The campus library was a larger replica of the principal's office. It had the same tall Corinthian columns with beautiful carvings and everything else. What made it different from the office though was the statue of a lady standing next to the steps of the library. Her milk-colored features were intricately carved, from the curls of her tied hair to the tiny creases of her long dress. A stack of books was sculpted beside her while she held one above her palm.

"Mnemosyne, goddess of memory," the golden plaque under the statue read.

Fitting. It was said that libraries were her sacred place.

I hope going here makes up for the overall boredom I've experienced for the last several days.

Honestly, I thought Olympian High was going to be different from the millions of schools I enrolled to in the past. But, to be fair, school's not supposed to be not boring. I should be used to that fact now.

As my life went on with endless classes, piled-up projects and assignments, and the unbelievably insane amount of studying I had to do, there wasn't a minute in my day that I didn't think about the madness I was thrown into. Especially with all the powers and the Chosens business and the 'protecting the world' talk I had with Principal Rhea the other day.

It was distracting, to say the least.

Speaking of powers, I kinda got a hang of my mind-reading ability for the last couple of days. It was surprising, considering that I've watched and read enough stuff to know that people like me almost always lose control of their powers the first time around. For me, I could control my power like turning a light bulb on and off.

The things I heard from other people's thoughts were very interesting. A good number of my classmates didn't know that their friends are actually not friends.

I knew that reading people's minds without permission was morally wrong, but hey, I wouldn't know how things worked without trying them out. I planned on stopping eventually.

Crunching footsteps sounded nearby as I heard the thought from someone's head. The voice had a shy tone to it, which was a bit familiar. . .

The footsteps stopped, and I turned around to see Pierre.

"Hey there." He waved.

"Hello."

"Your name's Amelia, right?" he asked, to which I nodded. "So, how was your first day here?"

"It was interesting," I replied. "And weird."

He laughed. "Really? That's good to know."

"So. . . you're, uh, going inside the library too?" I asked, pointing at the entrance.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't usually come here, but when I do, it's always because I've got trouble studying Math, particularly geometry."

I chuckled. "Well, I'm not much of a math person, but I'll try to help if I can."

"Thanks." Jogging to the steps, he motioned me to follow him. "Come on."

Sturdy bookshelves marched across the library in rows with others lining the walls, covering them completely. Large glass chandeliers hung above, illuminating the whole library with their bright light. Nearby, an old woman sat behind a long front desk made of mahogany scanning some books. Another lady, this time younger, passed by, pushing a cart full of books towards the History section.

Pierre had already picked a table when I was done taking in the sight. I gingerly walked to his direction, settling on a leather chair beside him.

He took out a bunch of books and notes from the bag he was carrying and placed them in front of him.

I stared at the thick books in concern. "That's. . . a lot. Are you gonna study all that?"

"Yeah, I have to." He sighed. "It's not like I've got a choice anyway. Our professor gave us lots of material to keep us busy, and the deadline's next week."

I winced. "Good luck with that."

"How about you?"

"Well, I. . ." I glanced at the shelves around us. "I'm going to find something to read. I have a bit of free time to read stuff not related to school."

"Okay."

I wandered around the other aisles in the library to look for something interesting. From geography to literature, I couldn't find anything that caught my attention.

I sighed in defeat. I slowly walked back to our table when I suddenly remembered the librarian pushing a cart of books towards the History section.

Hm. Maybe I'll find something good from there.

I quickly headed to the History section at the far end of the library. As soon as I saw the sign 'History' on some of the shelves, I immediately browsed through the titles to see which one I would like.

For some reason, a heavy leather-bound book on a top shelf caught my eye. It was a few inches thick and a lot of dust settled above it, suggesting that it hasn't been touched for a long time. In faded golden calligraphy, the title 'The Founding History of Kingston Preparatory Academy' was written in the center. The name 'Isaac Friedrich Kingston' was written at the bottom in bold letters.

"Kingston Prep? Isaac Friedrich Kingston?" I muttered. "Never heard of them, but maybe this book will do."

I sprinted back to the table where Pierre was sitting. When I got there, he looked up with a frustrated look on his face. I didn't have to read his mind to know what he felt about his assignment.

"So, did you find something good?" He loudly shut the book he was reading which made a few people turn and say "Shh!".

He pressed his lips into a thin line.

I set the book on the table in front of him. "Here."

"The Founding History of Kingston Preparatory Academy?" he said as looked at the book's title with eyebrows raised. "That sounds familiar. . ."

"How?"

He snapped his fingers, which was again returned with a lot of "Shh!". "I remember now! Kingston Prep was the old name of Olympian High!"

"Really? I didn't know that."

"You wouldn't," he said. "Not a lot of people know about it, plus the school's trying to keep it that way."

"Okay. . ." I said. "So how much do you know about Kingston Prep?"

