Chapter 117: Where the Library Ends, Papa Returns

Chapter 117: Where the Library Ends, Papa Returns [Lavinia’s POV] [Royal Library] "Ghosts of the gods..." I breathed, turning in a slow circle. "I can’t believe we had this big a library." I stood smack in the center of it—surrounded by towers of shelves that stretched toward the heavens like they were trying to climb out of the building. Books whispered secrets from every direction. Dust floated through shafts of golden morning light like little forgotten spells. It was a whole world of paper. And somehow, I had never noticed. Probably because I actively avoided it. "It’s because you never enter here," Osric said from behind me, arms crossed and his tone full of big-brother smugness. "Even when Lady Evelyn gave you reading assignments, you used to come running to me with a dramatic gasp and zero remorse instead of opening a book." I turned and squinted at him. "Are you trying to sound like my papa right now?" He blinked. Froze. Looked slightly horrified. "What? No!" I tilted my head. "So you’re... pretending to be my elder brother?" He recoiled like I’d slapped him with a math test. "Absolutely NOT." Wow. He said ’not’ like it came in capital letters and on fire. I smirked. "Touchy." He rubbed his forehead like I was the source of all his migraines. "Why are we even here, Lavinia?" I spun once more, arms outstretched. "I’m looking for anything—anything—that talks about Marshi. His origins. His kind. His powers. Preferably written in glitter ink, but I’ll settle for ancient draconic script if I must." Osric raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You think you’re going to find the history of a divine beast who hasn’t been seen since the First Emperor right here, between the cookbooks and a scroll titled ’The Philosophy of Potatoes’?" I lifted a finger, very dramatically. "We can at least try." He sighed. Looked at the towering bookshelves. Then he looked at me again. Then back at the bookshelves. Then back at me. "...Are you sure you didn’t drag me here to get revenge for our training duel? Because you’ve had that revenge glint in your eye since breakfast." I gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile—the kind that made Marshi hide under furniture. "You caught me," I chirped. Osric groaned and stepped forward like a man walking into battle. "I knew you were evil." "I prefer the term ’brilliantly mischievous,’" I said, already climbing a wooden ladder like I was born for the archives. "Brilliantly annoying," he muttered. "Still counts as brilliant." *** [Royal Library, Thirty minutes later] I was on a mission. Specifically, the kind of mission that involved crawling through the dustiest corners of the library and risking my life behind unstable book towers labeled "Magical Mishaps and Exploding Fruit: Vol. 2." I shoved aside a suspiciously sticky fairytale anthology titled "Doomed Princesses and Their Terrible Taste in Men" and reached for the thick book behind it. Only to pause. I held up the next one, utterly horrified. "The Ant and the Elephant: A Love Story Across Species and Size." My jaw dropped. "Who... who is messing with biology in here?!" I stuffed it back into the shelf like it had personally offended me. "This is why we have an enormous library," I muttered. "So weirdos can write forbidden romance for insects and get published by Imperial Palace?" Still, I pressed on, hoping to find something—anything—that described Marshi. Or rather... Rakshar. The Divine Guardian. The Tiger of Legends. A book. A scroll. A diary from the First Emperor. Even an acbook—accidental book, thank you very much, like the kind where someone doodled world-ending secrets in the margins between grocery lists. I even squinted suspiciously at the far wall, half-convinced a secret tunnel might open up like in those mystery novels. But no. No secret lever. No dramatic creaking. Just a cobweb waving at me mockingly. And then something changed. Not the books. Not the light. The air. It went cold. Still. Like the library had just remembered it used to house ghosts and decided to lean into the vibe again. I turned—very slowly—and blinked. There... lying flat between two tall shelves labeled "Obscure Mythology: Volume I – Cursed Underwear to Celestial Pickles" and "Theories on Time Travel and Temporal Soup" was... A man. Jet-black hair. Pale as old parchment. Robes all rumpled like laundry that had given up. Limbs flopped around like a badly placed mannequin. Eyelashes unfairly long for someone unconscious. I gasped so hard I almost inhaled a bookmark. "OSRIC!" I screeched like a banshee on fire. He came skidding around the corner like I’d fallen into a demonic portal. "What?! Are you—OH BY THE GODS, WHAT IS THAT?!" He stared at the figure. I clutched his arm like a melodramatic noblewoman fainting in a tragic play. "Do you think... he’s alive?" I whispered. "Or just aggressively haunting this shelf?" Osric narrowed his eyes like a seasoned ghost hunter. "Let’s find out." Before I could ask what he meant, he grabbed the biggest, crustiest book nearby—titled "Advanced Arithmetic and Enchanted Tax Codes: A Tragedy"—and hurled it like a missile. THWACK. "Urrrgh..." The figure groaned. Twitched. Sat up slowly, blinking like someone waking from a decade-long nap. His half-lidded eyes finally focused—and landed on us. And it was Caelum. "Oh..." he said hoarsely. "Princess, Lord Osric?" I blinked. Osric blinked. We both stared. He stared back. Then yawned. Like, he did this every Tuesday. I leaned in and hissed, "He’s dead." "He blinked." "He’s undead." "He yawned." "He’s mostly dead." "He said, ’Oh!’" I jabbed a finger toward the shelf behind him. "He was lying under ’Forbidden Histories and Possibly Possessed Cookbooks.’ That’s at least Level Two Haunting!" Caelum blinked again, totally deadpan. "I’m fine. Stop behaving like idiots." "Then why were you lying there like roadkill in a mythology aisle?!" Osric snapped, stepping forward and bonking him lightly on the head. "OW!" "Beat him again!" I said helpfully. "For dramatic effect!" Caelum—because yes, it was Caelum, my possibly-prophetic-future-betrayer—glared at us, rubbing his forehead. "I was meditating. Horizontally. With purpose." "Horizontal napping is not spiritual," I muttered. "And definitely not allowed under the Mythical Creatures Nonfiction section," Osric added. Caelum rolled his eyes. "You’re both exhausting." I crossed my arms, watching him suspiciously. This boy—this mysterious, night-haired enigma—was going to poison me in the future. Literally. I know. But back then—now—I didn’t hate him. Not yet. After Papa left for the war, Caelum and I had started... not bonding exactly. But orbiting. Sharing sword practice sessions. Arguing over who would hold a real sword first. Osric, of course, declared he’d duel Caelum one day and make him polish his boots for a week afterward. Somehow, without realizing it, we’d become close. Not trusting. But close. Still, every time he blinked a little too slowly or smirked a little too smoothly, I remembered: He would betray me. So my eyes? Still on him. Always. Caelum stood, dusted himself off with exaggerated flair, and asked, "So? What are you both even doing here?" "I’m looking for information on Rakshar," I said flatly. "Marshi awakened something... big. I want answers." I pointed to a shelf. "Well, since you’re awake—and clearly not meditating anymore—help us search." He nodded. "Yes, your highness." I pointed at the shelf, raising a brow. "Well, since you’re awake—and clearly not meditating anymore—help us search." Caelum gave me a lazy salute. "Yes, your royal highness of ancient mysteries and mildly threatening glares." And so the three of us—one ten-year-old princess, one exasperated thirteen-year-old knight-in-training, and one undead-looking sixteen-year-old enigma—scattered across the massive, dusty library. We were armed with curiosity, caffeine-flavored determination (well, not actual caffeine, just raw stubbornness), and a complete disregard for Dewey Decimal logic. It took us nearly the entire day. I mean it. Hours of dust inhalation, book avalanches, suspiciously enchanted paper cuts, and one brief incident where Osric was nearly strangled by an overenthusiastic map labeled "The Serpent Kingdoms: A Foldout Experience." By the end, we were half-dead and wholly defeated. With identical groans, we thudded down around the giant center table. "I’m definitely dead," Caelum wheezed, dramatically draping himself across a pile of "Potions, Poisons, and Pungent Recipes." "We’ve searched the entire library," Osric muttered, his forehead flat against a table. I didn’t say anything. Not out loud. But my heart sulked louder than all of us combined. I wanted to know. I needed to know.Why did Marshi awaken his powers so late?What exactly were those powers?Why did it feel like he and I were part of something... bigger? But no matter how hard I searched, the answer stayed buried. Like the truth had locked itself away somewhere only one person could reach— The First Emperor himself. And he’d been dead for, you know, a centuries. I sighed and slumped deeper into my seat. Then— "Oh!" Osric suddenly perked up like someone had hit his "idea" button. "What if the answers are in the Holy Temple?" I blinked. "Holy Temple?" He nodded quickly, sitting up. "Yeah! They keep ancient relics there. Sacred artifacts. Stuff from every imperial bloodline. Including the First Emperor. If anyone has clues about Rakshar—about Marshi—it might be the priests." My eyes widened. "That’s... actually not stupid." "Thanks," Osric said, dry. "That’s so uplifting." Before we could debate the logistics of storming a sacred place filled with possibly possessed scrolls and cryptic old monks— "Princess!" A voice echoed across the library. We turned as one. Theon. Glowing. Smiling. Standing at the arched doorway. I stood up immediately. "What is it?" He beamed. "His Majesty is back." My heart stopped. "What?" "His Majesty has returned," Theon said with a smile. "He’s just crossed the border—he’ll arrive at the palace soon." For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. And then— "REALLY?!" Theon laughed. "Really really." I sparkled. Actually sparkled. Like someone had poured sunlight through my bloodstream and lit me up like a chandelier. He’s back. Papa’s back. I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I just ran—hair flying, heart pounding, legs faster than they’d ever moved in sword training. Because no matter how many mysteries were buried...No matter what truths we hadn’t found... Somehow, the world had just tilted back into place. My Papa was home. And for now, that was everything.