The library was one of the most tranquil sanctuaries Velrik had ever known. A grand chamber of stone and ancient timber, it was lined with towering bookshelves filled with tomes that ranged from the dust-laden relics of a forgotten century to newly bound manuscripts glistening with the allure of untraveled tales. Golden light streamed through high-arched windows, illuminating the flecks of dust that floated lazily through the air, creating a dreamlike ambiance. The scent of aged parchment and rich ink wafted around him, the aroma Velrik had come to cherish during countless afternoons spent within these hallowed confines.

  He sat at a long, sturdy wooden table near the heart of the room, a stack of books arrayed before him. His hood was pulled back, exposing his keen furred ears, which occasionally twitched in response to the creaking floorboards or the distant rustle of pages being turned. This had become his cherished routine over the past few months; while others engaged in their labors, he immersed himself in the world of written tales and historic events.

  Today’s selection was a careful mix of topics, deliberately chosen to sidestep anything too dry or incomprehensible. At the pinnacle of the pile lay "A Traveler’s Tales: Legends of the Continent," a compilation of local myths and folklore collected by merchants and explorers over the ages. Next to it rested "The Elements and Their Flow," a beginner’s guide to magic, elucidating the fundamental forces that governed their world. Tucked in the mix was "The Silver Dagger and the Ruby Crown," a well-worn tale of a rogue-turned-knight, plucked from the shelves on a whim.

  He leafed through the pages of the legend book first, scanning passages for nuggets of intrigue. One story spoke of a hidden city nestled beneath the mountains, another recounted a spirit that granted wishes in exchange for precious memories. A smirk crossed Velrik's face at the tale of a fox spirit outsmarting a band of bumbling knights, leading them to chase their own shadows. He traced his finger along the faded ink, as if to absorb the words into his very being. Some stories were absurd, but others held grains of truth that sparked a sense of wonder within him.

  Turning to the book on magic after a time, Velrik’s curiosity deepened. He had observed spellcasters and magic before; first upon his arrival at the lord's manor, and then again when Lucien removed the enchanted collar that bound him. Yet, he had never grasped the workings of such arcane arts. The book delineated the basic principles: magic shaped by will and a connection to something many people referred to as the Evertide, drawn from the world around him, from ancient entities, or even from deep within one’s self. It described various schools of thought on harnessing this energy, and how some individuals were simply born more attuned to it than others. Frowning, Velrik flipped through a few more pages. It all made sense, yet the mysteries still loomed large over his understanding.

  His ears perked as a shadow fell nearby. The librarian, a venerable man named Orlin, paused beside Velrik's table, peering down at the array of books.

  “You always find yourself interesting reads,” a moderately well-dressed middle aged man remarked, adjusting his spectacles with a knowing smile. Orlin, the head librarian, he knew of Velrik’s circumstances through Lucien. “Local legends, magic, and a splash of fiction—quite the eclectic assortment for a budding scholar.”

  Velrik glanced up. “I just choose what seems interesting to me,” he replied, an honest simplicity in his tone.

  Orlin let out a chuckle. “A fine habit." He tapped the top of the stack lightly. "You’ve been a frequent visitor. I take it you enjoy learning?”

  Velrik hesitated before nodding. He hadn't pondered it in those exact terms before, but the truth resonated within him. “There's much I don’t know. I thought I should change that.”

  “A wise mindset indeed,” Orlin affirmed with a nod. “Speaking of which, I could use an extra pair of hands. Some books need sorting, and since you seem to possess a knack for organization…”

  Velrik welcomed the invitation with a smile. The prospect of moving about was a welcome respite, and Orlin was usually kind enough to offer him a small token of appreciation for his assistance. With a push of his chair, he rose and followed the librarian to a nearby shelf where a small cart of books awaited his attention.

  As he worked—carefully sliding various tomes into their rightful places—he discovered a peculiar sense of fulfillment in the task. Here, amidst the whispering shelves and endless stories, the outside world felt distant and unimportant.

  Newcomers to the library often cast curious glances in his direction, their eyes lingering on his fur, ears, and bushy tail. Whispers accompanied him at times, though they were rarely malicious—more a blend of uncertainty and intrigue. However, those who frequented the library had become accustomed to his presence. The wealthier scholars, merchants, and clerics no longer offered him a second glance, and many even nodded in greeting as they passed. To them, he was just another fixture of the library, an endearing soul nestled among the hallowed tomes.

  As he approached the final few books to shelve, a man strode toward the cart. He appeared to be in his thirties, rugged and out of place amidst the surroundings of the library. His clothing bore the signs of wear but was far from tattered, and his sharp eyes glimmered with intelligence that stood in stark contrast to his rough exterior. Velrik’s instincts stirred—something about the man felt familiar and out of place, though he couldn't quite place why.

