Air Awakens

The Tower was large and round, and by most standards this would be considered a sizeable library. But it was only the size of about two and a half wings of the Imperial Library. Nevertheless, it comforted her more than anything else had to date. A blonde-haired boy who looked no older than Vhalla worked placing some books back on the shelves; he glanced at her as she entered.

“Ah! Welcome!” he said with a grin, almost dropping the books in his hands to rush to meet her.

Vhalla didn’t know how social she felt, but she smiled politely and shook his hand. His robe was collarless, and his sleeves were longer than Larel’s, almost down to his elbows. He had wavy hair, silly in the way it was messily cut. That and his goofy grin seemed to ease the tensions in her shoulders.

“Hello,” she replied.

“You must be the recent Awoken.”

Vhalla nodded. If everyone had heard of her, no wonder the others she passed in the halls weren’t surprised by her condition.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions. If I can help you find anything, just let me know. Fritznangle is the name, but that’s a mouthful so most people call me Fritz. Don’t be shy, okay?” He grinned again. Realizing he was still shaking her hand, he stopped with a laugh.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fritz. I’m Vhalla.” She smiled; he was more energetic than the normal librarians she’d met before. “Are you the master of this library?”

“Master of the library? Oh, no. We don’t really have one. I guess the minister officiates over the library as the formal curator. Do we say curator for libraries? Anyways, I do look after it if that’s what you’re asking. No one else will, I don’t think.”

Vhalla couldn’t suppress a small giggle, it was the first time she laughed in a week, and it made her whole body feel lighter.

“I never knew there was a library in the Tower.” She assessed all the books.

“I guess you wouldn’t really. I mean, it’s private you see. Got some great stuff, originals. I’ve heard it would rival the Imperial Archives.” He said it like he was nothing. Vhalla was practically salivating.

“Hey, do you want to see? You’ll be a black robe soon, right?” He took her hand and led her further into the books. “You don’t have one on yet, but when you’re all healed up I’m sure they’ll initiate you and then this will be your home also.”

Vhalla stopped, and he turned as her arm refused to budge.

“I’m not a black robe.” She shook her head, looking at her feet. “I should go.”

“Wait,” he stopped her. “That’s, well—I mean. You’re here. And, well, do you want to see anyways?”

“If it’s all right?” she asked, turning back to face him. Even if it was a library for sorcerers, Vhalla would never refuse books.

“Yeah, come on.” He smiled again.

Once more taking her by the hand, he led her to a table that stood against a tall window in the back. Vhalla put her hands against the glass and looked outside, trying to figure out the library’s location in the palace. She knew the Tower of Sorcerers had its own entrance on the ground somewhere, but it merged with the palace as it ascended, making it difficult to discern its exact location as other housing and structures grew around it.

“So what are you?” he asked, picking some books off shelves. “A Firebearer? A Waterrunner? A Groundbreaker?”

“A Windwalker,” she said without turning. It was getting easier to say, and Vhalla didn’t think she was happy about that fact. But it also didn’t upset her as much as she expected.

“A—what?” He walked over to her. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you right. One more time please?”

“A Windwalker,” she repeated, glancing at him.

He put his hand against the window frame and took a long breath. “Are you sure? I know the awakening can scramble the brain a tad and, well, we don’t hear things right. You know how it is.” Fritz continued to stare at her in disbelief.

She looked at him, slightly annoyed he was ruining her moment of reuniting with books by being so daft. “My Affinity is air. I don’t know much, but everyone has told me that makes me a Windwalker.” She spoke very slowly and tried to accentuate each word.

“You’re serious,” he choked out. She nodded in frustration. “Oh by the Sun, you’re serious.” He snatched her hand again and shook it vigorously. “This is an honor. An honor! To meet you. I wondered why the minister was so tight-lipped about the newly woken. A Windwalker. A Windwalker here, in the capital, safe, in one piece. Not burnt up to little bits.”

“You’re hurting me.” Vhalla smiled through a grimace, rubbing her throbbing shoulder as he relinquished her hand apologetically. “What do you mean, not burnt up?”

“Well, given the history of Windwalkers...” Fritz trailed off, as if she understood what he was talking about. She didn’t, and he finally realized that fact. “Wait, you don’t know the history?”

“I’ve read some on the history of sorcerers,” Vhalla answered vaguely. He was giving her that same feeling that the prince had, guilt at ignoring a whole area of knowledge for years.

“Tell me what you know.” Fritz smiled and the resemblance to the prince was gone. “I’ll help fill in the rest.”