Pungent and acrid, the scent of ancient texts and mildew-ridden scrolls assailed Aelin as he sorted through a vertible trove of knowledge. Tylmerande remained a peaceful corner of Corone in the wake of its civil war. Bereft of a proper milita or any true militant presence, Serenti remained a tentative bastion of peace due to the presence of a sect of Ai'Brone monks. Gently, the youth blew a layer of dust away from the face of a tome previously buried beneath a heap of parchment.

"This is it," he murmured affirmatively, "the book of Arcane Fire." The smile that raced across his lips was wide and hinted at madness, but Aelin's eyes flickered with an innocence that juxtaposed oddly against the rest of his features. "They said it wasn't in this library. Pah!" He laughed, more at the librarians who lost track of their lists than his own good fortune.

Eagerly, the boy flipped through to the first page. Runes in an archaic language jumped from the page at him as Aelin stretched his hands out above the text and let out a soft sigh. "I will read it," he whispered, "I must." His gaze strained across the paper in vain as words beyond his comprehension appeared to dance across the page. A cool sensation brushed over his fingers as the letters caressed his flesh and slowly grew to a comfortable warmth.

Of all the books amassed in their library, the Keepers of the Library in Serenti always spoke with great doubt that any of the ancient, mystic texts existed among them. The slow response from the pages told a different tale. Except... "I can't read any of this!" Aelin cursed in a hiss.

"Shhhh!" Aelin winced as the Librarian chastised him and made a silent gesture of apology. "This is a library, Valth," she reminded him. Aelin smiled sincerely up at Rosalynne, the young librarian who grew up just down the street from his father's house. Her gold and ginger hair fell neatly at her back where she had it tied, a coy smile from one delicate, rosy cheek to the other. "Don't you go making a fuss on my watch."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Aelin muttered dreamily as he turned his gaze back to the words. They lifted from the page now and coalesced around his fingertips, jeering his pointless attempt to understand. His brow furrowed in frustration, and sweat beaded at the tip of his nose.

"It's Draconic," Rosalynne whispered sweetly over his shoulder. Aelin practically jumped from his skin as her voice tickled his ear, heart pounding in his chest. When his wide eyes found her, the girl was laughing. "I thought you looked lost, so I came to see if I could help. Your mystery language- it's Draconic. The tongue of the Dragons."

Aelin stared blankly at her and his jaw fell agape. "Close your mouth, Aelin," she told him quietly, "and use those smarts of yours. I know you can find what you're looking for in that tome."

"You know what it is?" he asked, bewildered.

"No," she answered honestly, "I just know how to identify languages by written characters. Try as I may have, you were always the smart one, Valth." Her rich, red lips lingered close to his face for a long moment, and Aelin gulped back the urge to do... anything.

When Rosalynne pulled back, she smiled sweetly at him. "Now, what I do know is there's magic in those pages. Sure as I'm alive, I've never seen runes move like those do. You find the secrets hidden there, and you tell me what you learn. I want to hear all of it."

Though she was a Librarian, Aelin often wondered why Rosalynne never aspired to more. They spent their childhood days at the seaside, listening to tall tales by old fishermen, and reading the books left behind by their fathers. A gentle genius, she could have been anything. When Aelin proved too weak to follow his father as a fisherman, she took up residence in the Library, a place where Aelin spent all of his days.

But Aelin? Aelin wanted so much more than Tylmerande, or even Corone.