Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1118: Beginning at the Beginning

Maggie returned with the book held against one palm.

The retrieval itself had taken less than a minute.

Foundational Principles of Mana Circulation was hardly buried among the Western Library’s more troublesome collections. The introductory shelves kept several copies precisely because tutors occasionally borrowed them in batches, and the third revision had received enough circulation over the years that Maggie could have found it without consulting the catalogue at all.

She placed the volume upon the counter.

Lucavion looked down.

The book was thicker than he had apparently expected.

Maggie knew this because his eyes travelled from the top of the cover to the bottom, paused at the spine, then returned to the title with the quiet calculation of someone reassessing an agreement after discovering the fine print.

Her opinion improved slightly.

At least he possessed enough sense to fear a textbook.

”That is the introductory edition,” she said. ”The first six sections cover fundamental circulation theory, basic channel behavior, elementary formation relationships, and the terminology normally assumed by later texts.”

Lucavion rested one hand upon the cover.

”Only six?”

Maggie looked at him.

His face remained perfectly serious.

She had already spent enough time speaking with him to distrust that expression.

”The book contains fourteen sections.”

”Ah.”

His fingers slid toward the edge.

”That feels more appropriately threatening.”

Maggie exhaled softly through her nose.

The sensible course would have been simple.

Register the loan.

Return his identification.

Send him away.

She had other work.

Probably.

Her gaze shifted toward the surrounding circulation floor.

Three students occupied the nearest reference station. One of them had been staring at the same page for several minutes with the determination of a man attempting to intimidate knowledge into entering his skull. Another circulation assistant was handling the short queue at the southern desk, while the retrieval formations behind Maggie continued their steady rhythm without complaint.

For once, nothing appeared immediately urgent.

And the strange commoner standing before her had become considerably more interesting than another hour of answering questions about examination references.

Maggie’s eyes returned to the book beneath his hand.

”So where are you starting?”

”The beginning.”

She waited.

Lucavion looked at her.

Apparently that was the answer.

Maggie folded her arms.

”The beginning of what?”

His brows rose slightly.

”Magic.”

Her stare remained on him.

Lucavion stared back for a moment before some trace of understanding finally entered his expression.

”Oh.”

He considered how to explain himself.

That concern should have reassured her.

Instead, Maggie had already begun to suspect that his explanations might be more dangerous than his ignorance.

”There is a spell,” he said, ”that makes a small light.”

Maggie’s expression changed.

”[Mana Light]?”

”That sounds right.”

Silence settled across the counter.

Maggie looked at the young man.

Then at Foundational Principles of Mana Circulation.

Then back at him.

”You do not know [Mana Light]?”

”I know what it does.”

”That was hardly the question.”

Lucavion tilted his head.

”Then the question could have been more precise.”

Maggie’s fingers tightened around her sleeve.

For perhaps two breaths, she imagined how satisfying it might feel to close the book and slide it back beneath the counter.

Professionalism survived.

Barely.

”What,” she asked carefully, ”do you know about [Mana Light]?”

Lucavion’s attention shifted upward as he searched his memory.

”There is a circle.”

Maggie waited.

”Several anchor points.”

Better.

”Lines connecting them.”

Still acceptable.

”Mana enters from one side, travels through the structure, reaches the thing in the middle, and then everyone involved becomes pleased because light appears.”

Maggie’s eyes closed.

Just for a moment.

The invocation core had apparently been demoted to the thing in the middle.

She opened them again.

”The invocation core.”

Lucavion pointed toward her.

”Yes. That.”

”You are holding a book which explains this.”

”I acquired it less than a minute ago.”

”That does not improve the explanation.”

”It explains why I haven’t read it.”

Maggie’s jaw tightened.

He really did have an answer for everything.

Worse, half of those answers were technically reasonable enough that objecting required more effort than accepting them.

She tapped one finger against the cover.

”The anchor points regulate the distribution. The connecting sequences establish the flow conditions. Mana reaches the invocation core only after the formation has shaped it according to the spell’s intended function.”

