Kai stood at the base of the library, staring up.
Ten floors. He'd known the number—Senn had told him, Milo had mentioned it—but knowing and seeing were different things. The building rose above him like a cliff face, each floor slightly smaller than the one below, until the top floor was barely visible against the grey sky. Stone and glass and old wood, built to last centuries.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Students flowed around him, some rushing up the wide stone steps, others emerging with armfuls of books and scrolls. No one looked up. No one marvelled. To them, it was just another building.
Kai climbed the steps.
The entrance hall was massive—larger than the Support Faculty lobby, larger than the dining hall, larger than any indoor space Kai had ever entered. Pillars rose to a vaulted ceiling painted with faded murals of cultivators and beasts and battles he didn't recognize. Lanterns hung on chains, their light warm and constant. The air smelled of old paper and ink and something else—something old, like dust and memory.
A circular desk dominated the center of the hall. Behind it sat three attendants, each wearing the gray robes of library staff. Students queued at each station, presenting badges, paying credits, and receiving access tokens.
Kai joined the shortest line and waited.
The woman at the desk had gray hair and sharp eyes that reminded him of Ms. Venn. She didn't look up when he reached the front.
"Badge."
Kai placed his badge on the counter. She pressed it to a recessed plate—the same pulse of recognition he'd felt at the materials counter.
"First floor is one credit per hour. Second floor, two credits. Third, fourth. You can't access floors above your tier." She glanced at his badge. "You're T1. First floor only."
Kai nodded. "One hour."
She stamped something—he couldn't see what—and slid his badge back. "First floor, east wing. Return before your hour ends, or you'll be charged another."
Kai took his badge and walked toward the east wing.
The first floor was larger than it looked from the outside.
Shelf after shelf stretched into the distance, each one crammed with books, scrolls, bound notes, loose papers. Tables filled the spaces between, most occupied by students hunched over texts, scribbling notes, muttering to themselves. The lanterns here were dimmer, creating pools of light surrounded by shadow.
Kai wandered, unsure where to start.
He passed sections labeled in neat script:
Tier 1 Cultivation Basics
Core Theory: Beginner
Resonance Fundamentals
Skill Integration for Novices
He paused at each one, scanning titles, but nothing grabbed him. Theory was theory—he'd had enough of that in lectures. He needed something practical. Something he could use.
Further on:
Aetherkin Classification: Common Species — Insect Type
Kai stopped.
This was relevant. He had bonded creatures now—a mosquito, a gnat. Understanding them better could only help. He scanned the shelf, pulling down a thin volume titled Flies and Mosquitoes of the Eastern Reaches.
The pages were filled with detailed illustrations. Flies, mosquitoes, gnats, midges—dozens of species he'd never heard of. Each entry had drawings of wings, legs, and mouthparts. Notes on habitat, behavior, and common skills.
He found the mosquito entry first. Bloodcurdle Mosquito — Tier 1. Skill: Hemostatic Drain. Nocturnal hunter, attracted to warmth and carbon dioxide. Proboscis can pierce most Tier 1 hides. He read it twice, memorizing details he hadn't known.
Then he found the gnat entry. *Signal Gnat — Tier 1. Skill: Ping Release (Spiritual Detection — Stage 1). Lives in small colonies. Emits constant low-frequency resonance pulses to map the surroundings. Exceptionally sensitive to air movement and living signatures.*
Kai stared at the page. Constant low-frequency resonance pulses. That was the ping-map. That was what he'd felt when the gnat was active—the world reduced to points and distances.
He read on. The gnat's core naturally resonates with detection-type inscriptions. Patterns designed for sensing, mapping, or warning will bond more easily with gnat-derived cores.
Kai's breath caught.
Patterns designed for sensing will bond more easily.
His first attempt had failed because he'd used a generic pattern—something he'd copied from Holt's board without understanding. But if he used a pattern specifically designed for detection... if he matched the inscription to the core's nature...
He closed the book and put it back, mind racing.
The next section was what he'd come for:
Basic Inscription Patterns
The shelf was smaller than the others—maybe twenty items. Thin booklets, rolled scrolls, a few proper books. He scanned the titles, looking for something that matched the diagrams Holt had drawn.
His eyes stopped on one:
24 Beginner Patterns for Core Blanks
He pulled it from the shelf. Thin. Worn. The cover was stained with something that might have been resin decades ago. The author's name meant nothing to him—some crafter from fifty years past, long forgotten.
He found an empty table and sat down.
The booklet was exactly what he needed.
Each of the twenty-four patterns was laid out clearly: a diagram, a list of materials, notes on technique, and common mistakes. The author hadn't bothered with theory—just patterns, pure and simple. Copy these lines. Make these shapes. This is what works.
