*flap!
Jinn flipped the book open, the soft and almost dry scent of old paper drifted up towards him in an instant, almost as if reminding him how ancient this book really was. As soon as he opened the book, the very first page was greeted with a short phrase, written in an almost faded ink, yet still readable.
Kaelios, The Golden Child...
Jinn paused, staring at the words written on the page... as if simply looking at them long enough would make him understand who the person was or what his title ant.
So it’s another orphan... a fragnt, just like Engkaren
But no matter how long he locked his eyes on that single line, it remained just as mysterious and unknown to him as it was seconds ago when he first laid eyes on it.
A true quiet confusion and mystery swimming within his mind.
Yet even with both confusion and uncertainty brewing within his mind, Jinn understood one thing clearly.
If he ever wanted to find the rest of the Muradryn fragnts—if he wanted to truly understand the other Orphans who carried those pieces of power...
Then this book was the first step in a long path towards clarity, conception, and ultimately, mastery of Muradryn—if Jinn ever reaches that point.
Though Troy had explained to him what Muradryn was years ago—briefly—they never really did an in depth study on it.
No explanations of the fragnts.
Nor the Orphans.
Nor the history of Muradryn itself.
Only that it was the bane of eidra corrupted creatures and was wielded by powerful warriors.
And Kaeilios, just like Engkaren, is one of those warriors that wielded Muradryn.
Understanding Kaeilios would an knowing another fragnt of Muradryn, just as important as knowing Enkgaren himself.
As this understanding ford within his mind, sothing faint stirred inside him, almost like a soft ripple moving through his spirit. A warm sensation wrapped around his entire body, calm and familiar, the sa warmth he always felt wherever Muradryn’s power rose within him...
It was subtle, significantly weaker... yet it was there, impossible to ignore... reminding Jinn that Muradryn was indeed within him, existing sowhere deep within the core of his soul.
The ssage was crystal clear now, Jinn thought as the Muradryn within him reacted subtly—as if telling him that he was on the right path.
Before he even tries to wield Muradryn agains—before he dares to rely on its strength once more—he must first understand what this power truly is in its purest form.
He must learn about the Orphans just like Kaeilios, Engkaren and the rest.
He must learn about their identities, their burdens, and aning behind their existence.
And he must understand the purpose behind Muradryn’s shattered state and what it actually requires from the people who carry those pieces.
Only then he could possibly wield it without fear and hesitation.
Even so, there was one question that had always lingered within his thoughts... sothing that returned to him now as the warmth within slowly faded.
Why him?
Out of all the people Muradryn could have chosen, why did Engkaren—the fragnt within him, the muradryn of perseverance... chose him?
Why choose soone who had nothing, a naless orphan with no renown, no title, no power of his own?
Jinn had spent years carrying that uncertainty, pretending it didn’t bother him, but in monts like this... it always returned.
Quiet... yet heavy.
"Is it possible to borrow a book from the Grand Archive?" Jinn asked as he slowly lifted his eyes from the open page and turned his attention toward Zhyn, who was still busy digging through another row of shelves.
Zhyn didn’t even look at him. He was fully absorbed in examining the books one by one, running his fingers along their old fras while reading each title.
"Nope," Zhyn replied almost instantly, the answer sharp and straightforward.
He kept scanning through the shelf without stopping, clearly determined to find more books connected to Muradryn before they left this upper platform.
"Nothing leaves the Grand Archive. If you want to read sothing again, you just co back. That’s how it works here." His voice carried that familiar tone—a mix between gentle annoyance and the calm patience of soone who had repeated this rule many tis before.
Jinn watched him for a mont, observing the focused way Zhyn moved from book to book, barely giving himself a second to breathe. Then Zhyn paused, shifted his gaze, and reached toward another thick volu with a rough edge.
Without even glancing Jinn’s way, he pulled it from the shelf and handed it over behind him.
"You might want to look at this. I’m pretty sure there’ll be ntions of Muradryn in a book that’s all centered around eidra corruption," Zhyn said while already moving his attention toward the next row to find even more books.
"Mhm..." Jinn murmured, taking the book from Zhyn’s hand.
The mont his fingers touched it, he felt the rough texture of the fra, almost like the wood had been worn down by decades of mishandling.
The spine was cracked in several places, the cover torn at the corners, and there were long faded scratches that hinted at age far older than the other books in this section.
He turned it slightly, studying the surface more closely. The ink on the cover was so faded that it almost looked like it could disappear any second, barely holding onto the surface after who knows how many thousand years of neglect.
Kaos.
Just one word—no author, no additional markings, nothing to give context.
Only a single, ominous title resting on a damaged book that looked like it had survived sothing terrible.
Jinn held it gently, almost cautious that the cover might peel off if he pressed too hard.
He then began to open the damaged book slowly, peeling the cover apart as if afraid the fragile spine would crack even more under his touch... before—
"Well, well, well!" a loud and familiar voice suddenly echoed through the upper platform, the words rolling out with playful confidence.
A swirl of dark mist materialized between Zhyn and Jinn, forming a thick column of shifting shadows before a figure stepped out from inside it as if walking through a doorway made of smoke.
Jinn lifted his gaze at once. His posture shifted slightly, more out of instinct than caution, yet he remained completely unalard.
He recognized that voice the mont it echoed across the shelves.
Troy.
His staff touched the ground with a soft but clear clank, the sound carrying a cold tallic echo that lingered in the vast do. His long dark hair flowed behind him in slow waves as if the shadows he stepped out from were still brushing against him. His robe, deep black with faint silver markings, shifted with every small movent as he stepped forward,.
"A scholar at heart, eh, Jinn?" Troy said, raising a brow as he pointed the head of his staff slightly toward the book in Jinn’s hands.
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