The scent of aged parchnt and ink filled the air as Morena flipped through yet another thick book. The library was silent, save for the soft rustling of pages beneath her fingers, and she was alone in the candlelit room. She wasn’t reading in depth—she didn’t need to.
The AI recorded everything the mont her eyes scanned the words, automatically saving the data in her mind, categorized and sorted for easy access.
She barely blinked, moving to the next book.
Her fingers traced the worn spine before pulling it free. Another text on warrior cultivation. Another repetition of things she already knew.
She flipped through it anyway.
[Data processing..d. Information categorized.]
The AI’s voice was an ever-present murmur in her thoughts and the only thing that broke the repetition. Eventually, she had completely stored the information in the books she had, in no less than half an hour, maybe even less.
She had the information sorted and stored into three main topics.
The first category was core formation and function. It was the most basic of theories, yet she needed to confirm everything.
Elental cores weren’t physical organs—they existed in a state between the tangible and the taphysical, acting as processors and refiners for elental energy. Every warrior was born with a core. There were no exceptions.
You either had one, or you didn’t. If you didn’t have one, you could not be a warrior.
Cores determined a warrior’s elent from birth—fire, water, wind, earth, light, dark, and so on. So were rarer, so more common. And warriors could naturally sense their affinity—it was sothing they didn’t need to train. Sensing it ca as a natural instinct.
The only difference was how well they could sense it—so better than others.
The only issue was, she couldn’t.
She had never sensed anything, not even in the slightest.
Her younger sister could. She had awakened her elent early, sensing and drawing upon it with ease. It was instinctive, like breathing.
Morena, despite all her training, felt nothing, which was odd. She wasn’t sure if it was linked to the fractured core or another issue entirely.
She let out a slow breath. Her grip tightened around the book, annoyed by the unneeded handicap she had found herself with, but she released her grip shortly after.
Her core was real, but it did not function.
The next category of information she had stored was anything related to core repair. These were mainly ancient scripts, myths, and tales.
[No recorded instances of core restoration found.]
That was the conclusion the AI ca to after scanning through everything. It was a line that made her still for a mont.
She swallowed the irritation and went over the information in more detail. Specifically, once a core was damaged, it could never be fully repaired.
That was the consensus among scholars, researchers, and even warriors. The best that could be done was stabilization—thods that prevented further degradation.
But no true fixes.
Still, there were whispers and ntions of it in older folklore, mainly from hundreds of years ago.
So texts hinted at elixirs, formations, and forbidden techniques capable of not just stabilizing or fixing, but strengthening a core.
But they were nothing more than myths—scattered records, incomplete references, old stories with no concrete details.
Useless.
She exhaled sharply, pressing a finger against her temple.
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close.
The last category was one she had little hope for.
She expected more half-truths and dead ends.
What she got was sothing different.
Alternative Paths.
The AI flagged the text, highlighting inconsistencies—not with facts, but with how the information had been preserved. It wasn’t like the other books. These had been deliberately altered.
She ran a fingertip over the uneven script.
This book spoke of people who controlled the elents despite lacking a core.
Her pulse quickened.
It was exactly what she wanted—a thod to power she could achieve. Hope.
It did not describe how—only that it had happened. That in the oldest of tis, there were those who could command energy without internal refinent.
There were no techniques. No rituals. No formulas. Just proof that the impossible had once been real—and that alone was more than she had gotten from anything else.
She went further.
The next section spoke of artifacts.
Objects imbued with natural elental force—tools that could channel power in place of a core.
The royal family’s jade crown, rumored to hold the essence of a storm.
The Grand Duke’s greatsword, capable of splitting the earth.
Weapons that wielded elental power independent of the user.
She pressed the book flat against the table, eyes narrowing.
This was sothing.
It wasn’t a fix. It wasn’t even a partial solution.
But it was proof that elental energy wasn’t limited to cores alone.
She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair.
Her head was buzzing—not from exhaustion, but from frustration and all the information now stored in it.
Everything she had found was either incomplete, unreliable, or beyond her reach.
She needed more. A different approach.
"AI, run another search using everything I’ve gathered. Cross-analyze the texts. Find anything that can act as a potential lead."
[Understood. Processing request...]
The AI fell silent as it ran the request through its database.
She remained seated, staring at the scattered books around her while waiting, thinking about what she should do.
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