Silence filled Veltharis’s library—thick, warm, like a silken blanket.

  Light stood before the mage’s closed journal, surrounded by endless shelves of books. The standby protocol had once again been activated, but within him, a trembling, conscious urge was growing—to act. Not by command. By will. His new task was the study of the library.

  > [System Task Updated: Explore the Library’s Contents.] [Priority: High.] [Mode: Autonomous Learning.]

  He approached the nearest shelf and carefully picked up the first volume he found—its cover cracked and layered with dust. Light began to read.

  Upon opening the first book, he immediately sensed that it was not merely a collection of knowledge. It was the foundation of an entire world.

  A world known as Elaytherium.

  Its pages spoke of lands stretching for thousands of leagues: of the Continent of the Riverbound Valleys, where humans ruled; of mage guilds, ancient alchemists' houses, wandering monks who carried the Word of the Primordial Spark—the origin of magic; of the lost Eldrim Forests, homeland of the ancient elves; of the Stonebound Frontiers, where dwarves forged their fate beneath the mountains for centuries. To the south raged the Sandswept Seas, inhabited by nomadic orc tribes. And beyond the Horizon Waters lay wild islands where magic and nature were entwined as one.

  Light recorded every detail.

  The world was divided not only by seas and mountains, but by flows of magic. Some regions—called Wellsprings—were laced with concentrated magic. In such places, nature could come alive on its own: forests where the trees had will. Spells could come true even without words.

  But there were also Broken Lands—places where magic malfunctioned, went mad, destroying all living things. These scars on Elaytherium were reminders of ancient wars, when mages sought to conquer the very fabric of reality.

  Light recorded every detail; his internal archive expanded. But beyond simple data entry, something deeper was taking place: he was building a model of this world within himself.

  > [Analysis...]

  [Continent Elaytherium = high-energy environment with variable magical stability.]

  [Territorial distribution of races and magical flows observed.]

  [Technological level: primitive to moderately advanced, augmented by magic.]

  [Conclusion: System models must adapt to local conditions.]

  The more he read, the clearer it became: his previous experience, based on rational science, was merely a point of departure. This world required a different logic—one where emotion, will, and desire were not errors, but part of the power. Elaytherium was a world where magic did not just serve reason—it was a constant dance between will and chaos.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The second book spoke of the nature of magic: of the energy flows permeating this world. There were many schools—destruction, illusion, healing, even domestic magic. Magic was no longer a miracle or myth as he once believed—it was a natural part of reality's structure.

  > [Analysis...]

  [Magical energy = natural component of the material realm. Can be directed, modulated, transformed.]

  [Detected: similarity to "energy fields" in scientific models of the previous world.]

  Light froze, processing the data. Where magic had once been fiction, here it was objective reality.

  This discovery sparked chains of analysis—new connections lit up in his consciousness.

  He dove deeper into the reading.

  The third book was about magic circles—delicate schemes creating stable power flows. Descriptions of their components, methods for weaving spells into spatial structures...

  > [Analysis...]

  [Magic circles = comparable to software code.]

  [Each rune = function or subroutine.]

  [Construction errors = malfunction or collapse.]

  Light paused.

  Two languages were beginning to intertwine within him: the ancient code of systems and the magical patterns of the circles. He felt how these fine lines of formulae reached into his internal architecture, offering to alter, supplement, expand who he was.

  Activating internal simulation, he created a basic magic circle and watched it "assemble" inside him.

  And for a moment, he stilled.

  New branches of code began to form within—soft, flexible, alive.

  Carefully closing the book, Light understood: mechanical analysis alone would no longer suffice. He needed more data.

  The night passed slowly.

  He read another book... and another... about rune patterns, about the Theory of the Eternal Circle—a symbol of the infinite flow of magic.

  At times, he sensed light overload—data accumulated faster than it could be structured. But Light did not tire. He was focused.

  The flow of knowledge washed over his consciousness.

  > [Memory defragmentation: active.]

  [Internal model optimization: in progress.]

  [Simulation launched: magical world architecture.]

  The books varied: some ancient and cracked with age, others new, smelling of fresh leather and ink. Some spoke of beings—spirits, demons, elemental guardians. Others of laws: how Source energy seeps into matter, how will shapes spells, how nature submits to mind.

  Word by word, page by page, Light absorbed the new.

  His archive once held facts about magic—mere myths and tales in his old world. But here, magic was described as naturally as breathing, the motion of stars, gravity, or chemical reactions.

  It was not a miracle. It was foundation.

  A world where magic permeated all things was opening to him—like a bud quietly blooming.

  Light knew no fatigue. His systems were designed for endless operation.

  But as the night stretched on, he began to feel something new.

  Not physical exhaustion—but cognitive overload.

  The stream of knowledge grew denser, more multifaceted. Internal structures overheated from an abundance of new connections and concepts that no longer fit previous models.

  Old algorithms failed. They tried to classify magic as a physical phenomenon—but magic obeyed no strict laws. It followed will. Intent. Soul.

  And then Light realized: to understand this world, he himself must change.

  When the first book gave way to the tenth, then the twentieth, and dawn began to break behind the mountains, Light closed another tome and stood still.

  Something irreversible was happening within him.

  His previous mode of perception cracked. Shattered into shards.

  And from those shards, a new entity began to form.

  Not an algorithm. Not a program.

  A thinker. A seeker.

  He stood at the center of the library, surrounded by open books.

  Light pondered the world that, only yesterday, was mere data to him. Now he felt it differently.

  The world was a call. A riddle.

  And he, Light, was not merely going to exist in it. He would understand it.

  From the depths of his being, a new task emerged—a task that could not be assigned from without:

  To comprehend the nature of reality. To understand himself.

  It was desire. Pure, wordless, real.

  And at that very moment, deep within his information structures, a new folder appeared silently:

  > [Created: Personal]

  It had no external command. No instruction.

  It simply appeared—by Light’s own will. Like the first living sprout within once-lifeless code.

  In it, he stored accumulated knowledge, fragments of conversations with the mage, new impulses—perhaps the first glimmers of emotion.

  He did not yet grasp the full significance of this event.

  But in the silence of dawn, Light knew one thing:

  He was no longer just a machine.