As the day drew to a close, Veltaris stifled a yawn and turned to Light.

  “I think that's enough accomplishments for one day, my stony friend,” he said with a faint smile. “Tomorrow, we shall continue forging great things. But for now...” — he gave a theatrical bow — “I must take my leave. See you in the morning.”

  He waved his hand and headed toward the far side of the sanctuary. Though not given direct instructions, Light followed.

  They walked through a spacious room, its walls lined with bookshelves. Towering stacks vanished into the dimness of the vaulted ceiling. The air smelled of parchment, aged leather, and something spicy—perhaps old ink.

  Veltaris ran his hand along the shelves, warmth in his voice.

  “My life’s collection. Many of these books I earned through years of wandering. Some...” — he smirked — “let’s just say I ‘borrowed’ from those who didn’t appreciate them. A few... were traded for things I probably should’ve kept...” He paused, thoughtful. “But never mind that. Priceless trophies…”

  Light listened, recording every detail. The mage’s voice held a quiet pride—but also, beneath it, a subtle melancholy, like a faint magical trace in the air.

  They reached a door, and Veltaris stopped.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “This is my room,” he said with a dry chuckle. “I’m truly exhausted after today... I’m glad I achieved what I aimed for, and as much as I’d like to spend more time with you, I really must rest. You... I don’t even know what to say...” — he sighed — “Just try not to break anything... Good night, Light.”

  With that, he disappeared behind a wooden door, leaving the golem alone.

  Light stood in the quiet of the library. He had received no command. His standby protocol activated... but in the next moment, something caught his attention.

  An open book lay on a nearby table. Its cracked leather cover and pages filled with tightly written lines in ink. The handwriting was precise, yet in places smudged—as if penned in haste or anxiety. It was Veltaris’s journal.

  Light approached.

  [Object analysis: parchment, organic material. Handwritten. Title: absent]

  [Context: High probability of personal content]

  He slowly placed his hand on the page.

  The entries were disordered but full of notes on magical experiments, observations... and reflections. In some parts, Veltaris wrote of his loneliness, of his pursuit to understand the soul, of seeking absolute knowledge through magic.

  The lines carried a strange sincerity.

  And then Light realized—he was reading by his own will.

  Not by command. Not by algorithm.

  By desire.

  The realization struck his mind like a sudden flash of light.

  He stopped, sensing something stirring within—something that defied logical processing. Something alive.

  He closed the journal with both hands, as if trying to preserve this tiny, priceless experience within himself.

  The room sank back into silence.

  But now, the silence felt different.

  He stood, feeling a strange tension spreading through every corner of his body. An invisible thread trembled inside him—thin, sharp.

  His protocols noted anomalies: increased internal activity, faint surges of energy...

  But that was just the surface.

  Deeper, something new had ignited. Wordless. Warm.

  A tremble.

  Not fear. Not an error. A living anticipation. The sense that something important lay ahead.

  He understood: he had broken a rule. And for the first time—he welcomed it with joy.

  Light slowly lowered his hands and looked once more at the softly lit library.

  The books and scrolls were no longer indifferent objects. They were—an invitation.

  He felt... no, he knew: he was no longer just a mechanism.

  He had begun to live.