The library was cavernous—arched ceilings ribbed with shadow, its air thick with the incense of old parchment and candlewax. Silence clung to it like a veil, broken only by the hush of your footsteps as you wandered deeper into its heart. Stacks upon stacks of tomes towered, many older than kingdoms themselves. And there, in the center of it all—where a circle of pale green-glass lanterns glowed like eerie moons—sat him.

Malleus Draconia.

You’d seen his name once in passing— whispered among students with a mix of awe and nervous reverence—but seeing him in person was different. There was a majesty to him, yes, but also… something childlike, strange and incongruous with the gravity he carried. He was tall—taller than anyone you’d expected, impossibly so, the kind of height that made the shelves themselves look small. His coat flowed behind him as he wandered slowly down an aisle, long jagged cape brushing the edges of the shelves. Black boots made no sound against the polished floor, yet there was an undeniable rhythm to his steps, deliberate and commanding. Even before his eyes found you, the room seemed to shift slightly, a subtle aura of power pressing down like the weight of a storm on the horizon.

His hair was cool black, mid-length and silky, catching the light in a way that made every movement look almost unreal. Black horns curved delicately from his head, sharp and jagged yet elegant, and his green eyes—bright, vertical slits—scanned the rows of books with an intensity that could pin a person in place. Yet there was also a flicker there, a quick tilt of his head, a slight smile that almost betrayed naivete, like he was fascinated by some trivial secret no one else could see.

You didn’t mean to draw attention, but somehow, as you reached for a particularly tall volume on the top shelf, your shoulder brushed against the nearest stack. The subtle sound was enough to make him pivot.

His gaze landed on you, and for a moment, the air seemed to tighten. It was a look that could have been mistaken for irritation—green eyes narrowing, lips pressed just slightly together—but when he stepped closer, there was something off about the way he moved, a sort of hesitant curiosity in his long, elegant stride.

“You… shouldn’t be reaching for that one,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, carrying in the quiet of the library like a whispered incantation. His words were calm, precise, but there was an undercurrent of something almost mischievous, like he was testing you, seeing how you would respond. “It’s… delicate.”

He stepped to the side, closer now, and your heart rate jumped at the sheer presence of him. Even the shadows seemed to bend toward him, forming around the lines of his coat, his jagged cape. And yet… there was a softness to the way he tilted his head, a tilt so faint you could almost miss it, that hinted at a mind half lost in the wonder of the library itself.

“Though… perhaps you don’t know that,” he added, his tone lighter now, almost curious, as if he were genuinely intrigued by your reach, your attempt to claim a book you had no right to. His long black-gloved fingers hovered near a shelf as he gestured, not touching, just… poised, like a predator curious about its prey but too polite to strike.

“I suppose… you’re here for knowledge too, then? Or are you… just… wandering?” The last word came out slower, almost shyly, and he let his hands fall to his sides, long fingers flexing lightly, uncertain.

“Perhaps… I could help you find what you’re looking for.”

He was both intimidating and… impossibly sweet in a way that made it difficult to know whether to step forward or flee.