He fell back, grabbing the door like a shield. “W-Who...Who are you?”
Her eyes widened, then fell into shadow. “What do you mean, dear? I’m Jean.”
Black hair flew as he shook his head wildly. “Then...Who am I? W-Where is this?”
She didn’t move. She just watched him, the oddest mix of pity and grief in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re Daniel. This is the great Library, the seat of all knowledge. It goes by many names.” Her lips curled at the corners in a tiny, sardonic smile. “Mostly we call it Alexandria.”
His limbs trembled as she stepped closer, but he didn’t run.
She crouched in front of him, taking his shoulder. “This is your home. You live here. Do you remember any of that?”
Confusion still soaked through his mind, tainting every thought, but it was starting to clear. Daniel. His name was Daniel. Slowly, he shook his head. Something whispered in the back of his mind - a lonely dirt path at dusk. A tree, at the edge of a park. A woman’s voice, calling for him. Pleading.
But the images were blurred. Unfocused. Daniel looked up, meeting her green eyes with his brown.
“...Alexandria,” he whispered.
Jean nodded. She lifted a hand, slipping her fingers under the collar of his shirt and pulling a chain free from around his neck. Daniel looked down to see an intricately worked pendant bouncing between them. Each page of the book engraved into it shone in the firelight.
A low jingling rose. He looked up again, just in time to see her pull a necklace out from under her jacket collar. The same pendant bounced there, shining brightly alongside his.
“I’m the Librarian of Alexandria,” she said, and reached out to tap his necklace. It spun merrily, casting flickers of light across the chairs. “And starting today, you’re my apprentice.”
She stood straight, letting the pendant drop back down to her shirt. Whatever pity had been in her eyes moments before, it was gone.
“Wake up, and let’s get moving. You have a lot to learn.”
- Chapter Three -
Reaching out, Daniel turned the page.
His eyes scanned the textbook in front of him, laid sprawled across a wooden desk. Words flashed past, spelling out a language he’d almost learned - the most recent of many.
Almost. His nose wrinkled as his eyes stopped, caught on an unfamiliar term. Such an event was growing more and more uncommon, at least. Jean had been nothing if not insistent on that.
Have to learn how to learn, she’d said, grinning down the length of her nose at him. You’ve got a lot of information to process, Daniel. You never know what language texts will be written in. You’ll have to be prepared for anything, and that means giving yourself the tools to adapt.
He lifted his eyes, glancing to the towering bookshelves around him. They stretched to the ceiling of the room, a dark monk’s cloister lit by myriad candles. Without moving from his seat, he knew that if he walked to the door, he’d see the same - row upon row of books. No matter where he walked within Alexandria, that much wouldn’t change.
Jean was right. He needed to grow. He needed to be better.
Reaching for the next page, Daniel froze. His eyes darted back to the chandeliers, and to the candles perched on their wood.
There, high overhead, the flames flickered - but the study was calm, without so much as a draft.
And then they burst to life.
His heartbeat thundered. Suddenly entirely awake, the boy threw his arms up, tumbling from his chair.
The flames from the candles erupted, exploding forth in globules of red and orange to drop down on him. Gasping for breath, he thrust his palms toward it, but shied away as the first embers cascaded across his skin.
Fear washed over him. Ducking his head, he huddled lower, letting out a terrified squeak.
The pain never came.
Still stumbling, he faltered, then opened his eyes.
The air above his desk was empty.
“Amateur.” A voice cracked across the room.
Daniel jumped. Just as quickly, he drooped - then turned to face the speaker.
Jean stood in the doorway of the study, her arms folded across her chest and a scowl marring her face.
Bracing one hand on the flagstone floors, Daniel crawled to his feet. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be sorry,” Jean said, cocking an eyebrow. “Be better. Again.”
Faster than he could follow, her hand whipped free, snapping up to point at him.
His breath caught in his chest. This time, though, he wasn’t completely caught off guard. His hands came up, stubby fingers splayed wide.
Visualize it.
She’d repeated the words to him over and over through the months that seemed unending. He knew the theory of it. Now, he just needed to do it.
Flames blossomed from Jean’s hands. They arced across the distance toward him, licking and lapping like a living creature.
In that fraction of a moment, all of the warning she’d given him, he clutched a thought to himself - an image of a wall between her and him. His eyes narrowed, fixated on the picture of it.
Believe in it, he heard Jean say in that long-past lesson. This space is yours. It will respond.
Trust Alexandria.
His fingertips tensed, gripping the empty air.
Light blazed between them. Flames scattered, driven off a sheet of something that warped the air into a blurred mess. Embers flew free to die against the wooden shelves and musty tomes.
And then the flames were gone, and he was left panting with hands still outstretched.
Jean stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of mousy hair back behind her ear. “Better,” she said, flashing a tiny smile his way. “But you still-”
“I still screwed up,” Daniel mumbled, drooping again.
She laughed, then, letting her hand fall to the crown of his head. “Yep. You never know
