As morning comes, Libarius strolls into the classroom early, not a single student before him, without Gracia at his side. He hadn’t meant to arrive so early, and finds himself at a loss without a spell to cast. He might be able to stave off his boredom with a proper book, and there are plenty that he would like to read once more now that he has even this meager freedom, but he cannot do that either. The books he would like to read all seem to be rare, perhaps generally or perhaps just in Polaris, he would not know, and he has not found a copy as of yet, his own still stuck inside of his subspace storage that he cannot access without a spell. He supposes that he could pass the time by workshopping a spell that he could use to gain access once more, but even with a decade and a dozen experienced and brilliant minds working in tandem, he has not reconfigured the spell for general use. He doesn’t believe that this spell is a taboo, yet for how limited its usage seems to be among people, Libarius wonders if it might as well be. He stamps his cane against the floor hard.

  Libarius starts to pace around, his mind racing as he tries to find a spell to capture his interest. He had never gone so long without constructing one, nor has he had so much trouble finding something to construct. He supposes that without the constant stream of great minds urging him on to pursue whatever spells they fancied in that moment, the process becomes quite a bit harder.

  As he paces, the sun beginning to shine through the large windows at the side of the room, the door opens once more. Gracia walks inside the classroom, not at all surprised to see him there, despite the early hour. She greets him cheerily.

  “Good morning, Libarius.” Libarius turns to face her, his back to the light, blotting it out.

  “Good morning.” Gracia begins to walk closer.

  “I could hear your cane from outside.”

  “My, how irritating, to have lost the power…” As he trails off, Gracia becomes surprised when she looks closer at Libarius.

  “Are you alright?” Though he always looks pale and weak, he looks even more so now. Even so, he seems entirely normal.

  “I am.”

  “You really don’t look that way.”

  “I had neglected to sleep, so perhaps that’s why?”

  “You haven’t slept yet?”

  “No, I try not to.” Gracia is even more worried now.

  “You’re trying not to?”

  “Indeed. Dreaming is irritating, so I would prefer not to.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Trying not to sleep feels overblown for something like that.”

  “No, truly it’s quite pragmatic, I assure you.” He can tell from her face that Gracia still doesn’t understand. “Dreams are false images conjured up by the unconscious mind. If you let them run rampant, they will assuredly impair your ability to conjure up the image of your own power. And I dream such wretched things anyway, carrying around those sorts of things would rot my mind away regardless.”

  “You really remember your dreams that well? I can barely remember mine.”

  “I suppose in that difference lies the cause of your confusion. Indeed, I remember them quite clearly, as though memories of my life, impossible as they may be. To my eyes they are practically the same as reality, thus a fake that disrupts the real. But in your case, where dreams are nothing but a fleeting vision, lacking in that same vivacity I see each night, I suppose it hardly has an effect.”

  “What do you dream about? If you don’t mind me asking.” Libarius shows a rare expression, though one Gracia has seen before. He seems so far away, an impenetrable loneliness about him, as though he were in a world of only himself. Yet even then his voice is unchanging.

  “As I said, they’re all wretched things. They bring nothing of worth. They need no discussion.” Gracia looks downcast, remembering something herself.

  “So you’re not sleeping so you don’t have to see those dreams?”

  “I suppose so. Though it’s pathetic for a mage of my caliber to be ruled by the images of my own mind, even if it is just the unconscious whims.”

  “It’s not pathetic. We’re only people, no different from anybody else. And in terms of being people, we’re hardly more than kids.”

  “That’s right. I had forgotten.”

  “But, well… not sleeping isn’t healthy, so…” Gracia wants to help him, but can’t quite find the words. “I think you still need to sleep, even just a little. In the end, when it comes to bad dreams, you’ll wake up and it will all go away. Even if you remember it, whatever it is that’s troubling you will disappear in the end.”

  “That’s not what makes those dreams wretched—” Libarius suddenly stops himself from talking, having realized he may have said too much. Gracia is no fool, so of course he can see that she’s already more or less pieced together what the means. If Libarius’s dreams are not wretched because of some terrible content within them, then there is only one other real possibility. “—As I said, those dreams deserve no discussion, and I shall speak on them no further.” To Gracia’s eyes Libarius seems more lonely than ever, an even higher wall put up to protect whatever secret he needs to hide.

  “Then… I’ll handle whatever lectures we’ll do today.”

  “Must we do one?”

  “We do. We need to help them understand.”

  “Why can we not simply give them one foundational text and have them read it? Not only would it be a much more efficient use of our times, but no paltry instruction from us could hope to match the brilliant work of the old masters.”

  “Maybe so, but I doubt they would be able to understand it on their own. Not everyone is a genius like you.”

  “Gracia, my dear partner, could you?”

  “I have. Master would often ask me to, especially when he was too busy with work for a fuller lesson.”

  “How wonderful. And what a vexing thing that is.”

  Gracia doesn’t understand, but before she can ask, the door to the classroom slides open and Victoria walks in, the first of the students to arrive.