Raith followed the brownie in silence, its small footsteps barely audible against the stone floor. Unlike the well kept guest quarters, the rest of the castle lay in decay. The corridors were draped in dust and shadow, the air thick with the scent of age and neglect.

  Cobwebs hung like curtains from archways and sconces, trembling slightly in unseen currents. Shadows clung to corners, and Raith could not help but wonder what lurked in them. He gave a shudder and his hand unconsciously went to his weapon as he recalled the rat-like like creatures from the Earl's throneroom.

  The brownie scampered ahead, heedless of the gloom. Raith kept pace, hand continuing to stay near his weapon, though it gave him little comfort in a place where creatures such as Gloam walked the halls.

  They arrived at the library, and as the door creaked open, Raith was struck by a sudden wave of emotion. Part joy, part sorrow.

  It was vast. Far larger than he had dared hope. A cathedral of knowledge, shelves stretching in all directions. But as he stepped inside, that initial thrill soured into quiet disappointment.

  Nearly everything within was scrollwork. Thousands upon thousands of them.

  Scrolls were beautiful, ancient, sacred. But also very slow to read. [Life in Staccato], so useful when parsing the structure of books, was of much less use here. Scrolls demanded careful unrolling, a delicate touch, and time.

  Time he wasn’t sure he had.

  He turned to the brownie, meaning to ask a few questions. Where certain topics might be found, whether there was a catalog, or anyone who could assist. But the creature had already vanished. Raith blinked, scanning the immediate area. There were no signs of movement, no footsteps. Not even a whisper. The brownie had disappeared as if swallowed by the silence itself, and no one else remained.

  Importantly, there was no librarian or caretaker. No quirky faerie guides or spectral archivists to help him navigate the forest of knowledge.

  Stupid, stupid stupid. I should have demanded a guide.

  He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled slowly, the sound soft against the vast hush of the library. The stillness felt almost reverent. Raith squared his shoulders. There was nothing to be done but get started. If what he sought was here, then he wasn't going to find it by standing here being irritated.

  Dust swirled lazily in the light, stirred only by Raith’s passing. Shelves climbed the walls, each crammed with scrolls encased in cracked leather, strange bark, or iridescent scales.

  Thea's dad would pay a fortune for five minutes in this place. I wish I could read them all and bring him into my library.

  That thought struck him, and not for the first time. Having the ability to share his [Skill] would be unbelievably useful.

  Raith paused first, activating [Life in Staccato] and using [Hawksight] to read as many labels as possible from where he stood. Although he didn't see what he was looking for, the strategy let him eliminate a lot of areas that were clearly devoted to other subjects.

  Raith moved through the other rows as quickly as he could manage. The labels were etched in a tongue he didn’t recognize. Elegant but odd, curling like smoke across the surface of timeworn plaques. When he used [Decipher Script], the glyphs resolved into meaning. Even then, their origin remained elusive, though there was something undeniably elvish in their flow, tempered by sharp angular traces of the ancient language written by the formor.

  Much of what he saw was devoted to political histories, wars, and the scheming power plays that had shaped ancient kingdoms before their collapse. It made sense, as the Forgotten Ones thrived in the shadows of power. They would hoard knowledge like this.

  Unfortunately, it was of absolutely no use to Raith. Or at least none he was willing to take advantage of. He had no desire to tangle himself in politics, or appetite for the slow poison of courtly games.

  The scrolls were neatly stacked on narrow shelves of darkwood, some held in bone scroll racks, others in silken sleeves or bundles wrapped with fading ribbon. He moved carefully, fingers brushing the labels as he read them, mindful of the three hour limit he’d been given.

  Treatises on treaties, the ebb and flow of empires. He felt frustration begin to rise as time slipped past far too quickly. Then, at last, he came to a narrow, unassuming shelf marked ‘On the Twilight Realm’. His pulse quickened.

  He pulled a scroll free and began to read. The parchment was brittle at the edges, the ink faded to sepia, but the text remained legible. There was no clear order to these records. No indexing or categorization as far as he could tell. Not for the first time, Raith cursed how little attention he’d paid to his scholarly class abilities. There were many [Scholar] tools he could have learned that would’ve made this search a simple matter. But, as ever, he stitched [Skills] only in reaction to need, after the trial had passed.

  He shook his head. Another lesson to tuck away for later.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  It took him nearly half an hour to realize this first batch of scrolls focused on the courts of the fae and their entanglements in the Dreaming. Political intrigue, assassinations, ancient vendettas playing out in sleep and shadow. It wasn’t what he’d come for, but even so, there were nuggets buried in the narrative. Insight into how the Dreaming operated. Clues about his place within it. Still, it was frustrating to come so close only to wander through a maze of fae politics.

  Eventually, he circled back toward a shelf he’d passed on the way in. It was set apart, slightly crooked, like it had been forgotten even by the caretakers of this place. And there, finally, he found what he’d been searching for.

  Only a few dozen scrolls rested there, but as Raith began to read the first one, something in him recognized the knowledge that plucked at a familiar thread deep within his soul. Here was dream magic of daemons and the gossamer paths. Writings on the deep Dreaming, where few mortals dared go, save in fragments of nightmare or ecstasy. As Raith read, he felt something open within him. Some door between thought and memory.

