The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked past midnight, its steady rhythm the only sound in the darkened house. Liam sat on the floor of his childhood bedroom, legs crossed on the worn braided rug his mother had made years ago. The faint scent of lavender laundry detergent and the musty familiarity of old books filled the air. Outside, a late autumn wind rattled the windowpane, sending shadows from the oak tree dancing across the faded glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling. His mother had gone to bed hours ago, leaving him alone with his frustration.
Liam rubbed his temples, his elbows resting on knees that ached from sitting too long. The notebook in front of him was filled with failed attempts - pages of cramped handwriting, crossed-out diagrams, and increasingly desperate notes. He'd tried everything Kairus had suggested through their strange, one-sided conversations that only happened in his mind.
Visualizing mana as water had left him with nothing but a headache. Imagining it as light had only made him squint at his bedroom lamp until spots danced in his vision. The atomic theory approach had resulted in three pages of half-remembered high school science before he'd given up.
"You're trying too hard."
Kairus's voice echoed in his mind, as clear as if the ancient Archivist sat beside him on the floral bedspread instead of existing somewhere between memory and hallucination.
Liam gritted his teeth. "Easy for you to say," he muttered to the empty room. His voice sounded too loud in the quiet.
The wind picked up again, making the old house creak. A car passed outside, its headlights briefly illuminating the soccer trophies on his dresser before the room returned to darkness.
"Close your eyes," Kairus instructed. *"Stop chasing. Start listening."*
With a sigh that turned into a yawn, Liam obeyed. The darkness behind his eyelids was a relief after straining his eyes in the dim lamplight. He focused on the mundane sounds around him - the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the distant drip of a leaky faucet, the rustle of his own breath moving in and out.
"Deeper," Kairus urged.
Liam let his shoulders drop, tension he hadn't realized he was carrying seeping out of him. The rug was scratchy under his palms, the air slightly too cold against his skin. His stomach growled - he'd skipped dinner again.
Then something shifted.
At first he thought it was just his imagination - that floating sensation that comes right before sleep. But it persisted, deepened. A faint buzzing, not in his ears but in his bones. Like the hum of a television left on mute in another room.
His breath caught. The buzzing grew stronger, vibrating up from the floor through his tailbone, spreading through his limbs. Not unpleasant, but strange - like his entire body had fallen asleep and was just now waking up.
"There," Kairus whispered, and Liam could have sworn he felt warm breath against his ear.
The sensation intensified. His fingertips tingled as if dipped in champagne. His scalp prickled. When he swallowed, he could feel the vibration in his throat, in his teeth. The air around him seemed thicker somehow, charged like the moment before a lightning strike.
Liam opened his eyes slowly, half-afraid the feeling would vanish. His bedroom looked the same - the same faded band posters, the same laundry piled in the corner, the same crack in the ceiling he'd stared at since childhood. But everything seemed... sharper. More real, his eyes sharper,
He held up a trembling hand. No glowing aura, no visible energy. But when he flexed his fingers, he could feel something moving with them, like he was pushing through invisible water.
"The Flesh Stage," Kairus said, satisfaction coloring his mental voice. "When the body first recognizes the energy that has always been part of it, ."
Liam's heart pounded, but not from fear , sweat streaming downward his face, his singlet wet with his sweat. For the first time since the Archive had claimed him, he didn't feel like an imposter. The warmth spreading through his chest wasn't just mana - it was hope.
Downstairs, the refrigerator clicked off. The house settled into deeper silence. Outside, an owl called into the night.
And Liam Thane, sitting on his childhood bedroom floor at 1:17 AM, finally began his true journey as an Archivist.