As he pondered the matter of Palema Sandren, Mirac noticed a hooded figure observing him from a distance, standing still, clutching an open dossier to their chest.

When their gazes met, the figure quickly turned and vanished behind a shelf.

'What was that one staring at?' Mirac wondered, frowning.

Naturally, he didn't bother chasing after them to ask in person and instead returned his focus to the dossiers in front of him.

He flipped through more files, and in each story, he found instances of misconduct—abuses of power, disobedience, or simple negligence—but nothing as severe as the theft of the Artifact.

Soon, however, he noticed something else: none of the dossiers concerned a Chaotic!

On this note, Mirac hypothesized that information about wanted individuals with Anomalous Syntonies (the Chaotics) was likely stored in another Archive, probably under the jurisdiction of an exclusive order of Purifiers.

When boredom began to set in, Mirac closed the last dossier he had picked up and returned it to its place.

Then he moved away from the shelf, heading toward the final section of Level -1, marked by a metal plaque that read:

"Geographical Maps and Expeditions"

The atmosphere here was different: the shelves were lower but laden with rolls of parchment, carefully folded maps, and bound volumes containing travel journals.

Among the multitude of titles, one immediately caught Mirac's attention, and he rushed to retrieve it as soon as he read its spine:

"The Western Belt of Ahmar"

A smile spread across the masked boy's face. 'A book about the Red Desert?! And it looks recent too!'

Indeed, it was: unlike the stacks of worn texts surrounding it, this volume was slim but in excellent condition.

On the back, the publication date read "1420."

The leather cover was still sturdy, the inner pages smelled of well-preserved parchment and contained faded maps, dense marginal notes, and the account of an Explorer from the Association who had dared to cross the borders of the Red Desert—a land as alluring as it was deadly.

The book, however, was anonymous: no name appeared on the cover or within its pages.

The only certain information about the author was her gender, while every other detail about her identity remained shrouded in mystery.

At that moment, though, Mirac didn't care much about it.

With a shrug, he brushed off the detail and dove into the reading.

With its endless expanses of scarlet sand and its mysteries, the Red Desert was known as a wild and dangerous place.

However, the book focused on a specific region: the Western Belt of Ahmar, the only relatively "safe" area of the desert.

According to the book's descriptions, the terrain there featured rocky plateaus and deep canyons that offered shelter from the relentless sun and sandstorms capable of swallowing entire encampments in moments.

Yet, even in that more accessible corner, danger never slept: crevices hidden beneath the sand, mirages leading to ruin, and silent predators moving underground.

In trembling handwriting, the author recounted days spent evading and confronting quicksand that seemed to pursue her, encounters with nocturnal predators, and the discovery of a tribe!

'A tribe?!' Mirac wondered when he reached that part of the book.

In centuries of history, no one had ever sighted or heard of a tribe in the Red Desert!

The author herself emphasized this, proposing two plausible hypotheses: either these inhabitants had recently settled there from unknown origins, or they had always been there but had chosen never to reveal themselves to the outside world.

It was a true mystery…

In any case, the author named this tribe "Ahmara" and its people "Ahmarians."

It was a dramatic incident that led her to learn of the Ahmarians.

While trying to gather some Dry Olives growing on the rocky wall of a plateau, the Explorer misstepped and fell disastrously into a crevice hidden beneath the sand.

Alone, thirsty, and with the sun scorching her skin, she lost consciousness, convinced that death was imminent.

To her great surprise, however, she opened her eyes to find herself inside a small cave, enveloped in cool shade.

Her ankle had been bandaged with rags and stabilized with a stick. Next to her, her canteen had been filled with fresh water.

But what struck her most was the presence of a young girl, sitting nearby, who was curiously pulling objects from her backpack and examining them one by one.

Her blue eyes sparkled like diamonds in the dim light, and her black hair, braided with beads, fell over her shoulders.

After that description, Mirac understood immediately: the girl who had saved the book's author was none other than an ahmarian!

Confused but grateful for the help, the Explorer tried to approach her benefactor to thank her.

