The musky and woody scent of old books, along with the distinct fragrance of ink was exactly what I needed. The fog that replaced everything with burning anger slowly receded until there wasn’t any trace left. 

It wasn’t like me; the stress of the situation was getting to my head. 

I took a deep breath, feeling reassured by the scent I missed so much. 

The library looked like a maze, with rows, and rows of books filling the shelves. It was a grand, magnificent place to get lost on among boundless knowledge or entertainment. It would take years, decades even, to read all of the books present. 

There was a grandfather clock in the center of the library. It was old, full of dust and its glass had multiple cracks. It looked decrepit; however, it only added an ancient touch to the library—making it more appealing. 

If I were in any other situation, I would be ecstatic. 

In the hell that was the tower, there was heaven, too. 

The library wasn’t empty. There were multiple deviants reading, fully focused on the letters in their books.  

This was the reason I loved libraries so much, why they were my favorite place. 

Everybody was minding their own business, reading what they wanted to. Some with smiles, others had eyes brimming with tears or even a scowl on their faces.  

No one was looking at me. 

Books were such wonderful objects, small worlds themselves. They caused so many emotions, even making me feel a burst of feelings I wouldn’t normally experience. They made me feel alive. 

I wandered around the shelves, reading the signs hanging around. 

There were some that read ‘romance’, ‘mystery’, ‘action’. The typical genres I would find in any library, even in my own.  

There was a particular book in the mystery section inviting me like I was a sailor following the inevitable call of a siren, that would only end up with lungs filled with so much water they would be ready to burst. 

I ignored it, as I had other priorities.  

Stomping towards the section titled ‘History of magic’, I grabbed the book titled ‘The Grand Encyclopedia of The Calamity’. 

I skimmed through the introduction and the chapters describing the Independent Republic of Kamisad (now destroyed), the birth of demi-humans, and the worst magician. It had the same information any other book regarding the topic would. The additional details it did contain, weren’t important. It was knowledge known by all, including children in the slums. There was no need to go over it. 

The information I needed was now within reach. There was a chapter describing what to do when finding a deviant, how to defend against them until the Inspectors were called, and most importantly, it explained their characteristics. 

Everybody knew magic to some degree. People were born with it, but like any other thing in life, some exceeded while others struggled, no matter how much hard work they poured in. Magic was just like any other muscle, another part of one’s body.  

A knight had to run to train their endurance and a pianist needed to practice until the notes flowed smoothly without looking at a pentagram. Magic was just like that. It was a part of yourself that could be trained and perfected, but most didn’t. Times were relatively peaceful, and the calamity passed long ago. A useless skill wouldn’t be sought after. Less when there wasn’t even time for leisure when most commoners struggled to put hard and tasteless bread in their empty stomachs.  

Magic was based on nature and improved through experience.  

Those with time to waste were the ones that mastered magic. That’s why most nobles were magicians and his highness, the crown prince, was said to control half of one of the towers. If I had to say which one, I’d guess it would be the Treller Tower—A place like this held no worth.  

When the threat of monsters reared its head in the towns and villages, the ones that would be called upon were the knights, whether they answered it or not was a different story. But when they did, which was something I hadn’t seen happen in my village, as the strongest villagers were the ones that dealt with the monsters, the knights were strong enough to eradicate them, with their enchanted armor and an ego mightier than their swords. 

Deviants, on the other hand, were those that learned while skipping every step. Others had to spend hours feeling the flow of water, observing the flickering of embers, the soft caress of wind, or the sturdiness of earth. They were proficient based on their familiarity with each element, and then, like effort didn’t even matter, were the deviants.  When they read a book left by the worst magician —with the nickname of the vestige of Kamisad—it was as if they had acquired a new limb or there was a new organ, a new heart pumping at its own careless beat. There was a sense of wonder and the awareness that there was something foreign, so wrong inside me. 

The words left by the vestige of Kamisad contained the kind of madness that would overwhelm the minds of those who read it. If a deviant was unlucky, they would become crazy, their sanity would vanish leaving a husk only driven by impulses and desires.  

I sure wasn’t crazy; however, I wasn’t lucky either. Wouldn’t it be better to be mad beyond consciousness, to become unrecognizable to even yourself, so you could navigate the tower without a care in the world?  

Crap, I need to focus. 

I turned the page and got back to reading.  

Initially, when deviants first became the accursed creatures they were, a sizeable memory gap was created. During it, their new powers ran unbridled and after their consciousness returned, their new magic, as imperfect as it was, could affect even themselves. 

Themselves? 

Had something like that happened to me? 

… 

It had, definitely.  

The reason that I only ate hard bread and water when there were different delicacies, I could only dream of ever tasting before. 

The dreading darkness and the infinite silence that was anything but tranquil. 

The scent of emptiness erasing any other odor. 

What I had thought was a curse cast by cruel people… was a manifestation of my power? 

With my shaking hands, I turned to the next page. 

