He'd searched every corner of the library using vampiric speed, enhanced smell, and razor-sharp observation—but not a single trace of the woman. Not a hair, not a shadow.
Don't get him wrong. It wasn't attraction. He just had one question.
Why did her scent feel familiar?
If she knew him—why disappear?
If she didn't—then why did it linger like a half-forgotten memory?
The questions branched endlessly in his mind, but the answers stayed maddeningly silent.
Dejected, he turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, his feet froze mid-step. Two steps back.
There it was—a thick red book floating slightly above its shelf, a glowing star sigil pulsing on its side.
"Is this book what I think it is, Nyx?" Vespar muttered, reaching out.
[You bet it is,] Nyx chirped like an excited kid with a plan to commit academic war crimes. [The best damn book ever written to learn magic.]
Vespar slumped onto one of the velvet chairs, flipping open the red book. Surprisingly, the language wasn't ancient gibberish or some cryptic spellwork—it was plain, almost annoyingly easy to read. "Magic is not an external force. It is your soul's voice, given form. Listen before you command," the first line said. He read for what felt like hours, absorbing everything about self-resonance, internal harmony, and emotional flow. No magic circles, no runes, no fancy light shows. Just understanding yourself. "Tch, what kind of fortune cookie nonsense is this," he grumbled, but deep down, he felt... something stirring.
Closing his eyes, he followed the book's instructions, trying to let his soul's "voice" bleed into the world. For a second, he felt a tiny tremor, a ripple of mana under his skin—then it snapped like a brittle string. His mind kept wandering. One second he was focused, the next he was thinking about that damn woman, or the sweet buns he saw on his way to Lilith's apothecary. The mana fluctuated, whiplashing between explosive bursts and dead silence. With a loud crack, the mana inside him rebelled, causing a few nearby books to fall off the shelves. Vespar sat back, scowling. "Great. Either I'm broken, or this book's a scam."
[Bravo, maestro. Truly, a symphony of disaster,] Nyx said, her voice dripping with fake admiration as more books hit the floor around him.
"Shut up. I almost had it," Vespar muttered, rubbing the back of his head like he'd just fought a dragon and lost.
[Almost had it? If almost counted, you'd be the king of magic by now,] she snorted. [Seriously, I felt bad for the mana. It tried to cooperate and then gave up halfway, like 'nah, not worth it.']
Vespar glared at the ceiling like it personally offended him. "You know, for someone stuck inside my soul, you sure have a lot of opinions for free."
[And you're lucky I do, or you'd have blown yourself into next week. Now, try again, O Great Catastrophe, maybe this time don't think about buns and mysterious women while molding your very delicate soul essence.]
He flipped her off mentally, earning nothing but a bright, sparkling giggle in return.
Just as he was about to try again, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"That's not how it's done. Keep forcing it like that, and you'll either cripple your body... or end up dead in hell. Literally. Eternity's a long time to scream."
He turned, casual, unhurried.
"Sweetheart, you really think I'm that easy to break—"
He stopped mid-sentence, catching the sight properly.
Same face. Same eyes. Same hair.
But sharper. Older. Heavy with something time couldn't steal — elegance.
He exhaled lightly through his nose, a lazy smile curving up.
"Lemme guess,Mother-in-law?"
He didn't sound confused, just amused, like he was already two steps ahead.
"I'll be honest. For a second, I thought you were my Lilith. Guess some things run in the blood deeper than just surname."
He offered his hand, loose and easy, like he was greeting an old friend instead of standing in front of a legend.
No bow. No stiff respect.
Just Vespar being Vespar.
Elizabeth's expression flickered — a flash of sadness and guilt crossing her face the moment Lilith's name left his lips. It was the same look Orpheus wore when he spoke about his daughter.
But just as quickly as it came, it vanished, buried under practiced calm.
Vespar caught it.
"Oh, another heartbroken parent who neglected their daughter. Probably thinks a little talk can fix years of silence. Dramatic shit, as always," he thought dryly, as he took her hand in an easy shake.
Elizabeth's hand lingered a second longer than necessary, her sharp eyes studying him like he was a puzzle only half solved.
A faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Rough, unpolished... but you burn bright."
Vespar folded his arms lazily, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Story of my life," he said, tone dry.
Elizabeth let out a soft, amused breath, almost a chuckle. "Let's see if that fire can be shaped."
Without another word, she closed her eyes and raised her hand — the air shifted immediately, heavy like a gathering storm.
Books rustled faintly, and even the distant dust motes seemed to hum.
"Mana isn't chained inside you, Vespar. It breathes. It exists around you, within you. You don't command it — you harmonize with it," she said, voice steady like an old song. "Try to wrestle it, and it'll drown you. Flow with it... and it'll carry you further than you can imagine."
Vespar huffed under his breath, tilting his head.
"Great. Be one with the mana. Hug the river. Don't punch it."
He closed his eyes, posture relaxed but focused.
Elizabeth's lips twitched in amusement but she said nothing.
For a second, Vespar caught something — a faint vibration at the edge of his awareness.
He reached for it — instinctively — and just as quickly, it slipped through his grasp like smoke.
Eyes snapping open, he gave her a flat look.
"Feels like trying to catch fog with bare hands. You sure you're not just making this up to mess with me?"
His voice was teasing, but his eyes had sharpened — intent, hungry, alive.
Elizabeth smiled wider, not mockingly but approvingly.
"You'll get it. Or the mana will get you. Either way... it's going to be entertaining."
Vespar didn't rush. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, chin slightly tilted like he was bored. His heartbeat slowed. His breathing softened.
And then… it happened.
A faint shiver ran along his skin, like invisible fingers brushing past.
The air around him thickened, alive, humming with a presence he hadn't noticed before — ancient, endless, waiting.
He didn't reach for it this time.
He welcomed it.
He existed with it.
A flicker of light shimmered around his hands — raw, chaotic, but real.
The mana sang, wild and untamed, but it sang for him.
Elizabeth's casual stance tightened almost imperceptibly. Her sharp eyes glinted with something close to awe.
It had taken mages decades to find this feeling — and Vespar had brushed against it in minutes.
He cracked one eye open, saw the small currents swirling faintly around his fingertips, and let a cocky, lazy grin stretch across his mouth.
"Told you, sweetheart. Story of my life."
Elizabeth exhaled slowly, amusement dripping from her voice.
"Monster..." she murmured, almost to herself.
Vespar just shrugged, the faint glow fading as he released his focus.
"Guess the river likes me after all," he said casually, like it hadn't been a small miracle.
He wasn't forcing the world to bend.
The world had always been waiting for him to wake up.
Vespar left the library after a brief talk with her.
As expected, just like Orpheus, Elizabeth asked about Lilith — but refused to elaborate why they had sealed her memories.
Later...
"Darlinnnggg, I micched you sho much!"
He shot straight toward Lilith, hugging her tight and sniffing her like a man starved of affection.
Lilith, lounging lazily in the garden with a sleek black kitten in her lap — its purple eyes almost glowing — let out a groan as he crushed her in his arms.
"You shameless husband of mine," she muttered, cheeks slightly pink, "at least look around before doing this in public—"
THUD.
Vespar fainted.