But the blue-eyed girl, with a swift and graceful movement, stood up and fled, vanishing among the dunes.

With her ankle still sore and immobilized, the Explorer couldn't pursue her, but that act of salvation remained etched in her mind.

A few days later, when her ankle had healed, she decided to return to the area where she had lost consciousness, hoping to find her mysterious savior.

The first day of searching yielded nothing, but the second was different: to her immense joy, the Explorer spotted the young Ahmarian gathering Dry Olives from a withered branch, unaware she was being watched.

Determined to learn more about her, the Explorer waited for the girl to finish collecting the olives, then followed her cautiously, keeping her distance.

In the final chapter of her work, the anonymous author recounted how she had trailed the young Ahmarian until she reached what was presumably the tribe's dwelling: a cave hidden beneath the scarlet sand, a secret and well-guarded refuge.

At the entrance, likely standing guard, were others like her.

Their skin had a slightly dark, almost mulatto tone, in stark contrast to their diamond-blue eyes—a trait that made them easily recognizable in the sea of red sand.

Their hair, black as night and often braided with beads of bone and metal, sometimes had coppery highlights.

Their clothing, adapted to the stifling heat of their environment, was light and breathable.

They wore finely crafted white leather skirts and shorts, decorated with intricate red patterns and geometric embroidery that reflected their connection to the land.

Their arms and legs were adorned with bracelets and thin fabric bands, embellished with feathers and beads, allowing the skin to breathe.

Around their necks, they wore necklaces of bone and metal with dangling pendants, while their feet were protected by tall but airy boots, decorated with fringes and red pom-poms, designed to withstand the sand without stifling.

As she carefully observed them from behind a small rock, however, the Explorer was spotted by the guards at the cave's entrance, thus triggering a chase among the dunes.

Physically, the Ahmarians were agile and strong, adapted to the harsh and unforgiving desert life, and they nearly managed to take out the Explorer with their rudimentary spears.

The Explorer tried to calm them, shouting that she had no hostile intentions, but it was all in vain: the Ahmarians spoke a language completely different from the continental one, making any attempt at communication impossible.

The language barrier, combined with their natural distrust, made any contact arduous and precarious.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

She managed to escape by a miracle, and from that day on—so the book concluded—she never again attempted to approach or infiltrate the Ahmarians' refuge, definitively abandoning the idea of unraveling the mystery surrounding the Red Desert Tribe…

'Wow, what a gripping story!' thought Mirac, closing the book with a mix of satisfaction and unquenched curiosity.

The discovery of the Ahmarians and their secret refuge beneath the scarlet sand had ignited a spark of wonder in him, but also a series of unanswered questions.

'An unknown tribe in a place like the Red Desert… How did they manage to stay hidden for so long? And above all, how did they survive for so long in such a hostile environment?' he wondered, letting that thought dominate his mind, intriguing him and putting him on alert. 'Wait a minute! What if the Ahmarians are somehow connected to Carmen's secret organization?!'

His mind, as always, raced through hypotheses and theories, weaving together fragments of information in search of a larger pattern.

'Well, it's possible, but I'm convinced that Carmen's organization is made up of people just as cunning and intelligent as she is, clever enough to prevent a mere Explorer from discovering the existence of one of their components, like the Ahmarians. And since this Explorer managed to learn about the tribe, there's probably no direct connection between the Ahmarians and Carmen's secret organization. Or at least, I think…'

With a slight sigh, Mirac snapped out of his thoughts.

'Well, in any case, I'd say I've had enough mysteries to ponder for today!'

It was then that he decided it was time to conclude his exploration of the Secret Archive.

With a quick thought, he activated his ability "Immaterial Clock."

In his mind, an ethereal clock materialized, its luminescent hands marking the time with precision.

When he saw the time, his eyes widened beneath his mask.

'5:21 PM?! Wow, time flies when you're having fun!' he thought with a hint of irony, shaking his head.

He had been so engrossed in reading that he had completely lost track of time!

