Zephyr's gaze lingered on Amaniel's fading silhouette as he disappeared beyond the towering bookshelves. His eyes, usually distant and unreadable, held a flicker of thoughtfulness.
Then, in a quiet voice, he muttered a name—"Virion."
A faint shimmer rippled through the air above his shoulder. A small portal, barely the size of a human head, opened with a soundless distortion.
From within, a sleek, dark green winged snake slithered out, its scales shimmering with an unnatural sheen. Its emerald eyes gleamed with intelligence, and its feathered wings folded elegantly as it coiled midair.
The creature blinked lazily before speaking, its voice smooth and amused—"What did you call me for, master?"
Zephyr didn't turn to face it. Instead, his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. "Follow him."
Virion's forked tongue flickered as he glanced toward the library's exit. "Him? That kid?" His voice carried a hint of mischief, but when he noticed Zephyr's unchanged expression, he let out a soft chuckle.
"Fine, fine. Learn about him, but don't act unless necessary. Got it?" The winged serpent uncoiled, his wings spreading slightly.
Zephyr finally turned his gaze to his familiar, his voice steady. "Do not get caught, Virion."
The serpent grinned—or at least, the closest thing a snake could do to grin. "Please. I'm insulted you'd even suggest that."
With a single beat of his wings, Virion's form shimmered, his body blending seamlessly into the air. Within seconds, he was gone, moving soundlessly through the library's upper levels, slipping into the shadows like a phantom.
Zephyr leaned back, exhaling softly. His fingers paused mid-tap, as if pondering something. Then, in an almost whispering tone, he muttered to himself—
The soft ticking of the clock echoed in the silent room.
I let out a long breath, leaning back in my chair, arms stretching wide as my stiff muscles protested. My eyes flickered to the time—11:47 PM.
Books, notebooks, and loose sheets of paper were scattered across the desk, some open, others covered in hastily scribbled notes. A half-empty cup of tea sat to the side, long gone cold. The faint scent of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the night.
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
Dark circles had begun to form beneath my eyes. A dull ache settling in my shoulders.
Even though I had taken short breaks, trying to keep my mind fresh, the six hours of non-stop studying had drained me more than expected. If I included the five hours with Zephyr earlier… eleven hours in total. (I won't add the classes since I really didn't study then.)
No wonder I feel half-dead.
"…My stamina sucks," I muttered, exhaling.
It wasn't like I did anything physically demanding today. Just reading, analyzing, and scribbling down notes. Yet, my body was acting like I just fought a battle.
I need to start working out.
No matter how good my memory was, no matter how much I learned, it wouldn't mean anything if my body gave out after just a bit of mental strain. A well-trained body and mind—that's what I needed.
Tomorrow, I'd come up with a workout plan.
Something practical and efficient.
Like the famous - '100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10 kilometrs run--every single day....'
I am just gonna sleep.
Pushing back my chair, I stood up, stretching once more before heading to the bathroom. A quick shower should help.
As warm water cascaded down my body, I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander. My stamina, endurance, and even resistance to exhaustion all felt below average. It wasn't just the lack of training.
This body was just naturally weak.
Even though I had been adapting well, small things reminded me—I was still an weak 'background character' in this world.
Which meant… I had a lot of work to do.
By the time I stepped out, hair still damp, my thoughts had settled.
Tomorrow was a new day. A more productive day.
Pulling the covers over myself, I exhaled one last time. The bed was warm, comforting. My muscles, though sore, welcomed the rest.
Sleep came almost instantly.
The room fell into silence.
Only the faint sound of Amaniel's steady breathing could be heard, the slow rise and fall of his chest marking his descent into deep sleep.
A shadow flickered in the corner of the room.
A presence, unseen, unnoticed.
A figure, clad in dark, assassin-like robes, materialized beside the bed.
Their movements were eerily smooth, their form blending perfectly into the darkness. They wore a black mask, featureless except for two narrow slits that revealed cold, calculating eyes.
Their gloved hand reached into a small pouch at their waist, pulling out a cloth and a small glass vial filled with a thick, dark liquid.
A custom tranquilizer.
The assassin hovered over Amaniel's sleeping form, gazing down with an unreadable expression.
"You are truly unlucky," they muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "To be chosen as the partner of —!"
However, they never got to finish their sentence nor their assasination.
Because the instant they uncorked the vial—
A chill ran down their spine.
Like something ancient and predatory had just set its sights on them.
Their breath hitched. Their instincts screamed. MOVE.
But they were already too late.
A sharp, invisible force coiled around their limbs, crushing the breath from their lungs.
Two pairs of glowing, enchanting emerald eyes appeared in the darkness.
Piercing, cold and merciless.
The assassin's pulse skyrocketed.
They had checked. The target had no protective measures, no backing, no familiars.
So then—what was this?
A whisper brushed against their ear.
Something cold. Amused. Non-human.
Their last conscious thought was terror.
The vial slipped from their fingers, their vision blurring.
The assassin's unconscious body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.
Silence stretched across the dimly lit room.
A barely perceptible distortion, like reality itself was shifting.
From the darkness, a figure slithered into sight, coiling with a grace that defied logic. A long, sinuous body, covered in iridescent dark green scales, shimmered under the moonlight. Feathered wings folded against its sides, and two mesmerizing emerald eyes glowed with quiet amusement.
The winged serpent hovered for a moment, observing the unconscious assassin with a detached curiosity.
With a slow inhale, the very space around the assassin twisted.
A powerful suction force erupted from Virion's open maw, warping the air into a vortex.
The assassin's body jerked upward, drawn into the abyss-like darkness of the creature's throat. Clothes, weapons, even the mask—all swallowed whole in a seamless motion.
Not a single trace was left behind.
Virion's wings flared slightly before folding back, his long tail curling lazily in the air.
His gaze lingered on Amaniel's sleeping face—calm, unaware. The boy had no idea what had just transpired. No idea that death had been inches away, only to be erased before it could so much as brush against him.
A quiet hum rumbled from Virion's throat.
"Foolishly stepping into the unknown… yet managing to tilt the scales of fate itself." His emerald eyes gleamed with something akin to amusement. "What a peculiar existence you are."
Then, as if indulging in some silent jest, he flicked his tail lightly.
"Consider this… a token of gratitude," he murmured, his voice laced with a cryptic amusement. "For prying open that stubborn fool's eyes—if only a little."
A faint pulse of energy rippled through the room.
Amaniel's body twitched slightly in his sleep, a soft glow flickering beneath his skin for the briefest of moments—like a spark igniting something long dormant.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the glow faded.
Virion chuckled, his feathered wings rustling.
"May you remain interesting."
And with that, his form shimmered—
Then vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but an eerie stillness.