The spell book Library, said to house countless magical tomes. When the students arrived there for the first time, they were struck silent.

The entrance to the library was unlike that of any other building. On the ground before the doors, countless shoes once worn by legend mages were fastened soles-up and displayed. All pointed toward the depths of the library, like hundreds of footprints showing the way forward.

Each shoe bore the marks of time—worn leather, broken heels, faded soles. Yet none of them looked discarded. Instead, they radiated a presence, as if each was trying to tell a story in place of its long-gone owner.

The students stepped onto the path in silence. Some glanced at the shoes and whispered. Others walked carefully, as if stepping lightly over someone's life. There was a quiet reverence in their gait, as though passing thoughtlessly would be an insult.

Then, the Fire Professor slowly began to speak. His voice was low and resolute, but carried a hidden warmth.

"The path you're walking is paved with the shoes of legendary mages. This installation is called 'The Path They Walked.'"

"As you can see, the soles of these shoes are not clean. They are crumpled, torn, and scratched. But those very marks tell the story of their journey—of hardship and trial, of success and failure, and of endless dreams."

The students could not tear their eyes away from the shoes.

The Fire Professor then gestured toward a nearby wall.

"And the portrait hanging beside us is..."

Before he could finish, a voice burst from the portrait.

"I'll handle my own introduction, Professor. If you explain everything, what’s the point of me hanging here?"

The voice was a mix of grumbling and mischief. The students jumped, startled. In the frame was a portrait of what appeared to be the owner of one of the old shoes—a mage whose painted eyes gleamed and moved like those of a living man. His mouth moved as he spoke.

"Whoa! The legendary mage is talking!"

someone exclaimed. The other students buzzed with surprise and excitement.

"Those shoes—I wore them all the way through my battle with the water spirit in the sea. Look close, and you'll still find traces of salt."

The students leaned down for a better look. Sure enough, the soles held dried seaweed, white salt crystals, and water stains spreading like mold. They weren’t just displays—these were battle-worn artifacts.

"As for how I fought that spirit, now that’s a tale worth—"

"My apologies, Mage."

The Fire Professor cut him off.

"We’re on a tight library schedule today. We’ll come back after class to hear the rest."

The mage in the portrait turned away with a pout, his sulky mood obvious even from the back. The students stifled their laughter and followed the professor inside.

The moment they entered, all of them took in a deep breath, as if inhaling the scent of light.

"Whoa!"

There was no ceiling—or perhaps there was, but it wasn’t ordinary. Above them stretched countless threads of light, extending toward the sky and orbiting in slow, circular patterns, like the inner workings of some colossal, living machine.

Magical tomes floated in formation above, soaring like roller coasters. Tiny wings sprouted from their spines, flapping gently as they zipped through the air like living creatures.

To my eyes, those threads of light formed an enormous magic circle, glowing and rotating in a perfect ring. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Then the Fire Professor raised his hand and called out,

"Book of Fire!"

His voice echoed through the vast space. The flying books aligned like a train and surged forward in a single line. From the air, one book broke from the ranks and flew down to him, its cover blazing red and radiating heat, as though it was proudly showing off.

The professor caught it gently.

"This tome holds the secrets of fire magic. If you wish to leave your own book here before graduation, what must you do?"

Elon blurted out,

"Defeat a spirit!"

"Incorrect."

The professor shook his head.

I raised my hand slowly.

"Rain, go ahead."

"We must... dream, with everything you have."

"Correct. Your tome begins with your dream. Before you write any spell, you must first ask what kind of mage you wish to become. What kind of world do you want to shape? Hold onto that vision as vividly as you can—and let it become your magic."

Something changed in the students' expressions.

Nervousness, wonder, fear, and hope—all these feelings mingled in their brightening eyes.

This place was no ordinary library.

This was a place where dreams became magic.

"Yes, Professor!"

Their voices rang out as one, echoing up into the threads of light above, as if the entire space had begun to dream with them.