The hunt for my father’s picture resumed. We decided to consult the librarian again, hoping she could point us in the right direction. Just as we were about to leave the bookshelf we had been combing through, something caught my eye. It was a series of books, neatly lined up on the adjacent shelf, labeled “Academy Student Yearbook.”

“Lina, look,” I said, my voice crackling with excitement. I could barely keep the smile off my face. Together, we scanned the shelves, searching for the volume that would hold the year my father had started at the academy. Our fingers slid over the spines, lightly grazing the edges of each book, as if hoping that by some miracle, the right one would just jump out at us. But as we reached the last book in the series, our enthusiasm evaporated, replaced by a sinking feeling in our chests. The volume we were looking for, his year, was missing. Gone.

I considered various explanations, but none of them made any sense. Had someone taken it? I wondered silently. Why would anyone do that? It wasn’t like it was something of immense worth. But still, a quiet suspicion hung over me.

Reluctantly, we returned to the library counter, our shoulders slumped in disenchantment. The librarian, noticing our expressions, turned to us with concern. She must have sensed that things were amiss, that we were on the verge of an important find. We explained what had happened, and I could feel my stomach tighten as I spoke. The idea we had been so close to finding a piece of my father’s past, only to have it snatched away, was frustrating.

“That book is not available for lending,” the librarian clarified. “It’s for reference only. It might have been misplaced on another shelf, or someone might have taken it without permission.”

Her words hit me like a splash of ice water. The thought that someone might have taken it on purpose left me with a sour feeling that I couldn’t shake. What kind of person would steal a yearbook from a library? The idea felt petty, unnecessary, and yet it made sense in its own way. Someone didn’t want that book to be found. But why?

As I stood there, trying to make sense of everything, the librarian offered some hope. “I’ll check with the printing company,” she said. “They may have an extra copy.”

Her words lifted the disappointment in my chest, but it was quickly dampened by what came next. “However, the book was published twenty years ago,” she added, her voice becoming more indefinite. “It’s unclear if they have any remaining copies, but still, I’ll check with them.”

That crushed me. It felt like the universe was giving me just enough hope to keep me going, only to pull it away at the last second. Twenty years. Of course, there wouldn’t be any extra copies. That would be asking for too much.

I nodded at the librarian, trying to mask my exasperation. “Thanks anyway,” I said, offering her an appreciative smile. I turned to Lina. “I think I’ll stay here a little longer. I need some time to think things through. You can head back to the dorm if you want.”

Lina looked at me with worry, but didn’t argue. She knew I needed some space. “All right, I’ll see you later,” she said, giving me a quick hug before heading out of the library. As she disappeared from view, I felt the pressure of everything fall back on me. There was so much I didn’t know, so many things left unanswered.

I turned back toward the counter, my mind already shifting to another puzzle. The symbol on Professor Ambacht’s book. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did the symbol mean? Was it just a random design, or was it connected to a deeper significance? I had to know more.

I approached the librarian again. “Do you have any books on ancient symbols, ma’am?” I asked, my tone conveying that this was important. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, and she directed me to the location of the shelves that housed that particular collection.

My head bowed slightly as a way of thanking her. I was getting the feeling that I was getting closer to the mystery of the symbol that clung to my memory of the past. I ascended the spiraling staircase, each step carrying me higher into the expanse of the library. The third floor, the topmost level, was ahead, and as I reached it, I paused, surveying the vastness before me. The sheer scope of it took my breath away. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched infinitely, a maze of knowledge, with each section holding a different realm to explore.

But it wasn’t the books that captured my attention first. No, it was her. She sat alone, a solitary figure on a cushioned couch. A sophomore, by the looks of her. Her dark hair flowing, framing a face partially obscured by the thick pages of a book. She seemed so utterly absorbed, as though the world around her had dissolved into nothingness. But when our eyes met, a subtle change appeared in her gaze, a perceptive glint that made me feel suddenly aware, though I couldn’t quite explain why. There was a cryptic smile, a secret only she understood, and in that brief spell, I felt as if she was seeing a part of me, buried deep, a part I wasn’t even sure I truly comprehended within myself. It sent a jolt through me. It was a smile that felt like it had been waiting for me, like it was offering a puzzle only I could solve.

