The Essence Flow-Chapter 140: The Erased House

The Essence Flow-Chapter 140: The Erased House

The moment Professor Kaelin dismissed class, Towan shot upright like a coiled spring released, his spine cracking audibly after four hours of forced stillness. His arms stretched toward the vaulted ceiling with the dramatic flair of a man who'd survived a great ordeal.
"Hey, Towan." Elliot's voice cut through the classroom chatter as he carefully slotted his inkpot into its leather case. His meticulous packing ritual froze mid-motion when a particular doodle caught his eye. "...What's with the chicken dude?" His finger hovered over Towan's notebook, where a suspiciously poultry-like figure faced off against stick-figure warriors.
Towan gasped in mock offense, clutching the notebook to his chest. "What? It's the Corruptor fighting the Essentia warriors!" He flipped the page with the reverence of an art curator, jabbing at a particularly squiggly line. "See? This is Ardentis throwing a punch." The alleged punch more closely resembled a noodle having a seizure.
From behind Towan, Sylra's laugh rang out—a rare, unguarded sound that turned several heads. Her hand failed to hide the devilish grin spreading across her face. "How do you call that the Corruptor?" The question dripped with aristocratic amusement, her silver eyes glinting with mischief. "It looks like someone stepped on a ink-stained rooster."
"Tsk." Towan snapped his notebook shut with the dignity of a wronged artist, tucking it under his arm like a priceless manuscript. "You guys don't get real art." His nose lifted in the air as he strode toward the door, the very picture of misunderstood genius—though the effect was somewhat ruined when he tripped over his own bootlace.
The stone corridor echoed with their hurried footsteps as Elliot finally caught up, grabbing Towan's elbow near a towering stained-glass window that cast fractured light across their faces.
"Anyways," Elliot's voice dropped to a hushed intensity, his eyes scanning the passing students, "what I was saying..." He leaned closer, the scent of ink and parchment clinging to him from hours of note-taking. "Let's go to the library. There's something we gotta look for." A gleam of excitement flashed in his eyes. "I've heard it's one of the biggest in the kingdom."
Towan didn't need explanations. The unspoken understanding passed between them like a spark jumping gaps—
(It's time to look for the Elaren House. We need to know what happened to it...)
His jaw set with determination as memories of Verestra's words about their lineage resurfaced.
A single nod—more pact than acknowledgment—and the brothers pivoted in unison toward the vaulted library archway, their shadows stretching long behind them as if the weight of their quest already pulled at their heels.
The library's true scale struck them like a physical blow as they passed through its arched entrance. Towering bookshelves of aged oak stretched upward, vanishing into the shadowed vaults of the ceiling like the trunks of some ancient, knowledge-bearing forest. The air hung heavy with the scent of old parchment and leather bindings, underscored by the faint metallic tang of the sliding ladders that crisscrossed the walls.
Towan's neck craned backward, his mouth slightly agape as he took in the impossible expanse. "How are we supposed to find anything here?" His whisper still managed to echo slightly in the hallowed silence.
Elliot's fingers twitched at his sides, already itching to organize the chaos. "Uh...maybe let's look for house-related books." His eyes darted to a nearby catalog—a massive ledger glowing faintly with Essentia-powered indexing runes.
Their search became a quiet odyssey through the "House History" alcove, where centuries of noble lineages slept in leather-clad volumes. Dust motes danced in slanted sunlight as they pulled tome after weighty tome from the shelves—each releasing a small puff of history-scented air when opened.
After thirty minutes of careful selection, they collapsed into a study nook, their armloads of books thudding onto the worn oak table with the solemn finality of decisions made. The brothers exchanged a glance—equal parts determination and trepidation—before cracking open the first volume in unified silence, the weight of their ancestry pressing down upon the turning pages.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. the violation.
The musty pages whispered against their fingertips as they turned another leaf in history's dark ledger. Then—
"Hey...look at this." Elliot's finger froze mid-air, hovering over a heading that seemed to pulse with ominous significance:
Intent Essentia.
The words curled like smoke across the parchment, unfamiliar and heavy with secrets.
'This lineage has a natural feeling to sense Intent in essentia-related moves.'
Towan's breath hitched.
(That's practically everything...)