  The figure halted at Velrik's side, eyeing the assortment of books. “You’ve curated an interesting selection,” he said, the smoothness of his voice tinged with amusement.

  Velrik looked up cautiously. “I’m just shelving them,” he replied with an air of nonchalance.

  The man chuckled. “Is that so? Must mean you see quite a lot of what passes through here.” He plucked a book from the cart, examining its cover. “What’s your favorite so far?”

  Velrik faltered for a moment before offering, “It depends. I like the stories, especially the legends.”

  “Good choice.” The man nodded, extending a hand. “Name’s Gareth.”

  Velrik hesitated but ultimately shook it. “Velrik," he replied hesitantly.

  “Well, Velrik, keep reading. You learn much that way.” Gareth tapped the book he'd taken from the cart. “Mind if I borrow this one?”

  Velrik shook his head. “Go ahead.”

  Gareth flashed him a small, knowing smile before turning away, leaving Velrik pondering the lingering curiosity that accompanied the man’s departure.

  As days melted into weeks, the cold winter air began to seep into every corner of daily life. The library, once an oasis of solace, now bore the chill of the season, save for the grand fireplace at the center where folk gathered to read, basking in the warmth of the flickering flames. The aroma of burning wood intermingled with the ever-present scents of parchment and ink, enveloping the atmosphere in a strangely comforting embrace.

  One afternoon, Velrik found himself among the gathered crowd, nestled on a cushioned bench adjacent to the fire, a thick tome resting on his lap. The cover bore intricate designs, the title embossed in faded gold: "The Art of Shadows: A Study on Rogues, Trickery, and Underhanded Tactics."

  The text delved into the methods employed by thieves, spies, and assassins—how they moved like whispers, how they deceived their foes, how they turned perception into a weapon. Some passages made him pause, reflecting on how much of it resonated with his own experiences. He was no rogue, not truly, but he had spent years perfecting the art of silent movement, learning to observe others without drawing their attention. The book ignited a fascination he hadn’t anticipated when his eyes laid upon it.

  Lost in concentration, he wasn’t aware of someone approaching until a familiar voice broke the silence. “Interesting choice.”

  Velrik’s ears perked as he finally registered the figure standing nearby and glanced up. Gareth leaned against the bench, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a faint smirk adorning his lips.

  Velrik regarded him questioningly, wondering how he had approached so unnoticed, before returning his gaze to the book. “It’s useful,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Gareth chuckled softly, settling down on the opposite bench, stretching one leg comfortably. “That it is. Most people wouldn’t be caught reading something like that in public.”

  Velrik tapped his claw lightly on the book’s spine. “People read about war, strategy, and magic. This is no different.”

  Gareth’s smile widened slightly. “A fair point. Though I doubt most would think to draw comparisons between warfare and a pickpocket’s sleight of hand.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what’s piqued your interest in that one? Hoping to learn a few tricks?”

  Velrik paused before replying. “It explains things I already know but could never put into words.” He flipped a few pages, reading aloud, “‘The key to vanishing is not in speed, but in expectation. If the eye believes you should still be there, it will not think to look elsewhere.’” He glanced up. “It makes sense.”

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  “Indeed,” Gareth nodded. “That's the trick behind most illusions—not magic, but simple misdirection. Unless of course, actual magic is used.” He gestured toward the book. “You’ve got a good eye if you’re picking that up already. What else have you found in there?”

  Velrik hesitated again, then turned to another section. “Here,” he said, running a finger down a paragraph. “‘A skilled infiltrator studies not only how to enter unnoticed, but how to create doubt in what others perceive. A lock picked too cleanly invites suspicion. A door left slightly ajar makes them believe they forgot to close it themselves.’” He glanced up at Gareth. “I never thought about it that way before.”

  Gareth chuckled. “That’s a valuable lesson. Sometimes, the best disguise lies in instilling doubt in others' memories. A locked door suddenly found ajar? That signals a problem. But a door left just barely open? People assume they were simply careless.”

  Velrik tilted his head thoughtfully. “You sound as if you’ve employed that trick before.”

  Gareth shrugged, a playful smirk playing on his lips. “Perhaps I have. Perhaps I just understand the nuances.” He leaned back against the bench. “Books like that offer more than just skills—they provide insight into human thought. Once you grasp that, everything falls into place.”

  Velrik mulled over this. The text was crammed with techniques and tactics, yet what made it truly valuable was how it framed them—transforming tricks into fundamental principles. It wasn’t merely about picking locks but comprehending why people overlooked small inconsistencies.