He shook his head. "Not much. I just know that Olympian High was built under Kingston Prep when Olympian High's first principal bought the school from Kingston Prep's last headmaster. Other than some rumors that are probably not true, that's all I know."

"Let's check the book then," I decided.

I blew off the dust before cautiously opening the worn-out cover.

In the first few pages, the author, Isaac Kingston, talked about the founding of the school by a man named Demetrius Kingston, who was the author's sixth-great-grandfather and was famous back then, and how he found the school.

"Demetrius Ducronos Demosthenes Kingston was an illustrious man renowned for his many achievements and accomplishments. He was also known for his love for learning and spreading it to others, especially those who cannot afford to pay for basic education. His passion led him to establish an institution of learning where it focuses on teaching humanities, arts, history, and the likes to its students.. . ."

The next pages of the book pictured the layout of the campus with rough sketches. Some of the drawings were small and kinda cute, while others filled more than one page. They were drawn with very fine lines and curves and were colored with oil paint.

"These drawings are pretty neat," Pierre commented.

We skipped the pages which talked about the activities and events that took place in the school, the teachers and staff who worked for the school, patrons, and organizations who donated large sums of money for the school's expenses, and other miscellaneous stuff that were too boring to read.

Eventually, we reached the last page which was about Isaac and his ancestors who were mostly prominent educators and scientists. There was also a family tree with images or small descriptions of how they looked, except for Demetrius.

No picture or description of him? Weird.

Instead, there was a paragraph that talked about Demetrius's life.

"Little was recorded about my great grandsire's past life before he became famous for his works. There were hearsays that Demetrius came from a family of thaumaturgists who were said to allegedly practice dark arts. . ."

"Dark arts?" Pierre echoed, "Why would people think that Demetrius and his family were 'thaumaturgists'? Whatever that means."

"I think thaumaturgist is just another word for 'magician'," I told him. "You probably know that people in the Dark Ages were kinda. . . not smart and thought that scientists were a bunch of witches because of their discoveries."

"But if it's true what Isaac said about Demetrius being a good person who loved teaching people," Pierre said, "then why would they target him with that kind of rumor?"

I shrugged. "I guess they were people who wanted to take down Demetrius for being very successful and famous. Jealousy could do a lot to people."

"Agreed," he said. "Well, at least I now know that those rumors weren't true."

He resumed staring at the book he had earlier, trying to make sense of the figures and measurements scattered across the pages.

"Well. . . I'll put this back, then."

I was about to stand up from my seat when I noticed something on the book's spine.

The thing was covered in thick worn-out leather, just like the rest of the book, but when I stared at it long enough, I saw a long bulge on the center, barely noticeable. I ran my finger smoothly across the spine and I felt the long bump, which confirmed my suspicion.

"There's something in here." I tapped on the spine.

Pierre perked up, confused. "Huh?"

"I noticed a bulge in here." I put the book closer to him. "You can see it if you look hard enough."

He quickly glanced at the book. "So? Maybe it's because of the leather."

"Do you have a pocket knife or something?"

He got startled. "Are you crazy? You're going to damage library property and get in trouble!"

"There wasn't a library stamp on the first page," I said. "It's either the librarian forgot to put one, or this book wasn't supposed to be on the shelf in the first place. Either way, no one would know that I'll cut through a book with possible historic value."

"If someone sees us, I'll tell them it's your idea," he grumbled while handing me a pair of scissors that he took from his backpack.

Using the knife, I made a small incision on the center of the book's thick spine. The sharp knife smoothly made a clean tear, where a narrow opening revealed itself with something inside. I gave back the knife to Pierre with a smug look on my face.

Pierre looked genuinely surprised. "There's actually something in there? "

"Told you so."

I placed a finger inside the crevice and wriggled it around. As soon as an object made contact with the tip of my finger, I immediately pushed it upwards to the light. I picked it up and showed it to Pierre.

Pierre frowned. "That's it? But it's just a piece of paper."

Unlike him, I was hopeful. "Maybe there's something written on it."

I carefully opened the folded paper. Inside, a portrait of a person was drawn on it. He looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He had round hazel eyes and long, jet-black hair. His lips were pressed into a thin line, almost frowning, like he was tired of being painted.

"Looks like someone was grumpy for being hidden in a book for a long time," Pierre joked. "Who is he anyway?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Probably one of Isaac's relatives that he forgot to mention."

A phrase was written beneath the picture. It was in neat cursive and black ink:

Ufnqvt tjtuju jo fp, fu jmmj tpmj

"What in the world does that mean?" Pierre questioned.

I narrowed my eyes. "It looks like some kind of code. I wonder what it actually means."

"The more important question is who hid this picture here of all places."

"Maybe it's Isaac," I guessed. "He wrote the book, so he's the only one who can put the picture in the spine of his own work."

"But then why?" Pierre asked. "Why bother hiding it somewhere visible and invisible at the same time?"

I stared at the man in the drawing as I asked myself the same question.