The librarian is BayHyn — that's me

—— Custodian of those scattered memory archives that belong to characters and stories around the world

The Memory Library stores and indexes the “archive repositories” and character memories within the Revaea world.

I have a profound love for learning new things.

This affection isn’t something that ignites all at once, nor does it stem from a long-standing certainty of what I desire. More often, it is a gradual approach—a quiet, persistent beckoning. Facing the unknown actually brings a sliver of unease, yet it is precisely because of this that the sense of reality becomes exceptionally vivid when I finally grasp even a tiny fragment of understanding. For me, learning is not about mastering something in haste; it is about slowly establishing a clearer connection with this world through repeated encounters.

New things are always a bit foreign at first, appearing clumsy and requiring patient deconstruction, piece by piece. Concepts collide in the mind—sometimes tangling into a mess, sometimes freezing in stillness. Yet, every attempt quietly reshapes the way I perceive things. Mistakes do not make me shrink back; instead, they define the boundaries and allow me to stand firmly upon a point of true comprehension.

In this process, time seems to settle into silence. Attention stretches thin and long, thoughts precipitate, and ideas once blurred begin to reveal their contours. This change is subtle, yet profoundly reassuring, for I can feel myself moving forward, step by step.

I cherish those "Aha, I think I understand a little now" moments. They don’t make one leap with excitement; rather, they carry a quiet, enduring strength that makes me willing to continue walking toward those uncertain places. Learning new things, in this sense, is more like my gentle response to the unknown.

Looking further ahead, learning takes on a slightly different form.

It isn’t always a straight line forward; more often, it is like repeatedly polishing the same stone in the same spot. At first, one can hardly discern any change, and may even doubt if they have stalled entirely. But gradually, the sharp edges vanish, and the shape becomes clear. True understanding often occurs quietly during these moments of seemingly no progress.

Comprehension is never a one-time completion. Old ideas are overturned, new structures are rebuilt, and then they face skepticism once more. Every negation is not a failure, but a way to bring thought closer to reality. Within this constant cycle, knowledge ceases to be just something remembered; it slowly transforms into an ability that can be truly wielded.

Learning also allows me to see my own deficiencies. The deeper I go, the more clearly I realize how much I still do not know. This feeling can be unsettling at times, but I know it is precisely the starting point for moving further. Being able to calmly say, "I don't understand yet," is far more important than rushing to provide an answer.

When I stop focusing solely on the outcome and begin to care about the process, the rhythm naturally slows down. Thinking becomes patient; understanding becomes solid. Knowledge is no longer a mere accumulation of things, but slowly forms a perspective—allowing me to view problems, and the world itself, in a clearer and more temperate way.

It is through this kind of learning that the world reveals more of its subtle and authentic layers. The unknown is no longer just an obstacle, but has become an existence worth approaching, worth lingering for.

And so, I think, this must be a beautiful world.