The realization settled like ice in his gut—to perceive the will behind every spell, every technique, was to see the soul of combat itself.
Elliot's nail scraped against the next line, where the ink darkened as if dipped in old blood:
'All of its members were killed by different houses—No known survivors—'
"Why were they killed?" Towan's voice came out rougher than intended, the words tasting of ash.
Elliot's thumb worried the page's edge, the parchment brittle with age and bad memories. "Hmm...Feeling the emotions behind someone's actions is..." His eyes met Towan's, twin pools of dawning understanding. "Truly dangerous for a noble. Any kind of trick would not work." The unspoken implication hung between them—
(Like detecting lies during political negotiations. Like foreseeing betrayals before they happen.)
A beat passed. "I'm sure that's why they were erased."
As they moved to turn the page, a final line caught the light—and their breath:
'The people who can use Intent Essentia have crimson-red eyes.'
The book slipped slightly in Elliot's grip. Their gazes snapped up simultaneously, reflections of each other's shock in widened eyes. Somewhere beyond the library's walls, a certain red-eyed girl sipped her tea, blissfully unaware of the storm of revelations her lineage had unleashed.
"No fucking way." Towan's voice ricocheted off the ancient bookshelves, loud enough to disturb a nesting book-spirit that fluttered away in irritation. The curse hung in the air as a memory surfaced—crimson eyes gleaming through forest shadows, the red-haired girl who'd danced around his attacks with infuriating precision months ago.
(Are they...related?)
His fingers curled into the parchment, threatening to tear the fragile page.
Just as he drew breath to voice his realization, the measured
click
of boots on marble froze the words in his throat.
"Language, please." The voice came from directly behind them, smooth as aged whiskey and just as intoxicating.
The brothers whirled to find the tall figure of Kaen looming over their table, his shadow stretching long across the historical texts. That familiar face—etched with the same knowing smile that had preceded their first life-altering artifact—sent twin jolts of recognition through them.
"You!" Towan shot to his feet, chair screeching against stone. His finger jabbed accusingly. "What are you doing here? After you gave us that damned book—" The floodgates opened as months of pent-up frustration spilled out. "All sorts of stuff happened to us! We almost got killed!"
Kaen merely inclined his head, the library's enchanted lights glinting off his spectacles. "Forgive me for that." His tone carried the weight of unshakable conviction. "The book wanted you both. I couldn't just ignore its call."
Elliot rose more slowly, his analytical gaze sharpening like a honed blade. "What are you doing here?" The question cut through Towan's outburst with surgical precision.
Kaen's lips curved as he straightened his cuffs with deliberate calm. "Let me present myself again." A beat. "I'm the head librarian...and Professor Kaen."
Towan's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before the realization struck like a thunderbolt.
(Holy shit—I just cussed out a teacher?!)
His previous bravado deflated faster than a punctured wineskin, leaving him standing there like a scolded child.
Kaen adjusted his spectacles, the lenses flashing opaque for a heartbeat as if clouded by some unseen force. "And I'm afraid you won't find what you're looking for here." His gaze—heavy with centuries of guarded knowledge—swept over their haphazard pile of books like a scholar surveying children's doodles.
"What do you mean?" Towan's voice dropped into uncharacteristic formality, the kind reserved for court appearances and angry grandmothers.
The librarian's robes whispered against the stone floor as he turned, his profile half-lost in the library's perpetual twilight. "The Elaren House has been erased from history." The words fell like sealing wax on a forbidden document. "There's no point in looking into it."
"Wait—how did you—" Towan's hand shot out, but between one blink and the next, the space where Kaen stood held only swirling dust motes. No footfalls echoed. No doors creaked. Just the faint scent of aged paper lingering as mocking evidence.
"He's playing with us," Towan muttered, fists clenched at his sides. "Just like before." But even he couldn't deny the chill that crawled down his spine at Kaen's last words.
Elliot's fingers dug into the table's edge, his usually sharp features slack with rare bewilderment. "What was that?" His whisper carried the weight of a dozen unspoken questions—about disappearing librarians, about red-eyed lineages, about histories that refused to stay buried.
Somewhere deep in the stacks, a book snapped shut of its own accord.
As if history itself had heard their questions—and wasn’t ready to answer.

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Chapter 140: The Erased House