She didn’t speak, didn’t move, but her eyes stayed on me for just a moment too long. I could feel the pressure of her stare as I turned away, deciding not to engage. It felt wrong somehow to interrupt the unspoken tension that hung between us. I respected the silence that the space demanded and walked on, though the encounter stayed in the back of my mind.

Guided by the librarian’s instruction, I moved deeper into the aisles, winding through the shelves like someone on a mission. My fingers brushed over the spines of countless books, each one calling out to me in its own quiet way. Soon, I was at a secluded corner, a little recess where the Y and Z section stood in the northernmost part of the floor. The titles there were precisely what I needed. They were records of ancient symbols, each book a key to a mystery that had been waiting for me. The titles themselves were compelling, as if they too held secrets that had been hidden for centuries. With a sense of reverence, I reached for the nearest volume, its cover rough under my fingertips.

Hours passed. The library seemed to grow quieter, darker. I pored over the books, but the symbol I was after continued to evade me. The more I searched, the more I began to feel like I was chasing shadows. I tried not to let the discouragement cloud my thoughts, but it was hard to keep the displeasure at bay. Was I chasing an impossible lead?

In need of a break, I strolled among the rows of shelves. Then, out of nowhere, a peculiar sensation swept through my body. It wasn’t anything I could place exactly, but it was immediate and overwhelming, a warmth that started in my chest and spread through my limbs. I stopped in my tracks, trying to make sense of what I was feeling. The warmness wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar, almost unnerving.

I looked around, expecting to see someone or something that would explain the sensation, but there was no obvious source. The room was still. The air was cool, and yet, there it was, this strange embrace, as though the library itself was holding me, guiding me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was connected to something I wasn’t seeing. After a moment of fruitless contemplation, I decided to retreat to the dormitory, to distance myself from whatever it was that had gripped me. But as I turned, the warmth didn’t fade. It intensified. It was pulling me in.

Compelled by an invisible force, I retraced my steps, moving deeper into the library. With each stride, the heat grew stronger, and I walked without truly deciding to, as though some supernatural being was controlling me. It led me down narrow aisles and past remote corners, through a hidden space, one so isolated it seemed almost no one had been to this area before. Here, in this forgotten corner, surrounded by books, I found it. An old journal, its cover thick with dust, waited for me to find it. As I reached out and touched the worn leather, the sensation that had seized me finally dissipated, replaced by a sense of puzzlement.

I opened the journal carefully, almost reverently. There, written in familiar script, were my father’s words. The handwriting was inimitable. The discovery hit me like a sudden truth I hadn’t been prepared for. This wasn’t just any journal. It was a record of our legacy, the history of a lineage I hadn’t even known existed.

The pages were old, brittle with age. They told the story of the Swordmasters, an ancient order that had once wielded divine powers to protect our realms from the threat of an ancient evil known only as the Dark Kingdom. The tale recounted a war fought thousands of years ago, where these Swordmasters, drawing on elemental powers, had vanquished the dark forces and brought peace to the world. Yet, as I read, a sense of foreboding grew. There was more to this story. The journal didn’t just recount history. It predicted a resurgence of that darkness, a time when the Swordmasters would once again be called upon.

One particular entry caught my eye. It mentioned a sacred place on Aegis Island, imbued with the authority of the Elementals, supernatural beings connected to the natural forces of the world. The journal hinted at this place’s significance, but its location remained a mystery.
As I flipped to the last page, two words jumped out at me. Feuer Verlies. They meant nothing to me now, but they felt like a sign. These words, this place, seemed to hold the answers I had been searching for all along.

With the journal now in my hands, I realized just how momentous it was. The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place, and I could see the path leading to my father’s disappearance. But as I closed the journal and placed it under my arm, a new concern surfaced. How was I going to sneak this out of the library without drawing the librarian’s attention?