Chapter 1245: A Librarian’s Warmth

The Divine Throne’s halls were quiet. Dead soldiers and priests lay scattered along the passage, their blood coating the floor in dark, almost black puddles. The corpses bore grievous wounds from a spear, many killed so brutally and quickly that their frozen expressions hadn’t even registered fear.

"Looks like Grace already came through," Verity said softly. She poked at a nearby corpse, which simply collapsed into ash. "Damn, she really held nothing back."

I nodded, biting my lip. I only hoped she’d been a little kinder to whoever was inside the library, if he was even still alive. I bit my lip a little harder at the thought.

"I can’t sense anything," Verity said, looking up at the great doors of the library.

The library’s entrance had giant arched doors that, as far as I knew, had never been closed. Every time I’d come here during the half year I’d lived at the Divine Throne, they’d been thrown open, welcoming all to receive the knowledge the divine had bestowed upon Enusia. But now, they were shut tight, woven with enchantments that even the Oracle of Eternity had trouble penetrating. They were strong enough that even if there were a battle going on inside, I doubted I’d be able to tell.

"None of the others have arrived," I murmured, looking around the passage once more. I couldn’t sense anyone else’s aura. Korra, Gayron, and Fable were probably recovering in the courtyard, and as for Luke and R’lissea... I shook my head. I’d done all I could for them.

"But Grace and Nithalee are inside," Verity said. "Do you think it’s a trap?"

"Probably," I admitted. "This is the only entrance to the archives and the World Shard. It would be foolish of them to leave it undefended."

"Well, not totally undefended," Verity muttered, glancing at the fallen soldiers again. "Here, stand back."

I did so, resummoning my staff, one hand falling to the flickering lantern. Verity raised her sword, channeling her mana into the blade. She struck at the center of the doors, and her sword passed cleanly through the seam, slicing through the heavy, reinforced iron bindings and whatever lock held them fast.

The doors swung open, and we entered, tense and ready.

There was more dust than mana swirling in the air. The smell hit me, and tears immediately welled up in the corners of my eyes. I took a step, then another, drawn onward by the familiar scent. This was the smell I knew and loved, the smell of old books and musty manuscripts, of magic. And of Thron.

The welcoming lobby of the library was as beautiful as I remembered, with ornate trim and grand columns that bore the weight of the world above us. Paintings hung on every wall, and marble statues of famous scholars stood here and there, each dedicated to one aspect of learning or another. Overhead, the ceiling soared, and even from the entrance, I could see the grand dome where the levels ascended toward the heights of the Divine Throne. Millions of books and tomes, containing countless magical spells, just waiting to be discovered.

My ears pricked at the sound of voices. Calm and collected, accompanied by a chuckle I recognized as Nithalee’s.

"That can’t be right," Verity muttered.

My heart fluttered in my chest. Anxiety made it difficult to breathe. I pushed past her, running through the empty lobby, my footsteps echoing hollowly.

I burst into the main common area, with the desks and counters I knew so well. Nithalee and Lysander were relaxing in a small booth on the edge of the lobby, between two large white pillars, cups of wine in their hands.

Lysander looked exactly as the old, curious mage of my memories. He was dressed in dark gray robes, with simple black trim around the hems. He had a bald spot across the top of his head, with thin gray hair trailing down to his shoulders from the sides. His hands and face were worn and wrinkled, looking like crinkled wax paper, but his eyes were a startling, vibrant blue, sparkling with amusement.

"And that was when I learned that flight was really just an application of wind magic, like this, with a few runes from Fate..." Nithalee trailed off, glancing up and meeting my gaze.

Whatever my expression was, it caused her to smile, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Come here, child. I was just speaking with an old friend," she said, gesturing me over.

"What’s this?" Lysander asked, turning. His cheeks crinkled as he smiled. "Ah, child! We were just discussing you and the remarkable progress you’ve brought to magic. Truly incredible what you’ve done with just a few years in this world. I remember when you were just a small little girl with frightened eyes, figuring out how to cast her first spell."

He stood as I walked over and ruffled my hair. I ducked my head, blushing, my tail swishing back and forth with confusion.

"Lysander, sir?" I asked, peeking up at him.

"Ah, yes, forgive me. I forget you demonkin don’t like that. A little too intimate, I suppose," he said, chuckling as he patted my head once more.