Kai flipped through, absorbing what he could. Pattern 1: Basic Detection Circle. Pattern 2: Reinforced Containment. Pattern 3: Simple Signal Relay. On and on, each one building on the last.
But as he read, a question formed in his mind.
How do these patterns stay on the core?
He'd tried drawing with resin. It had rubbed off, smeared, failed. The booklet showed patterns but didn't explain the method. Maybe the author assumed readers already knew. Maybe everyone else already understood something Kai didn't.
He thought about the core's surface. Hard. Smooth. Unyielding. Resin on its own would never hold—it needed something to grip.
What if... what if the pattern isn't drawn? What if it's carved?
The idea came from nowhere. A groove cut into the core's surface would give the resin a channel to flow into. The resin would settle there, protected, guided by the carved path. The Aether would follow the groove, tracing the pattern exactly.
It made sense. More sense than drawing on a smooth surface and hoping.
He looked at the booklet again. No mention of carving. No mention of grooves. Just patterns, repeated by generations of crafters who probably learned the technique elsewhere.
Kai closed the book and sat back, thinking.
I need to practice carving. But not on cores—too expensive, too easy to ruin. On something else. Something cheaper.
Wood. Wood had grain, resistance, and texture. If he could carve clean lines in wood, he could learn the pressure, the angle, the motion. Then, when he was ready, he could try on a real core.
He copied three detection patterns into his notebook—carefully, precisely, noting every measurement. Then he returned the booklet to its shelf and walked out of the library with his head full of new ideas.
He found Milo in the workshop, staring at a ruined core blank with the expression of someone watching their hopes die.
"How was the library?" Milo asked without looking up.
Kai sat at his station. "Good. Found some detection patterns." He paused. "And I think I've been doing inscription wrong."
Milo glanced at him. "Wrong how?"
"Resin alone won't hold. It needs something to grip." Kai picked up his ruined core blank—the one from his first attempt, covered in failed lines. "Look at this. The resin just sat on top. Probably rubbed off the moment I tested it."
Milo frowned. "So what's the solution?"
Kai pulled out his notebook and showed Milo the patterns he'd copied. "Carving. Cut the pattern into the core first. Then fill the grooves with resin. The resin stays in the channels, guided by the carved path."
Milo stared at the diagrams. "Carve? Like... with a knife?"
"With the inscription tool. But harder. Deeper." Kai picked up his needle and held it like a carving implement. "We practice on wood first. Learn the pressure. Learn to make clean lines. Then we try cores."
Milo considered this. "That's... actually smart. Where'd you learn it?"
Kai shrugged. "Figured it out. The booklet just showed patterns—didn't explain the technique. So I had to think about why my first attempt failed."
Milo nodded slowly. "So we practice on wood?"
"We practice on wood."
They found scrap wood in a bin near the back of the workshop—leftover pieces from carpentry projects, too small to be useful, perfect for ruining.
Kai picked up a flat piece about the size of his palm. Smooth enough to work on, rough enough to provide resistance. He positioned his needle at one edge and pressed.
The wood resisted. Not like core—softer, more giving—but still resistant. He had to push, to concentrate, to keep the line straight.
His first line wobbled.
His second line was better.
His third line was almost straight.
Milo worked beside him, struggling with his own piece. His lines were worse—crooked, uneven, too deep in some places, too shallow in others. But he kept trying.
They practised until their hands cramped and the lanterns dimmed.
Kai looked at his wood. Dozens of lines covered its surface, most of them ugly, some of them almost acceptable. Not perfect. Not ready. But progress.
"We need more practice," he said.
Milo nodded, flexing his fingers. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
They walked back to the dorm together, shoulders aching, hands sore, minds buzzing with new ideas.
Milo spoke first. "If this works—carving, then resin—we could actually make those patterns for Ms. Venn. Three credits each."
Kai nodded. "Fifteen credits total. Enough for more materials. More lessons. More library time."
"Enough to actually build something." Milo's voice was quiet, almost wondering. "Your Pingband. My... something. I don't know what yet, but something."
Kai almost smiled. "Something."
They walked in silence after that, but it was a comfortable silence. The silence of people working toward the same goal.
Back in his room, Kai sat on his bed and stared at his practice wood. Lines covered its surface—ugly, crooked, imperfect. But underneath the ugliness, he could see the shape of something better.
He picked up his notebook and added a new page:
Inscription Method:
- Carve the pattern first. Grooves guide the resin.
- Practice on wood until lines are clean.
- Then attempt cores.
Next Steps:
1. More wood practice.
2. Try detection patterns on cheap cores.
3. Earn credits from Ms. Venn.
4. Build Pingband.
He closed the notebook and lay back.
For the first time, the path forward felt clear.