Time seemed to freeze.

  “What do you want?” Nigel demanded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

  The Librarian only tilted his head, the faintest smile forming beneath his shemagh. “That thing won’t do you any good against me.”

  To prove his point, he reached forward—slow, deliberate—and pinched the very tip of Nigel’s blade between his fingers.

  Then, with barely any effort, he crushed the metal.

  A sharp dent caved inward, the once-perfect curve now warped beyond repair.

  Nigel froze.

  “If I wanted to harm you,” the Librarian continued, letting the ruined steel slip from his grasp, “I would have done so long ago. Even before you entered the Tournament.”

  Nigel’s breath hitched. “Before—what do you mean?”

  The Librarian ignored the question.

  “You’re fortunate, Nigel Lowell,” he said instead, his voice smooth, knowing. “You and your team barely scraped through the First Stage—luck, a gamble, and the last-minute activation of that ability of yours. You didn’t even know if it would work, did you?”

  Nigel didn’t answer.

  The Librarian took a step forward. Not threatening, but inescapable.

  “Your team is fractured,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “You don’t function well. Not yet. If you want even the slightest chance of surviving what’s coming, you and your companions must grow.”

  Nigel clenched his jaw.

  “And more importantly…” The Librarian’s eyes gleamed beneath the dim lights. “You need to stop listening to that voice in your head that tells you to distrust them.”

  Nigel’s chest tightened.

  A slow, creeping sensation curled inside him, like the words had reached into his very bones and made a home there.

  “You push away the part of you that knows they’re good people,” the Librarian said. “You push away anything that makes you feel.”

  A cold chill ran down Nigel’s spine. His grip loosened. Against his own will.

  Silently, he returned the damaged sword to his waist.

  “…How do you know that?” he asked. His voice was lower now. Less defiant. “Who are you?”

  The Librarian paused, as if truly considering the question.

  Then, with perfect clarity, he said—

  “I am everything.”

  Nigel blinked. “What?”

  The Librarian took another step forward. The space around them seemed smaller now, as if the very library itself leaned in to hear.

  “You and your companions have a vital role to play in this Tournament,” he said, his voice neither soft nor harsh—simply absolute.

  “Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.”

  The words settled like a weight in Nigel’s chest.

  “The First Stage was nothing more than a glimpse of what’s to come.”

  Nigel clenched his fists. He knew. He already knew. But hearing it like this…

  The Librarian’s voice cut through his thoughts once more.

  “And one last thing.”

  Nigel barely had time to brace himself.

  “You’ve been distracting yourself—with training, with fighting, with running.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Something prickled at the edges of Nigel’s mind.

  “You haven’t given yourself the time to truly process everything you suffered.”

  A sharp inhale. His body locked up.

  “If you continue to ignore it, you will break. The rage will continue accumulating, like filling a glass drop by drop, until it overflows and shatter.”

  Nigel’s breath hitched.

  His heart pounded. Too loud, too sudden.

  It was like the words had been carved into him—raw, undeniable, inescapable.

  And before he could react—before he could say anything—

  The Librarian vanished.

  No sound. No movement.

  Just… gone.

  In a blink, Nigel was back.

  The towering bookshelves stretched normally around him. The dim candlelight flickered gently overhead. The endless void was gone. as if nothing had happened.

  Except for the weight in his chest.

  Nigel stood still for a long moment.

  Then—slowly—he exhaled.

  He slid the blank book back onto the shelf where he found it.

  And without a word, he turned. The others were waiting.

  William’s voice echoed through the towering bookshelves.

  No response.

  The air pressed down on him—heavy, suffocating.

  His pulse quickened.

  He had been walking for what felt like an eternity, yet… everything looked the same. The shelves stretched endlessly in all directions, books blurring together into an oppressive, inescapable maze.

  His breathing turned shallow. Was he lost? Had the others vanished?

  His fingers twitched toward the sword at his waist.

  Something was wrong. Something was watching.

  Then—

  “William Stoneswood.”

  A deep, familiar voice rang through the silence.

  “You don’t have to be so tense all the time.”