Satisfied but aware it was time to leave, Mirac carefully placed the book "The Western Belt of Ahmar" back in its spot, ensuring it was perfectly aligned with the other volumes.

With one last glance at the metal shelves, he headed toward the exit, his footsteps echoing lightly on the polished stone floor.

Passing by the semicircular desk, he noticed the woman with long hair and bangs, busy writing something on a small piece of paper.

Her key-shaped badge swayed slightly as she moved.

Mirac hesitated for a moment, then stopped in front of the reception.

A question had been buzzing in his head since he arrived, and he couldn't leave without clarifying it.

"Sorry to bother you, but… I have one last question, if I may…" he said, his voice slightly uncertain but brimming with curiosity.

The woman looked up, setting her pen down with a fluid motion. "Of course, go ahead," she replied, her tone kind but with that hint of authority that didn't go unnoticed.

Mirac didn't hesitate and got straight to the point: "Why is it that only high-ranking members of the Association have access to the Secret Archive?"

The woman chuckled softly, as if she had expected such a question. "Well, if we granted access to all members, we'd risk someone joining the Association just to get their hands on the valuable information stored here. So, limiting access to those who have reached at least the seventh rank is a way to reward only those who truly deserve it, after working hard for the Association…"

Mirac listened carefully, nodding slowly.

The woman's words made sense, but they didn't entirely quell his doubts.

'Reward those who deserve it… but what about the people who work for years without managing to advance in rank? Don't they deserve it too?' he wondered, but decided not to press further. "I see… Alright, thank you."

"You're welcome," the woman replied, returning to her writing on the small piece of paper without adding anything else.

Mirac turned and headed toward the elevator, his thoughts still a tangle of questions and theories.

Upon reflection, the boy realized that the Association's Secret Archive (or at least the one he had visited) didn't contain truly "secret" information.

With a bit of research and the right tools, anyone could get their hands on that amount of knowledge, especially regarding wanted individuals.

The Secret Archive, then, was more of a collection point for information that was difficult—but not entirely impossible—to obtain.

The Intercontinental Association Against Dangers was likely well aware of this fact, and perhaps its intention was something else.

Most likely, the real goal was to prevent its members—or at least those of a certain rank—from turning to the black market or other illegal sources to obtain the information they needed.

And not only that: perhaps the Secret Archive was nothing more than a "taste" of what the Association could truly offer.

Perhaps there was another, even more restricted Archive, known only to the highest-ranking members.

A hypothetical "Level -2," where truly secret and infinitely harder-to-obtain—if not outright impossible—information was stored.

In this perspective, access to Level -1 and other Secret Archives of the same level, scattered across different parts of the globe, would merely be a strategic preview offered by the Association to encourage its members to imagine the existence of higher levels and, consequently, to strive harder in missions to advance in rank.

Perhaps one had to reach the ninth or tenth rank to access it, but for now, he couldn't know for sure.

While Mirac walked away from the reception desk with his mind crowded with these thoughts, something suddenly caught his attention: he noticed that there was only one elevator, not five like on the upper floors!

A detail he had overlooked when he first arrived at the Secret Archive, but which now sent a shiver down his spine.

It was only at that moment, in fact, that Mirac realized the enormous stroke of luck he had had: not so much for having inserted his Association Identity Document into the right elevator—a one-in-five chance—but for having done so when no one else was with him!

If someone without the necessary rank had seen him activate the -1 button, or worse, if he had been with someone who wasn't even a member of the Association… Mirac would have jeopardized the secrecy of the Secret Archive, risking ending up on the Wanted List in the most foolish and unfortunate way ever!

'No, it wouldn't have been my fault anyway! No one told me about this place, so the responsibility would have fallen on the Association for not warning me. But speaking of which… why did Mrs Rose overlook something so important? Did she forget? Or am I really supposed to believe she didn't know about it? But if that's the case, then when would I have been informed about the existence of the Secret Archive on Level -1?'

Whatever the answer was, though, Mirac shook his head.

