After collecting the silver coin from the Church of Light, the promised reward for his cooperation Grey returned quietly to his rented room. He prepared a simple lunch, one of boiled barley and dried meat, and ate in silence, letting the weight of recent events settle behind his eyes like storm clouds on the horizon.
Once done, he packed his worn satchel and stepped into the afternoon sun.
The University of Falling Star City's History Department was two kilometers away. It took him nearly half an hour to walk there, the cracked stone roads winding between ancient brick houses and the echo of distant bells ringing from the Church's lofty tower.
When he entered the library, the atmosphere felt heavy.
Not loud. Not overt. But there was tension in the air, thick and quiet, like something watching just out of sight. Students sat scattered between long tables and towering bookshelves, their faces pale, their voices silent. Even in this temple of knowledge, fear had nested among the books.
Grey ignored it.
He moved deeper into the labyrinthine library, past dusty tomes and unread manuscripts, until he reached the Histories of the Gods section, a series of shelves coated in a thin layer of age and disuse.
For the next five days, this became his sanctuary.
Each morning, he arrived early. Each evening, he left without a word. He read endlessly about the divine, their blessings, their chosen champions. His predecessor had touched upon these texts but never lingered on them. They weren't part of the academic curriculum.
But now, Grey understood: these were the keys to survival.
On the fifth evening, he closed the last book, its binding frayed and its last few pages half-faded. The knowledge he had gathered was incomplete, fragmented, and scattered like someone had deliberately ensured that no outsider could grasp the full picture.
Still, it was enough to form the bones of understanding.
Back in his room, Grey sat down heavily on the worn wooden chair and stared at the flickering candlelight.
"There's nothing more in the library. Five days of reading, and this is all I have."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly, then began sorting his thoughts.
In this world, people call those blessed by the gods Paladins. Their powers were genuine and terrifying.
Even a citizen, the lowest rank, could easily defeat multiple adult men. The next, Soldier, could crush small battalions. The rank above that, Knight, was spoken of as one-man armies. Beyond that, nothing was written.
"I suspect that woman from before the one who questioned me she was at least Soldier-rank. Maybe more."
To ascend from Citizen to soldier, one needed divine favor a gift from their god. A mark. A soft murmur. A sacrament.
But Grey… Grey walked a path abandoned by heaven.
"My god is dead. My path has collapsed. And the only other means of advancement ancient treasures, unholy relics are so far beyond my reach they might as well be myths."
He looked at his palm, where the invisible mark lay unseen by all but him.
"I'm like a passenger on a ship whose captain died mid-voyage. And now the vessel drifts into uncharted waters"
All that remained to him was meditation, absorbing the psychic energy that filled the world, the first step to reaching the Transition State. It was a dead end, but it was better than nothing.
He stood, blew out the candle, and sat on the bed cross-legged in darkness.
Darkness was his domain now. A Citizen of Darkness, as the books described. Each path resonated with an element: Light, flame, storm, and others. And for him, the absence of light doubled his gains.
He breathed slowly. Focused.
The texts had said: psychic energy is everywhere, but only those who advance can sense it. No ritual. No incantation. Just will.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.
And then he saw them.
Tiny particles, glowing faintly in the darkness. They drifted lazily, like dust caught in moonlight, silent, endless. Psychic energy.
A thrill of excitement coursed through him. This was real. Tangible. He reached out not with his hand, but with something else. Something internal.
And that's when he saw it.
A formless shape. Floating just beyond his perception. A shadow without light. A thing that should not be without eyes, without sound, yet somehow aware.
Even though his eyes were closed, he knew it was there.
It was watching him.