  William spun around.

  A figure stood there, draped in travel-worn attire, the dark folds of his shemagh concealing all but his piercing green eyes. Eyes that glowed like embers beneath the dim library lights.

  The Librarian.

  “You weren’t always like this,” the man continued, his voice laced with amusement—and something deeper. “Once upon a time, you had complete control over fear. You didn’t let emotions cloud your vision.”

  William’s throat tightened.

  The Librarian stepped forward, slow, unhurried. His presence was strange—both overwhelming and… reassuring.

  “But I understand why you are the way you are now,” he said. “You’ve been shaped by loss. By failure. You carry it with you, woven into the very fabric of your being.”

  William’s fingers hovered over his swprd.

  The Librarian’s smile deepened. “You know there’s no need for that.”

  A moment of silence stretched between them.

  Then—slowly—William forced his hand away from his weapon.

  The Librarian nodded, as if pleased. “You’re intelligent. Kind. Out of all of them, you are the most special.”

  William blinked. “What?”

  “You have incredible potential,” the Librarian continued. “But fear keeps you from reaching it. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of losing everything—again.”

  William’s breath hitched.

  “And just like your companion, Nigel, you have a fatal flaw.”

  His voice lowered, carrying an eerie weight.

  “You both suppress your emotions. Especially anger.”

  William stiffened.

  “You bottle it up, let it fester, bury it deep because the world has conditioned you to do so. But emotions are not meant to be caged forever, boy.

  “You and Nigel—” The Librarian’s eyes glowed beneath the shadows. “—are like glasses slowly filling, one drop at a time. And one day, a final drop will not just make it overflow. It will shatter you.”

  A shiver crawled down William’s spine.

  “You need to let it out,” the Librarian urged. “You need to let yourself feel—not just for your sake, but everyone’s.”

  William’s pulse thundered in his ears. He had never thought about it like that.

  His emotions had always been something to manage, control, suppress. He had never considered that maybe—just maybe—they were meant to be released.

  “I…” His voice barely came out. “I think I understand.”

  The Librarian watched him carefully.

  William swallowed, his throat dry. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “Why help us?”

  The Librarian sighed, almost as if he had been waiting for that question.

  “Because it is my duty to guide you.”

  William’s brows furrowed. “To guide us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because without help, you will remain blind to your own faults. And if you do not grow…” The Librarian’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “…you will fail.”

  A cold weight settled in William’s chest. He stared at the man, a storm of thoughts raging inside him.

  “Who are you?” he finally asked.

  The Librarian paused.

  Then, with the faintest of smiles—

  “I am everything.”

  William’s breath hitched.

  “…I see,” he murmured, lowering his gaze in thought. “I think I get it now.”

  The Librarian chuckled softly. “Good.”

  He turned slightly, his form beginning to fade into the dim light of the library.

  “But before I go,” he said, “one last thing.”

  William looked up.

  The Librarian’s voice softened, losing its usual enigmatic tone.

  “You don’t have to reveal your past. Not yet. But if you truly want to forge real bonds with your companions…”

  A pause.

  “…one day, you will have to tell them.”

  William’s breath caught.

  His past. The one he had buried. The one that threatened to claw its way out if he ever let his guard down.

  They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t accept him.

  …Would they?

  The Librarian watched him for a long moment, as if he could see the battle waging inside him.

  “Don’t hold back,” he said quietly. “Not with them.”

  Then—he was gone.

  No flicker of light, no distortion of space. Just gone, as if he had never been there to begin with.

  William staggered slightly, inhaling sharply.

  He was back.

  The towering bookshelves stretched around him just as they had before. The distant echoes of footsteps returned, the murmured conversations of other visitors filling the silence that had once seemed endless.

  Had any of it been real?

  His fingers curled slightly, staring down at his own hands.

  The Librarian’s words echoed in his mind.

  His past. His emotions. His fears. For so long, he had locked them away, convinced that silence was the only way forward.

  But now, a crack had formed. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it… It was only going to grow.

  William stood there for a long while, lost in thought.