Lucavion listened.

Actually listened.

The faint amusement in his eyes remained part of his face, yet his attention had sharpened beneath it.

Maggie noticed the change and hated how effectively it interrupted her irritation.

”So,” she continued, ”saying mana simply travels around the circle rather dramatically understates what the structure is doing.”

Lucavion nodded.

”That makes sense.”

”Good.”

”And if one of the lines is slightly shorter?”

Maggie paused.

”What?”

”The connecting sequence.”

He traced an invisible arc above the book.

”If I shorten one section while preserving the same points, does the distribution compensate?”

That was a considerably better question.

Maggie’s annoyance retreated by a fraction.

”It depends upon the formation.”

”For [Mana Light]?”

”The elementary version is intentionally symmetrical. Changing the sequence length alters distribution timing and increases instability.”

”So the symmetry is functional.”

”Yes.”

Lucavion’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the cover.

”That’s what she said.”

Maggie caught the word.

”She?”

His attention returned to her.

”Someone has decided my fundamentals are unreliable.”

”Someone?”

”A very demanding someone.”

Maggie studied him.

”An Academy instructor?”

Lucavion’s expression became thoughtful.

”In a manner of speaking.”

That answer again.

Maggie was beginning to dislike that phrase.

”What did this person tell you to do?”

Lucavion shifted the book beneath his hand.

”Study [Mana Light]. Draw the formation fifteen times. Label everything properly. Learn the names. And keep mana away from the whole process while I’m alone.”

Maggie’s brows lifted.

”Fifteen?”

”It began lower.”

She waited.

Lucavion’s gaze drifted aside.

Maggie understood before he explained.

”You irritated her.”

His mouth curved faintly.

”That may have influenced the final number.”

Maggie stared at him for several seconds.

Yes.

That tracked remarkably well.

She had known this man for perhaps ten minutes and already understood why somebody responsible for teaching him might increase homework out of self-defense.

Her fingers moved toward the registration crystal.

”Whoever she is, I agree with her.”

Lucavion looked mildly betrayed.

”You haven’t even met her.”

”I don’t need to.”

”That seems academically irresponsible.”

”It seems efficient.”

He sighed.

Maggie touched his identification to the crystal and completed the loan registration.

Pale light ran across the book’s lower seal.

Lucavion reached for it.

Then stopped.

Maggie noticed the hesitation.

His fingers hovered above the cover while his brows drew together.

”What now?”

”There was something else.”

Her suspicion returned immediately.

”What?”

”The paper.”

Maggie waited.

Lucavion looked at her.

She looked back.

”The paper,” he repeated.

”I heard you.”

”Good.”

”What paper?”

His expression became considerably less confident.

Maggie felt the first warning signs of a headache.

Lucavion lifted one hand and began shaping an invisible rectangle in the air.

”The kind you draw on.”

Maggie slowly closed her eyes.

Maggie slowly closed her eyes.

For one highly irresponsible moment, she imagined leaning across the counter and shaking him until whichever part of his brain had misplaced the name finally surrendered it.

She breathed in.

Then out.

’I have dealt with worse.’

A pause.

’I definitely have.’

Twenty years around academics had provided enough evidence.

Tower mages had once argued for forty minutes over whether the word stable remained technically appropriate when a formation collapsed under three highly specific conditions. Another researcher had returned seventeen archival volumes in the wrong order, then defended the arrangement on the grounds of ”conceptual proximity.”

Compared to them, one freshman describing stationery as the paper you draw on should have been manageable.

Should have been.

Maggie opened her eyes.

Lucavion still held the invisible rectangle between his hands.

That made the situation considerably harder.

”Put your hands down.”

He did.

Immediately.

Maggie stared at him for another breath before reminding herself of the obvious.

He was a freshman.

A commoner freshman, at that.

Whatever else Lucavion had accomplished to enter the Imperial Academy, familiarity with every material tucked into its libraries and classrooms could hardly be assumed. The problem lay less with his ignorance and more with the spectacularly inconvenient manner in which he expressed it.