Tear 

Shit 

“Please refrain from damaging any book.” 

I jumped to the side, startled. I bumped into a solid presence as if it was attached to a wall. They didn’t flatter, however, from the corner of my eye I saw an object made of glass falling. 

I extended my hand, trying to avoid the attention the broken glass would attract if it fell. The sound would be attention-grabbing, more in a library, where silence reigned. 

I was undeniably unlucky. 

Ink stained my hands. Through the gaps of my fingers, even more ink was spilling.  

 “Oh, my,” The man said. “That’s quite unfortunate.”  

He grabbed the small, opened glass I had caught upside down and put it back on top of the pile of books he was holding.  

I hesitantly peeked at him from the corner of my eye.  

The man that had no presence, as if he was incorporeal. Maybe that was the reason I didn’t notice him. It was as if he was an object no one paid attention to. 

 He was dressed in a suit, though it didn’t make him refined. There was grime on his sleeves and tie, and the golden-rimmed monocle resting in his right brown eye had a fissure the diameter of the glass. 

“I’m sorry.” For my blunder and ripping out the page. A Sin in any librarians or booklovers’ eyes, including mine. 

This man, with an ethereal feeling, didn’t have the temperament of a noble, and his clothing made one thing certain.  

He was no deviant. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just be sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

He started walking away, leaving. 

“Wait,” I retracted my hand, not wanting to stain his clothing even more.  

He remained quiet, looking at me inquisitively, waiting patiently for what I had to say 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m the librarian, Dauer Zit. And who might you be? I’ve never seen you around.” Dauer tilted his head. 

A librarian, just like me. Or rather, like I used to be. 

“I’m Marie,” I introduced myself, feeling oddly comfortable. “I didn’t expect to see a librarian here. Apart from the guards, all I’ve seen are deviants.” 

“You say that as if you aren’t one yourself,” his face was devoid of any maliciousness, he just said a fact, with no intent to harm.  

It did, however. 

“There are more than just deviants in the tower,” he continued. “I think you did meet them before, there’s no chance you haven’t seen any secretary.” 

“I mean, you’re the only normal person I’ve seen around these floors.” 

“Then perhaps there’s something wrong with your eyesight.”  

All he said had a hint of innocence, there was no way I’d get mad. Less when he was so different from everybody here. 

“Maybe it is,” I laughed, feeling uncomfortable. 

Then, an awkward pause followed. 

 “What book were you reading, Marie?” 

Thank you very much for asking, I had no idea what else to say.  

“The Grand Encyclopedia of The Calamity.” 

“A fan of history, I presume?” 

“Not really, I just wanted to learn more about deviants.” I saw a hint of small reproach, so I corrected, “About myself.” 

He nodded, “Commendable. One should strive to fill any gap of knowledge one might possess. Is there any way I can help you? Any question you would like an answer to? I am quite an avid reader. No book left unread in this library.” 

“No book?” I parroted, looking at the row and rows of books enough to get lost in words and worlds. 

“No book indeed. So?” He waited for my answer. 

I hesitated, but finally said, “How do I use this… new power?” 

I needed a way to defend myself. I saw how Lemberg’s followers reacted, with a kind of repressed rage ready to implode with the slightest poke.  

And poke I would. 

I had no intention of associating with that man with his disgusting smile, even if he offered. 

“It is simple, really,” he said with a smile as if teaching a child. “Are you aware of how to use any other type of magic?” 

 “Isn’t it by familiarizing yourself with an element?” 

“That’s correct.” He gave a small applause with no force behind it. I guess he wanted to preserve the sanctity of the library, where no commotion was tolerated. “As you might know, people living near coasts are masters regarding water magic, while those near forests are with earth magic.” 

It was true, I, even with no effort, knew how to cast basic earth spells. It wasn’t thanks to discipline or studying, it was simply because I had spent most of my life near a forest, and often ventured into it. I was acquainted with the taste and rough punches of earth, as I fell more times than I would like to admit. 

“Everything is based on experience. Theoretical knowledge will never be useful unless it’s applied to reality. For example, a student won’t remember what they learned if it was just knowledge used for a test, however, if they need that knowledge for their jobs, and use it daily, then it will be ingrained in their very bones. What they learned will come to their mind as easy it is to breathe.” 

I didn’t know, I was only taught how to read and write by my parents. I never actually went to school. 

 However, I could sense where the conversation was going. I didn't like it even one bit. 

“The same concepts can be applied with deviant magic…” 

Dauer was basically saying… 

“One has first to familiarize oneself with it, before even thinking applying it to others, as it would prove unsuccessful.” 

I had to experience those moments that held no respite, only existing to torment me, before inflicting the same pain on others. 

The events after that were a bit blurry and discombobulated. I didn’t remember if I said anything to Dauer before I left the library, nor I he told me anything else. What really left a deep impression, one I thought I’d never forget, were Dauer’s eyes full of curiosity, and the clock hands behind cracked glass, indicating that long ago, night had arrived