Adrian sat at the long glass dining table, his posture perfect, his hands resting on the polished surface. Across from him, Lucian and Selene Vale, his parents, scrutinized his latest research findings displayed on the screen before them.

  "Your projections for NeuroSyn’s phase-two trials are behind schedule," Lucian said, voice devoid of praise. His fingers tapped impatiently against his tablet. "The AI’s neural mapping efficiency should be at 98%. It’s stagnating at 92.8%."

  "The algorithm needs more real-world patient data. If I force optimization now, it risks false positives." Adrian’s eyes stayed emotionless, fixed on an invisible point in the air. He had heard this argument a thousand times.

  Selene exhaled sharply, setting down her glass of mineral water. "Excuses don’t drive progress, Adrian. If you want to lead this industry one day, you need to think beyond limitations."

  Adrian clenched his jaw. They weren’t wrong. But they weren’t right either.

  "I’m nine," he said, staring at them. "Most kids my age are learning basic algebra. I built an AI system that detects neurodegenerative diseases before symptoms show. Why isn’t that enough?"

  Lucian leaned forward, his presence heavy. "Because nothing is ever enough, Adrian. Not in this family."

  Silence.

  Selene studied him with an unreadable expression before speaking, her voice softer but no less demanding. "You are a Vale. Your work is not just about intelligence—it’s about responsibility. Innovation. Legacy. And right now, your focus is slipping."

  Adrian’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.

  "My focus isn’t slipping," he muttered. "I just don’t want to spend my life running experiments for corporate investors who don’t care about the science."

  His father’s eyes darkened. "That is not your decision to make."

  "Then what is?" Adrian snapped before he could stop himself.

  "What am I allowed to want?" Adrian continued, the weight of his own words sinking in. "Or is my entire life already planned out?"

  Lucian’s response was cold. "Your purpose is to take the Vale name forward. Not to chase distractions."

  Distractions.

  That’s what they called anything outside of their vision for him. Anything that didn’t fit the mould they had crafted since the day he was born.

  Adrian felt something tighten in his chest.

  They didn’t see him. Not as a person. Just as an extension of their empire.

  "You have a conference tomorrow," Selene said, moving on as if his questions had never mattered. "You will attend the panels, observe market trends, and refine NeuroSyn’s investor presentation. No more wasted time."

  Adrian didn’t respond.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He just stared at the polished glass table, watching his reflection.

  A genius. A prodigy. A tool.

  He was all of those things.

  But never their son.

  Finally, he pushed back his chair and turned toward the door.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Selene’s voice cut across the room.

  “I’m full.” He didn’t look back, only left the dining room.

  ?

  He was running. The footsteps pounding against the marble, breath sharp in his chest. His mind was burning, anger spilling past the walls he had held up for years. Tonight was the final drop, the one that shattered all endurance.

  He only wanted to escape—to tear himself from their eyes, their words, the cage they called duty. The corridors stretched on, portraits glaring down, doors passing in a blur, until his steps carried him to the old wing.

  A tall, heavy door loomed there, its dark wood veined with age, decorated with golden floral symbols that curled like vines frozen in bloom.

  The Vale Ancient Library.

  No one knew exactly how old it was, only that it had been passed down through generations, each heir guarding it as a private sanctum. Adrian had never been allowed inside. Lucian’s word on it had always been absolute: forbidden.

  Adrian breathed in, bracing as if he would need all his strength to move the massive door, but the moment his hand touched the handle, it yielded, swinging inward with a lightness that startled him, as if it had been waiting, opening itself the instant he stepped close.

  The moment he stepped inside, the library seemed to exhale, a slow breath that stirred the dust and made the air shift around him, and Adrian was certain he heard it.

  The ceiling curved high above like the inside of a cathedral, its arches lost in shadow, while shelves rose from floor to that distant height, packed with books whose spines were dulled by centuries. A long reading table stretched down the center, its surface scarred with age, the wood darkened by countless hands that had leaned upon it long ago. The design itself felt older than the house he had grown up in, older even than the portraits in the main hall—medieval lines, heavy, austere, built not for comfort but for permanence.

  Adrian stood at the threshold, breath caught, certain he had stepped into something meant for him and yet never meant to be found.

  Adrian wandered deeper into the rows, his steps small against the stone floor. The place was old—he could feel it in the curve of the arches above him, in the dark weight of the shelves—but it was not abandoned. There was hardly any dust, only the thinnest silver film along the corners, as though someone, or something, had cared for it in silence.

  The books stood in perfect order, their spines worn smooth, colors dulled but not forgotten, like soldiers who had waited centuries at their post. Even the air carried a strange sweetness, the dry perfume of paper and ink, mingled with something older, harder to name, as if the walls themselves remembered every word spoken here.

  His eyes tracing spines worn smooth by centuries, until something caught at the edge of his vision. A shimmer, no brighter than a thread of light, drifted down through the air. He lifted his head. Another speck followed, slow and weightless, like a star slipping loose and forgetting to fade.

  It looked like fairy dust.

  The glittering motes spiralled lazily, almost too delicate to see, then slipped between the shelves toward the farthest corner. Adrian’s breath caught. He told himself it was only dust, a trick of light, yet his feet were already moving, drawn after it.

  The farther he walked, the stronger the pull became, like a current carrying him forward. And then, in the hush of the library, a word brushed against him. He could not tell if it came from the walls, from the air, or from somewhere inside his own chest.

  Seek.

  His steps quickened. At the very end of the aisle, where the shelves leaned heavy with age, his hand brushed the wood—and a panel shifted beneath his touch. A drawer slid open with a low groan. Inside were several books and bundles of paper wrapped in leather, stacked unevenly as if placed there in haste. Unlike the cracked, brittle tomes on the outer shelves, these looked younger—still firm in the binding, their pages yellowed only at the edges.