"N-no, it’s all right," I mumbled, wringing my hands. "It’s just... you’re not fighting."

"I suppose we’re not." Lysander laughed, sitting back down and taking a sip of wine. "Probably because I surrendered."

"You did?" I asked, my eyes widening.

"Of course, it’s only natural. I took one look at this fair maiden over here and knew I wouldn’t be able to beat her. She’s come a long way since her tenure at the Divine Throne, I’ll tell you that much," he said with a chuckle.

"Maiden! Why, you old sweet-talker," Nithalee said with a sniff.

"But you could have... fought," Verity said, staring at him in disbelief. "We are attacking your home!"

"And your home, too, child. Though I daresay it’s good to see you. I was rather saddened when that foolish immortal elected to sacrifice your lovely soul. There are few who’ll miss his arrogance around here, that’s for sure," Lysander said.

"You could have said something sooner," Verity muttered, though she didn’t look displeased. "Before he destroyed my body, that is."

"My apologies, but I found it wisest not to question a god. Perhaps I’m just a coward. I prefer scholar, myself. Hard to research anything when you’re dead."

I let out a long sigh, some of the tension slipping from my shoulders. But it seemed the elderly mage was keen on prattling, and while I would have loved nothing more than to curl up in an alcove with them and just listen to the two ninth-level mages, there was something I had to know.

"Um, Nithalee? Where’s Grace?"

"Oh, the Storm Hero? She disappeared somewhere, disappointed there was no one to fight. Probably ran off to find that Korra girl," Nithalee huffed.

I nodded, accepting that without question. Grace’s dedication to plans lasted just about as long as my attention during a war council.

And yet...

"And, um... are you alone? In the library, I mean?"

Nithalee’s gaze softened, and she shook her head. "I believe there are a few librarians hiding somewhere around here."

"More than a few. Everyone who didn’t wish to fight, and who wasn’t pressed into battle by the heart crest, has fled to these hallowed halls," Lysander added.

My breath caught, my heart skipping a beat. "Then...?"

Nithalee nodded, and I stumbled away. Whatever she called after me was lost in the rush of blood to my head. I couldn’t stop. If the librarians were still here, then perhaps...

I ran through the library, passing desks and shelves that were almost too familiar without sparing them a second look. A group of librarians gasped as I passed, recoiling at the sight of my horns and waving tail, and several young slaves, with dark slave crests emblazoned across their chests, cowered behind a bookshelf.

I barely saw them.

Where was he? The library was enormous, and there were hundreds of places he could have gone. I searched each familiar alcove and reading area, hardly recognizing the faces of those I passed. What if he’d been pressed into battle? Or worse, what if he’d refused? The soldiers outside hadn’t exactly been merciful.

"Xiviyah, wait! It might not be safe," Verity said, catching at my hand.

I stopped short. Not because of her, but because I’d seen him.

An elderly librarian in a plain brown robe sat behind a desk, writing with a hand that trembled slightly with age. The hems of his sleeves were stained with old ink blots, as were his calloused, weathered fingers. He had a long, neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that seemed more gray than brown.

Thron.

For a moment, I could only stare. He was just as I remembered, sitting at his desk, surrounded by books and papers. I could almost imagine that nothing had changed, that I’d only been gone for a few hours and could walk up to ask him where to find some obscure spell. He’d probably grumble about the trouble before helping me anyway.

He glanced up at the commotion, and his eyes widened slightly.

I jerked away from Verity, throwing myself at him with a choked sob. He barely stood in time, using the chair for support, before I slammed into him, burying my face in his old, musty robes.

Nothing had ever smelled so warm. Not even Luke.

At first, he was taken aback. His hands hovered uncertainly over my shoulders, and I realized he might not even recognize me. I’d changed so much since those days, and we’d parted so long ago.

Then his arms settled around me. An old, leathery hand gently patted between my horns, smoothing my hair back around the ridges, just as I remembered.

"It’s me..." I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut. "It’s Xiviyah."

"I know," he whispered.

I tried to answer, but my voice broke. The tears I’d been fighting finally spilled over, and I surrendered, clinging to his robes as my shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

He took a long, shuddering breath, holding my head against his chest.

"Xiviyah, child... welcome home."

Not to the Divine Throne. No, I had no home here. I didn’t want a home here.

But Thron?

"I’m back."