raced, tumbling over each other.
The unfamiliar questions, the peculiar kindness, the uncanny knowledge of strangers' lives, the casual dismissal of his own "reputation," the sudden interest in Aethelgard's forgotten history, and that unsettling feeling that had lingered since morning.
It all coalesced into a single, terrifying, undeniable answer.
The pieces didn't just fit, they locked together with an unnerving precision.
Her eyes snapped wide, a sudden, chilling realization washing over her.
She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping faintly on the polished floor, a sound that seemed deafening in the library's quiet.
Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it as if to stifle a gasp, her fingers pressing hard against her lips.
Her usually serene face paled, her eyes fixed on Kilian with a mixture of profound shock, burgeoning fear, and an almost sacred awe.
"Is he... is he not the real Kilian Onyx Noxhaven?"
The thought, once unthinkable, now explained everything.
Hearing the faint scrape of Elara's chair and sensing her sudden, abrupt movement from his side, Kilian was snapped out of his deep contemplation.
He looked over at her, his brows furrowing in concern.
Elara stood rigid, her hand still pressed firmly over her mouth, her knuckles stark white.
Her usually serene face was ashen, drained of all color, and her eyes, normally calm and knowing, were wide with a stark, almost primal fear mixed with an unsettling awe.
Her body seemed to tremble imperceptibly, a fragile vase on the verge of shattering.
"What's up, Elara?" Kilian asked, his voice genuinely wondering why she was so worked up.
"Are you okay? You look pale."
He stood up from the table, his chair scraping loudly this time, and moved towards her.
Elara, startled by his sudden approach, instinctively took a small step back, her eyes still glued to his face, betraying a frantic need for distance.
Kilian, misinterpreting her movement, took a step forward, matching her retreat.
Elara took another hesitant step backward, until her back pressed firmly against the solid, unyielding shelves laden with ancient tomes.
There was nowhere left to run.
Kilian leaned in slightly, his expression now serious, a hint of confusion in his eyes.
"What's the matter, Elara?" he asked again, his voice softer, more insistent.
"Do you have something to ask me? It's fine, ask it."
With nowhere left to run, her back pressed against the cool, unyielding bookshelf, Elara knew she had no choice but to face her terrifying suspicion head-on. She looked up at Kilian, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperate resolution. Her voice, though a mere whisper, trembled with the magnitude of her question.
"Are... are you really Kilian Onyx Noxhaven?"
Kilian's eyes widened, genuinely surprised by the directness of her question.
He studied her pale, trembling face, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his gaze.
"Wow, she already figure it out?" he thought, a faint smirk touching his lips.
"Was I that obvious?"
Of course, Ethan knew that his actions throughout the whole day were completely uncharacteristic of the real Kilian.
He had indeed planned to reveal his true nature to Elara, the one person who would always be by his side.
He needed her to choose to follow him, the new Kilian, rather than the past one whose reputation he was now tasked with fixing.
To achieve that, he would have to continue doing bizarre and strange things, things the old Kilian would never have dreamed of, and that was obvious.
So, Kilian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he simply smiled, a slow, knowing smile that was both gentle and utterly confident, letting the silence hang heavy between them.
***
/I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If its alright, please drop a comment or a powerstone to help me keep making this world bigger!