She sighed.

”Describe it properly.”

Lucavion considered.

”The instructor used it for formation diagrams.”

”Better.”

”White.”

”That eliminates several thousand options.”

”She drew on it with a quill.”

Maggie’s stare sharpened.

Lucavion paused.

Then he added, with rather more caution, ”Ordinary ink.”

Finally.

Maggie turned toward the storage drawers beneath the desk.

The Western Library kept stacks of blank practice sheets for students working through diagrams, rune layouts, spell structures, and whatever other exercises required more paper than most people sensibly carried around. Nothing particularly exotic about them. Good-quality Academy stock, certainly, but still paper.

She withdrew a small bundle and placed it on the counter.

Lucavion touched the top sheet.

His expression changed immediately.

Recognition.

”Ah.”

Maggie folded her arms.

”This?”

”Yes.”

”You could have begun with blank formation practice sheets.”

”I didn’t know they were called that.”

”They are sheets.”

”I knew that part.”

Her jaw tightened.

”And formations are drawn on them.”

”I also knew that.”

Maggie stared at him.

Lucavion returned the look with complete sincerity.

Somehow, that made her angrier.

She reached into the adjoining compartment and produced a simple writing quill along with a small sealed ink bottle.

”You’ll need these.”

Lucavion picked up the quill and rolled it once between his fingers.

”Right.”

”You recognize this one, I assume.”

”I had managed to identify quills before entering the Academy.”

”Wonderful. Progress.”

His mouth curved.

Maggie chose dignity.

She arranged the supplies beside Foundational Principles of Mana Circulation and prepared to finish the registration.

Then Lucavion spoke again.

”There was another thing.”

Her hand stopped.

Naturally.

Maggie slowly looked up.

”What thing?”

Lucavion’s eyes moved aside as he searched for the description.

This time, perhaps out of self-preservation, he avoided drawing shapes in the air.

”Dark surface. Glass, I think.”

Maggie’s irritation gave way to attention.

”You draw on it with your fingers.”

Her brows rose.

”With mana,” Lucavion continued. ”The line stays behind wherever you move. Silver, usually. You can clear parts of it afterward without removing the entire structure.”

Formation plate.

Maggie understood immediately.

She also understood why somebody who lacked the name might struggle to describe it without sounding mentally unwell.

”Wait.”

She turned toward one of the cabinets farther behind the circulation counter.

Several basic formation plates were stored there for classroom reservations and supervised library exercises. Maggie retrieved the nearest portable unit and returned with it balanced against one palm.

Dark glass sat inside a reinforced rectangular frame.

Lucavion’s eyes lit the moment he saw it.

”That.”

Maggie placed the plate upon the counter.

”A formation plate.”

He looked down at it.

”Formation plate.”

”Yes.”

He repeated the words once beneath his breath, as though attaching the proper label to an object already filed elsewhere inside his head.

Maggie watched.

That habit was becoming increasingly interesting.

The boy could recognize the equipment instantly.

The terminology arrived afterward.

Sometimes much afterward.

”Do you need one?” she asked.

Lucavion looked up.

”Apparently not.”

Maggie waited.

He remained serious.

Her eyes narrowed.

”What do you mean, apparently not?”

”My instructor told me to keep mana away from the formations while I’m alone.”

Maggie stared at him.

Lucavion tapped the paper with one finger.

”Paper. Ink. Fifteen circles. Labels.”

Then he gestured toward the formation plate.

”This comes later.”

Maggie’s fingers slowly tightened around the edge of the counter.

”Then why,” she asked, with admirable calm, ”did you make me retrieve one?”

Lucavion blinked.

”I wanted to know what it was called.”

Silence.

Maggie looked at him.

Then at the formation plate.

Then back at him.

He had made her leave the desk, open the equipment cabinet, retrieve an Academy formation plate, and carry it over here because—

He wanted the noun.

’Extraordinary.’