  Gareth scrutinized him for a moment before speaking again. “Tell me, what’s the most important lesson you’ve unearthed in that book so far?”

  Velrik pondered for a moment. “‘Perception shapes reality.’”

  Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Good one.”

  Velrik nodded. “If someone believes a lie, it becomes their truth. If they assume I’m just a servant, they won’t question my presence. If they take me for harmless, they won’t see me as a threat.” He flicked his tail absently. “It’s not merely about hiding. It's about controlling what others perceive.”

  Gareth’s smile deepened, a glint of approval in his eyes. “You’re sharper than most.” He gestured to the book again. “And you’re right. The best thieves, spies, and manipulators—they don’t just vanish. They craft perceptions, leading others to see what they wish.”

  Velrik studied him closely. “You speak like the author.”

  Gareth laughed at this. “Not quite. But I’ve met him.”

  Velrik’s ears perked. “You have?”

  Gareth nodded. “A long time ago. A cunning man, and a careful one. Knew the subtleties of human nature better than anyone I had ever encountered.” He leaned back, thoughtful. “His philosophy was simple: People place greater trust in their own assumptions than in facts. If you can manipulate those assumptions, you can achieve just about anything.”

  Velrik absorbed this, contemplating the resonance of Gareth’s words. They harmonized perfectly with his readings, but hearing them articulated plainly conferred a newfound weight. It felt as though he weren't merely digesting theory but gazing into the mind of someone who had lived it.

  He glanced at the book, then back at Gareth. “What became of him?”

  Gareth’s smirk returned. “He vanished.”

  Velrik frowned slightly. “Vanished?”

  “Not in the way you might be imagining.” Gareth’s tone sparkled with light amusement. “He lived long enough to be crowned a legend, then he chose to disappear, leaving the world behind before it could encroach on him.”

  Velrik wasn’t wholly convinced of this tale but couldn’t dismiss the notion—it sounded precisely like something the book’s author would do.

  Gareth stood, stretching lightly. “Keep reading, Velrik. You’re on the right path.”

  Velrik watched him depart, the gears of his mind still whirling in response to their discussion.

  His gaze slid back to the book, fingertips dancing over the worn cover. What began as mere curiosity had morphed into something far deeper. He wasn’t simply absorbing tales of tricks and tactics; illusions were beginning to color his worldview.

  Then he remembered something odd. Even though the book rested precisely where it was meant to be on the shelf, he couldn’t recall ever seeing or organizing it before. Opening the book to the inside of the back cover, where a bookmark often indicated library ownership, he found none; instead, a small, folded piece of parchment lay nestled between the last page and the spine.

  Velrik delicately unfolded the small, creased parchment, his sharp eyes scanning the words penned in a neat, deliberate hand.

  It read, “Northwood Park. Dusk.”

  That was all. No name, no further explanation. Just a location and a time. Velrik flipped the note, but nothing else adorned its back. His tail flicked in contemplation as he pondered the implications. Northwood Park—he knew that place. Situated in the affluent district of the city, it was a well-maintained area where noble families strolled during twilight hours, laughter and conversation merging with the rustling of leaves. It wasn’t a realm he typically frequented.

  His first instinct was to suspect Gareth had orchestrated this. The book had appeared too conveniently, a mere coincidence matching Gareth's timely encouragement to read and continuously learn. And now, this note? It was too much to overlook.

  Velrik exhaled through his nose, rolling the parchment thoughtfully between his fingers before stowing it away in his pocket. He understood better than to ignore such a cue. If Gareth indeed orchestrated this, it was likely a test. If someone else spearheaded it… well, he would prefer to discern the truth on his own terms.

  He closed the book, smoothing a hand over its well-worn cover one last time before tucking it beneath his arm. Without a backward glance, he exited the library.

  The trek to Northwood Park took some time, yet Velrik moved with purpose. He kept his hood drawn low, concealing his furred ears beneath the fabric as he maneuvered through the bustling streets. The city transformed as he headed north—stone buildings became cleaner, the roads smoother, and the citizens better dressed. Here, merchants proclaimed prices that twisted his stomach. One gold coin for a single tunic? He could survive on that for weeks, if he stretched his resources correctly.

  He kept his head lowered, steps light. He didn’t feel entirely out of place—this was a public park, after all—but he certainly wasn’t the sort of individual most would expect to encounter in such refined surroundings.

  Upon reaching his destination, the sky wore brilliant shades of orange and purple, the sun’s final rays casting long shadows across the manicured grass and cobblestone paths. Lanterns flickered to life along the walkways, spilling a soft golden light over the benches and decorative fountains.

