A week passes as Centum fails to awaken from his deep slumber. On a bed of soft bluegrass, Centum gradually absorbs the essence stored within the stone turtle’s shell. On the morning of the eight-day, his eyes open for the first time in a week. A meter to his right, Ayla is carelessly laying on the grass, clearly bored. Her attention shifts to Centum as she notices him waking up.

Her dull expression brightens as she excitedly sits upright. “How are you, do you feel better?” she asks, but Centum ignores her question. His gaze aimlessly observes the surrounding landscape as everything he repressed begins to bubble up to the surface of his mind. A flood of memories fills his thoughts as he recalls the final battle of the summoned heroes and his arrival on this strange planet.

Next to him, Ayla asks again, but her words fall on deaf ears. A small frown forms on her forehead as her bright expression fades. Frustrated, she positions herself closer to him and gently shakes his shoulder with her hand, trying to get his attention. Centum’s gaze focuses on her as she asks again, “Are you alright?” He tries to answer, but the words are stuck in his throat.

“Let him be Ayla. I can sense his internal essence is in turmoil. Give him time to stabilize himself; we don’t want to overwhelm our new sibling,” Turrix’s deep voice sounds out next to Ayla. Feeling dejected, she stands up. “When you’re ready, come and find me. I’ll be here by the spring,” she says as she turns around in a huff. Centum’s eyes follow her figure as she disappears into the water.

Gradually, he comes to his feet. He staggers briefly as he regains his balance. “So, it wasn’t a dream, huh?” he says to himself. His expression turns downcast as he recalls the final scene of Mia’s sacrifice, “The heroic tales I read in the library usually ended with the heroes triumphing over evil and returning home with their quest completed. Why is it so different this time?!”

A mixture of anger and regret fills his heart, “Is this what you wanted Mia? You saved everyone at the cost of your life. Why do I feel this trade wasn’t equal? There must have been another way.” From his pocket, he takes out the pearl and studies it. An inexplicable sadness grips his heart, “It’s my fault that you died. I gave you this pearl. I should’ve known better.”

His deep, blue eyes turn moist as tears threaten to fall. When his teacher, Novem, passed on, he didn’t feel sad, let alone cry. For Novem, death was just the next step of his journey, and by finishing his tome, he merely took the next step. In Centum’s nineteen years of life, the last time when he remembers crying was when his parent died, but that memory seems so distant to him.

One by one, his tears begin to fall. The path of a Librarian is solitary. Apart from his teacher, he never had anyone else. Mia was the first person he managed to connect with, and her death is enough to overwhelm his naïve heart. He falls to his knees as his mind retreats into a world of its own. Around him, the hours seem to pass in seconds, and as night falls, he collapses from exhaustion.

The next morning, he wakes up in a daze. He feels numb to the world around him. At the spring, he washes his tearstained face. For the rest of the day, he aimlessly wanders through the forest. At night, he carelessly lies down on the bluegrass as he stares up at the lightless sky.

The night passes, but Centum remains asleep, feeling little reason to wake up. As the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, the sound of children’s laughter fills his surroundings. Finally, he opens his eyes. His expression turns confused from the sight before him. “Are they the people who saved me?” he wonders.

The empty field, where he chose to sleep the night before, is now filled with over a dozen flying figures. Each figure is only a meter tall with a humanoid appearance apart from their lower half, which resembles a whirlwind. Their body is composed entirely of white tinted wind with some unknown force holding them together.

This bizarre scene captivates Centum’s attention as their infectious joy begin to influence his mood subtly. “Previously, they were transparent, but now I can easily see them; they can probably control their own transparency. They seem to be playing a game. I wonder what’s it called?” he ponders, successfully distracting himself from his previous thoughts.

Until nightfall, he observes them play. As the last one leaves and flies away, Centum’s mood seems much calmer. Without moving for the whole day, he lies down again on the soft, bluegrass. His eyes close as he falls asleep. For the first time in so many nights, he finally has some peaceful dreams.

Early in the morning, he steadily comes to his feet. His mind is still weighed down with thoughts of Mia, but their weight seems to have lessened, ever so slightly. His purple robe flutters in the wind as the nature around him seem to come alive. Inside a hidden pocket of his robe, he can feel the heroes’ leather-bound book, but he can’t bear to take it out.

His gaze turns towards the top of the turtle’s back as he decides, “It’s time to go back to the spring. That person, I believe her name was Ayla, seems to know what’s going on. I have some questions that need to be answered, and she’s my best option.”

With his white, metallic tome hanging on his side, he walks towards the spring, at the top of the stone turtle’s shell. Navigating the slightly inclined terrain, he arrives at the spring. From the water, a voice calls out, “At last, you’ve returned. I’m not someone that likes to wait, but I’ll overlook your slight this one time.” From the water, her figure congeals once again as she walks towards him.