She had encountered difficult nobles.

Obsessive researchers.

Senior mages capable of turning the wording of a catalogue entry into a departmental dispute.

Lucavion had somehow developed his own category within fifteen minutes.

Maggie returned the plate beneath the counter with more care than she currently felt.

When she straightened, he was examining the quill.

Quietly.

Peacefully.

As though he had contributed nothing to her morning.

Her curiosity should have died there.

It did not.

That was irritating too.

There remained something peculiarly compelling about the contradiction sitting in front of her.

A freshman carrying an estoc rare enough to make trained martial students look twice.

A commoner admitted into the most prestigious Academy in the Empire despite possessing gaps in magical theory broad enough to require introductory texts.

A young man who recognized specialized magical equipment on sight while forgetting what anyone called it.

And, apparently, someone capable of irritating a librarian while making perfectly reasonable requests.

Maggie found herself studying him again.

His face, this time.

That was another habit.

One some of her former colleagues had found slightly disturbing.

Maggie preferred observational.

Years spent around nobles had inevitably ruined ordinary standards.

Beautiful faces were hardly rare within the Imperial Academy.

Great houses had money.

Money bought good food from childhood, physicians when sickness left marks, alchemical creams for the skin, skilled barbers, properly fitted clothes, posture instructors, and servants willing to spend unreasonable amounts of time making someone’s hair behave before a banquet.

Then there were the bloodlines themselves.

Noble families had spent generations marrying beauty to beauty whenever politics permitted it, and even when politics objected, wealth usually found ways to polish whatever nature had provided.

After enough years surrounded by that sort of thing, simple beauty became rather dull.

The smaller details became more interesting.

The balance of the face.

The shape of the eyes.

Whether someone’s expressions suited their features.

Whether elegance belonged to them naturally, or had been drilled into their posture until even breathing looked rehearsed.

Lucavion scored rather well.

His dark hair suited the sharper shape of his face, especially with the slightly careless way he kept it tied. A more polished arrangement probably would have weakened the effect. His features already carried enough definition without someone trying to make them look refined.

The eyes were better.

Maggie’s gaze lingered there.

They moved often.

Too much curiosity lived inside them for coldness, and amusement seemed to remain somewhere near the surface even when his mouth behaved itself.

His build suited him too.

Lean.

Well-proportioned.

The sort of body that looked ordinary beneath clothes until movement revealed where the strength actually sat.

Then there was the troublesome air.

Maggie tilted her head.

That one complicated matters.

Some faces improved when their owners smiled.

Some suffered.

Lucavion’s appeared to become considerably more memorable whenever he looked as though he was about to become somebody else’s problem.

’Eight point three.’

Lucavion looked up.

”What?”

Maggie straightened.

”Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Suspicious.

Hm.

That expression worked too.

She reached for his identification and completed the book registration before her private habit became a conversation.

The sheets required no separate entry, while the quill and ink belonged among the ordinary materials available to students.

She returned his identification.

”Anything else?”

Lucavion gathered the book, paper, quill, and ink together.

He considered the question.

Maggie’s stomach tightened.

Then he shook his head.

”That should cover my educational deficiencies for the morning.”

Relief arrived with embarrassing speed.

”Good.”

He arranged everything beneath one arm, taking enough care that Maggie’s opinion of him recovered slightly.

Then he looked at her.

”Thank you.”

The words came plainly.

No performance attached to them.

Maggie blinked once.

Some of the irritation eased.

”You’re welcome.”

Lucavion turned toward the reading galleries.

Maggie watched him go.

Three steps.

Four.

Then his eyes drifted briefly toward the cabinet she had returned the plate to.

”Formation plate,” he murmured beneath his breath.

Apparently fixing the name properly inside his head.

Maggie’s mouth twitched.

Perhaps eight point three had been fair.

Then the sheath of his estoc passed rather closer to a shelving trolley than Maggie considered acceptable.

Her eyes narrowed.

’Eight point one.’

Standards had to exist somewhere.