Élan: A Youngblood World

5 | Commotion In The Calm |

      Despite its sturdiness, the door was quite light enough for a dog to walk through effortlessly. Once inside, Zakuro was splashed with the cold-warm breeze and the vanilla scent of books, met with the eye-striking glamour of golden brilliance bestowed by the library's aureate tone. Wall-mounted lights and suspended chandeliers with one hanging above the spacious main hallway stood out in size, an imposing glass glazed in purple and coral.

      Following the radiance to first catch one's eye upon entering was the maze-like dozen of stairs. Those close by the bookshelves installed within the wall projected out narrow terraces should one find ladders inconvenient, linking with the steps spiraling up to the highest floor of the library. Meanwhile, stairs per level would stop at a platform midway extending outwards as a mini balcony for those who would allow a thorough glimpse of the place, before providing another set of stairs in the opposite direction giving onto the next floor.

      Layered window panels touched the ceiling, fabricated in damask decors lined across the walls as they looked over the top head of shelves. The two cone speakers above the doors seemed to have been polished early this morning.

      When gazing toward the farthest side up ahead, the lengthy desk of the Chief Librarian could be seen at a good distance of about ten meters. Yet, it was what loomed further beyond that left an impression as if they were but an insignificant ant facing a mountain. The Archives. Heavily guarded by none other than the lady at the front. Should someone brave through even with the most soundless of movements to get a glance of the other side, they would have to woefully learn the old woman has more up her sleeves under that age-withered surveillance. And Mrs. Emberlaine made sure it would be a grave mistake for anyone to think otherwise.

      Zakuro swept by the flanks of dark wood bookshelves. If not the dorms, where else could there only be a refuge of pure silence barring any mouthy crackheads from stepping afoot?

       A few more shelves to round, then a muffled sound broke out, catching the Nyrhaean's attention like a cat erecting its ears. It sounded like coming from his supposed lounging spot. His amble turned into a prowl. The sound turned out to be from vocal sources. Zakuro maneuvered a peek from behind one of the corners of the Pre-Ethenos bookshelf, the shadows consumed him as their own.

      Behind one of the couches, he could make out a file of a few--probably three--girls a year older than his instilled class. Zakuro still finds it offbeat, in the most non-scathing term, the status quo of fashion trends of modern humans. Their clothes were as arresting as their thick makeup as if imitating leper trolls. If it were not for the compact space, their small gathering would have already been ousted. A person among them did not belong, as told from her plain skirt and shirt.

       Humans do have such a habit of stirring up trouble first thing in the morning. Zakuro sighed, either out of the drowsiness left over or of the displeasure for his stolen sleeping den.

      "But the magic-casting assessment part. I can't just scribble down random answers. It's impossible. For me!"

      The familiar voice stopped from turning to leave. Touring his eyes deeper, he could make out an outline of a pink flower on the girl's ash hair.

       His assumption was correct.

      "I'm sorry, Brenevieve, but this is out of my hands."

      "Then do something about it. You read spellbooks and grimoires." The girl on the left spat, pinning a finger against the forehead of the smaller figure. "Like you said, it's not like you're ever even going to need it, might as well finally put that knowledge to good use."

       Cazzie's friends, perhaps? Yet there was an oddity in it, other than not knowing she was acquainted with these sorts of girls.

      His bat-like senses were tailored to befit in survival, but for gossip? Might as well revel for a bit of entertaining drama. So what if he could draw out answers from students whispering out answers? It was not like he could help it.