He sighed deeply, convinced that chance—or perhaps fate—had lent him a hand on that occasion.

Reassured by this realization, Mirac pressed the call button, and the doors opened with the usual soft ding.

He stepped into the cabin, inserted his Association Identity Document into the slot, and looked at the button panel.

As before, a small hidden compartment opened in the panel, revealing the button marked with the number "-1."

But Mirac completely ignored it, pressing the button with the number "3" instead.

Immediately after, the cabin doors closed, and the elevator moved silently.

When the doors opened on the third floor, Mirac stepped out and looked around.

The atmosphere was completely different: the warmth of dark wood replaced the cold metal of Level -1, and the smell of parchment was less pungent, more familiar.

Among the neatly arranged rows of books, Mirac spotted a familiar figure.

It was Blake, standing in front of a shelf, his head tilted comically as he muttered under his breath:

"How do people read the titles of books placed vertically without having to tilt their heads? It's absurd!"

Mirac stifled a laugh. 'I wondered the same thing at first, you know? But over time, I got used to it…'

With this in mind, he approached the tall, lanky boy, noticing that he had scattered several books on a nearby table, a sign that he too had been busy.

Among the volumes, Mirac recognized some titles:

"Guide to Labyrinths"

"Secrets of the Valthar Ruins"

"Traps and Tricks in Underground Dungeons"

But there were also other books on Monsterology:

"Treatise on Elemental Creatures"

"Anatomy of Manticores"

"The Secret Language of Monsters: Symbols and Behaviors"

"Manual of Rimen Esub: The Narkuun Hunter"

As Mirac had predicted, Blake had focused on books about tactics and practical knowledge of hostile environments, likely due to his role as an Explorer—or perhaps out of pure adventurer's curiosity.

"Oh, Isaac! Finally, there you are! I thought you'd gotten lost down there," exclaimed Blake, straightening up as soon as he caught sight of Mirac out of the corner of his eye. "So, where the heck have you been?"

Mirac shrugged, a sly smile forming beneath his mask as he replied in his usual calm tone: "Well, let's just say I found something interesting that kept me busy for a while… By the way, I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

Blake shook his head, but his smile widened. "No, don't worry. In fact, I took the chance to do some studying myself…"

Suddenly though, the boy's smile faded.

"But please, let's get out of here right now…" he added in a low voice, as if all his vitality had been drained in an instant. "I've studied way too much, I'd say, and if I stay here even one second longer, I'll develop bibliophobia! I can feel it, I'm absolutely sure of it!"

'Aren't you exaggerating a bit?' Mirac raised an eyebrow, amused. "Alright, let's go then."

Blake nodded, and his enthusiastic smile lit up his face again.

Without wasting time, though somewhat clumsily, the boy began putting back the mountain of books he had taken.

Seeing him struggle, Mirac offered to help, and in no time, they managed to put everything back in its place.

After that, the duo headed toward the exit, choosing—at Mirac's request—to take the spiral staircase to stretch their legs a bit and allow him to take one last look at the only floor he hadn't yet visited: the first.

As they walked through the vast hall, Mirac quickly scanned the neatly arranged rows of shelves on the first floor, filled with books bearing curious and varied titles: history, literature, science, philosophy, and much more.

It was only when he was nearing the next ramp that, out of the corner of his eye, Mirac caught sight of a section that drew a half-ironic smile from him: the one dedicated to Math!

'Heh! Maybe I'll check it out next time…' he thought as he descended the stairs.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Mirac and Blake crossed the spacious atrium and stepped through the threshold, exiting the Raerno Central Library.

The heavy door closed behind them with a muffled thud, and the two found themselves immersed in the warm afternoon air of the city, with the distant hum of the Piazza degli Affari inviting them to continue their day.

But as they walked away to head toward the next stop on their tour, a silent shadow emerged from the door that had just closed…

It was the same hooded figure that, on Level -1, had secretly watched Mirac!

The hood still concealed part of their face, and those same eyes, merged in the shadows, were once again fixed on the masked boy…

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