  Velrik moved with the stealth of a whisper, eyes scanning the park until they landed on Gareth almost immediately.

  The rogue lounged casually on a bench beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient elm tree, one leg crossed over the other, arms draped across the backrest as if he bore no care in the world. His demeanor was relaxed, expression inscrutable, as he observed the few remaining park-goers wandering by. He exuded the air of a nobleman unwinding after a long day rather than embodying the enigmatic persona he truly was within the grander tapestry of the city.

  Velrik slowed his steps, inhaling quietly as he steeled himself for their encounter. He wasn’t about to repeat past mistakes. Last time, Gareth had caught him off guard. This time, it would be Velrik who would have the upper hand.

  Moving off the path, he silently stepped onto the grass, keeping his weight balanced and steps light. The evening air was crisp, and the faint murmur of conversation from the distant streets cloaked the near-silent cadence of his movements. He advanced closer, slipping between trees, using the shifting lantern light to his advantage. A few more strides, and—

  “Don’t exert yourself, Velrik,” Gareth remarked without shifting his gaze.

  Velrik halted mid-step, ears flattening against his head in surprise.

  “You’re improving,” Gareth continued, finally glancing over with an amused smirk. “But you’re still perceiving things as a predator. That’s your flaw. The best thieves are not hunters. They’re ghosts.”

  Velrik straightened up, sighing as he stepped into full view.

  Gareth chuckled. “Come, take a seat.”

  Velrik hesitated for the briefest moment before settling beside him on the bench.

  A comfortable silence enveloped them, filled only with the rustling leaves and the distant sound of hooves clopping against the stones from the streets beyond. Gareth waited patiently, giving Velrik the space to speak first, but when it became clear the boy was holding out for answers, Gareth complied.

  “You passed,” he stated simply.

  Velrik frowned. “A test, then?”

  “Of course. I don’t waste my time on endeavors that wouldn’t yield results.” He tilted his head slightly, that familiar assessing gaze directed toward Velrik. “You found and read the book. You posed the right inquiries. And when faced against the unknown, you followed rather than running from it.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “That tells me you’re worth investing in.”

  Velrik regarded him carefully. “Investing in what, exactly?”

  Gareth leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “You possess talent, Velrik. A sharp mind. Keen instincts. You see the world through a different lens than most, and more notably, you crave more than your current existence.” He gestured toward the book. “That’s why you were intrigued by that text. That’s why you sought me out.”

  Velrik held his tongue, waiting for Gareth to continue.

  Gareth smirked. “I’m offering you a choice: continue scraping by, relying on your friends, living as a noble’s pet for the duration of your days, or…” He spread his hands wide. “You can delve deeper, learn swiftly, become a valuable asset, and perhaps one day attain what you desire most.”

  Velrik’s ears twitched in contemplation. He could tell Gareth did things that could easily get him arrested, or worse.

  “I’m not referring to swiping a few coins in the marketplace and facing reproach from a young fox,” Gareth elaborated. “I’m speaking of playing the long game. Of slipping through the cracks, of understanding precisely what others perceive when they look at you—and leveraging that against them. I speak of amassing real wealth. The kind that allows you to walk away when it serves your interests, returning home with a basket of good food to share with your friends. It’s not just wealth, we'd also be helping people, people like you and your friends. I don't plan on teaching you to take advantage of everyone.”

  Velrik’s fingers curled slightly against his knees, uncertainty weighing on him.

  This was the opportunity he had been yearning for, wasn’t it? A path forward. A chance to elevate himself. Weeks of searching for his place in the city had been met with closed doors at every corner. Each attempt at an honest livelihood had been thwarted.

  But this? This was an opening.

  “…What’s the catch?” Velrik asked finally.

  Gareth grinned, his expression unfaltering. “Smart query.” He leaned back casually. “No catch. Just expectations. If you agree, I will be your teacher. You must listen, learn, and ensure you don’t waste my time.” His eyes glinted with determination. “I’ll impart the trade, but you must prove yourself worthy of the effort.”

  Velrik exhaled slowly, the gears of his mind spinning. This wasn’t merely an opportunity—it was a calculated risk. But then again, what in his life hadn’t been risky? He sensed that Gareth wasn’t merely some back-alley thief; this man possessed the finesse of a master.

  He locked eyes with Gareth. “Alright.”

  Gareth’s smile expanded. “Good.” He stood, stretching lightly. “Meet me tomorrow night, same spot.”

  Velrik nodded, heart pounding in his chest. As he watched Gareth fade into the evening shadows, one certainty anchored in his mind.

  His life was on the verge of transformation once again.