  Although he might never use the magic of the fae, knowing how it worked gave him insight into his own gifts. How the threads of his [Skill] connected him to the realm of sleep and shadow.

  Raith was struck by the similarities between the nature of the Faerie Realm and his personal library. Both dream and weave, forming their own nexus that straddled two worlds.

  As he grew into his power, as his understanding deepened, he couldn't help but look forward to how he would be able to shape his library more fully. Make it bigger and more complex, as detailed in the [Class] patterns he'd been gifted. Raith determined to review them later.

  The thrill of an idea stirred in him. Could he actually open this space to others, making this dream woven library become a sanctuary for not just him, but those he cared about?

  And yet, nowhere in these scrolls did he find mention of the Weaver’s Gifts. The fae had no need of it, and so could offer no advice on how to best incorporate their power. He should have expected as much, and reassured himself that he had learned an enormous amount in spite of that limitation.

  The door creaked open, and Raith turned to see a servant step into the light, different from the one who’d brought him here. This was a younger human, perhaps not even Raith’s age, and his gaze was steady but cautious.

  Raith stood and the young man gave a small bow.

  “Your time had expired, my lord. Countess Selene requests your presence in her quarters.”

  He considered his guide and ventured a question.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, are you also one of the Forgotten Ones?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the man said, bowing slightly. “All of the mortal servants in this castle are Forgotten Ones.”

  “I thought you all worked as spies across the Three Kingdoms and beyond.”

  “Most of the Hollow Earl’s mortal servants do, my lord. But some of us lack the talent or the taste for such things. The Earl, in his generosity, allows us to serve in other ways.”

  “You chose this life?”

  “I did. I was wanted for crimes that would never be forgiven. Service here…it’s a better life than what awaited me. A dungeon or a headsman’s axe.”

  Raith nodded slowly, watching the young man. The weight of the library's forgotten pasts hung around them both, thick as dust in the lantern light. The pair quietly wound their way back to the guest quarters and the Countess’s room, where the servant politely bade his leave.

  Two silent guards in silver plate flanked the doorway, and Raith hesitated.

  “I’m here to see the Countess.”

  Neither guard gave any indication they had heard him. Raith resisted the temptation to rap on one of their helmets and ask if anyone was home. That was probably a good way to lose his hand. Instead, he gave a firm knock in the door.

  A few moments later it swung open and he saw a sprite dart away. Raith considered the little fae, wondering how something that small opened a door so much larger than itself.

  The Countess’s voice drifted out.

  “Please enter, Lord Raith. May I offer you a cup of tea.”

  He walked in to find her in the sitting area, rolling up a scroll she had been studying and setting it carefully on the table. The room smelled faintly of flowers and parchment. She gestured to a chair and smiled pleasantly.

  “I wouldn’t mind some tea, thank you.”

  A pixie somehow brought him a cup as big as itself, which he took with a nod of thanks. He sniffed at the tea cautiously.

  “Simply chamomile,” Selene offered. “I understand mortal custom dictates that mind-altering brews are provided only at the guest’s request.”

  That was a weird thing to say. He gave her a quizzical look and nodded.

  “Uh, yes, Countess. I’d rather not have my mind altered. It’s hard enough to keep up with things in this castle as it is.”

  She gave him a knowing smile.

  “Indeed it is. So many things to keep abreast of. Such as: What was that curious surge of dream energy I felt from a mortal while we broke our fast?”

  Raith flinched. He really didn’t want to tell her about his powers. Partially a general distrust of the fae, but mostly a lifetime of keeping this secret left him instinctively opposed to sharing it.

  However, his time in the Earl's library left many of the holes unfilled in his knowledge. Selene had offered to help them with this mission, and their goals seemed to align at the moment. This was the closest thing to a fae who he could trust he was likely to encounter.

  Well, aside from Zinny, who was virtually impossible to get a straight answer from. And the trust part with her was dubious, as well.

  “If I discuss this with you, would you be willing to share knowledge of the Dream Realm?”

  Selene raised an eyebrow.

  “You wish to make a bargain of knowledge? Very wise. What terms do you propose?”

  This sounded more formal than he was comfortable with, but decided to plow ahead anyway.

  “My [Class] information is very private and valuable to me, but I’m willing to share it for three hours of questions.”

  The corners of her lips turned upwards slightly.

  “We fae do love our threes, don’t we? But that much of my time is not worth the information you offer. I propose one hour, and I will not answer anything that is a Secret.”

  Something about how she said that last word made Raith think her secrets were more than simply facts she shouldn’t share.

  “I accept your terms.”

  She bowed her head in agreement, so Raith proceeded to explain his [Skills]. She sat patiently the entire time, without interrupting, as he went over how [Life in Staccato] worked and his library. It occurred to him that having her understand this stuff would make his time questioning her a lot more valuable, since she would have all of the necessary context.

  He even told her that he was a descendant of Amaris, although nothing of their discussions.

  “Amaris has always been a good neighbor to us. You may be interested to know that her tower is in the fey wilds, although she has ever kept it closed. She never had use for the worship of mortals and clerics and the like.”

  She leaned forward.

  “Now, what is it you wished to ask?”