Prince of Gluttony: Born from Betrayal

Cain shifted uneasily, the red leather grimoire resting on his lap. His fingers drummed lightly against its cover as he tried to locate the source of the voice. Nothing moved in the aisles. The golden afternoon light, soft and warm, continued to stream through the arched windows, catching the dust motes and making them glow like tiny stars suspended in air.

"So," Cain said carefully, "you are a telepath. Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to keep guessing like some magical game of charades?"

The voice laughed softly, the sound like wind through old trees. "Names are important, but here, titles are more so. You may call me the Librarian. That is sufficient for your purposes. You may also call me Guardian, Keeper, or Watcher if that pleases your imagination."

Cain raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly does the Librarian do? Walk around scolding people? Stop students from trying to summon fire in a paper maze?"

The Librarian's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"You're joking right? Where are you right now?"

"...The Library...." Cain immediately realized where this was going and felt incredibly stupid for asing such a question.

"And who takes care of a library?"

"....A librarian.....haaaaaah. Sorry that was a dumb question."

"Good that you know."

The Librarian's tone was abrasive at best, condescending at worst.

Cain let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. The voice carried a smugness that made him feel like a schoolboy being scolded for forgetting his homework.

"So, you just sit in my head and… lecture people?" Cain asked.

"I sit nowhere. I am part of this place. My presence is the reason these shelves have survived fools, fire, moisture, and worse for hundreds of years." The Librarian's words were clipped, as though explaining something so basic was a personal inconvenience.

Cain rolled his eyes. "Right. And here I thought libraries survived because people respected them."

There was a pause before the voice came back, sharper this time. "Tell me, how did you even get accepted into this school? Asking questions like that, you sound like someone who tripped into the entrance exam by accident."

Cain's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Was there a charity enrollment I was unaware of? Did someone drop you off here and forget to pick you up?"

Cain clenched his fist around the grimoire, his patience wearing thin. "I earned my place. Same as everyone else."

"Then start acting like it," the Librarian said flatly. "You are in one of the most well-stocked magical archives you will ever step foot in, and the first thing you do is nearly speak a fire incantation surrounded by flammable material. That does not inspire confidence."

Cain scanned the aisle again, his irritation mounting. "You know, it is hard to take someone seriously when I cannot even see their face."

"That is because you are looking in the wrong place," the Librarian replied.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from the far end of the aisle. A shadow lengthened across the marble floor, and Cain finally realized the voice was not just some formless magical presence.

There was a real person here, moving toward him.

The steps were unhurried, each one measured as if she already knew Cain would not be going anywhere. The shadow stretched across the marble floor until she emerged from between the towering shelves.

She was tall, her movements carrying the kind of poise that made every step seem deliberate. Dark robes framed her figure, the fabric trimmed with faint silver stitching that caught the afternoon light. Her hair, a deep shade of chestnut, was pulled back into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder.

But it was her eyes that held him still. Ice blue, piercing, and far too aware. They were the kind of eyes that could pin a person to the spot without raising a hand. Behind a pair of slim silver-framed spectacles, they seemed to see straight through him.

Cain found himself sitting straighter without meaning to.

She carried a stack of books against her hip with one arm, the other resting casually at her side. Even at a glance, she looked less like someone who spent her days hiding behind a desk and more like someone who could dismantle him in a duel if he gave her a reason.

"You," she said aloud now, her voice matching the one that had been in his head, "look far too restless for someone in a library. I could hear your thoughts tripping over themselves before I even reached this aisle."

Cain blinked. "You can read—"

"I said hear, not read," she interrupted, shifting the books slightly without breaking eye contact. "Your thoughts are loud in the way an untrained caster's magic is loud. Rough, uncontrolled, and very easy to notice."

Cain bristled. "And you always insult the students here, or am I just special?"

Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a warning. "A bit of both. Most students do not begin their visit by almost reciting a fire incantation while surrounded by centuries of dry paper. That level of poor judgment earns my personal attention."

Cain's eyes narrowed. "I told you I was not going to cast it."

"And yet," she said, stepping closer and placing the books on a side table, "intent matters in magic. Especially here. The difference between thinking of casting and actually casting can be as thin as one syllable."

Cain held her gaze, refusing to look away from those ice blue eyes. "So, are you going to throw me out or lecture me until my ears fall off?"

She tilted her head ever so slightly. "Neither. I am going to make sure you do not do something this foolish again. If that means lecturing you until your ears fall off, then so be it."

Cain smirked faintly at her words, but before he could reply another voice brushed against his thoughts. It was deeper, calm, and carried a weight that made his spine straighten.

Cain. This woman is not just the keeper of books. She is powerful. More than you can measure. Tread carefully.

He blinked and his fingers froze on the grimoire.

The Librarian's ice blue eyes sharpened. Slowly, one brow arched in quiet curiosity. "How interesting. Two different voices in your head. Tell me, are you in the habit of carrying passengers in your mind, or is this a recent arrangement?"

Cain's mouth went dry. "What?"

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "You heard me. Your thoughts are yours, but there is something else moving alongside them. A presence. Male, if I am not mistaken. Is that… possession?"

Cain's heartbeat quickened. His grip on the grimoire tightened until his knuckles turned white.

Without meaning to, Gaius' existence had been exposed.