The heavy oak doors of the Royal Archives didn't just open; they exploded inward, reduced to splinters by a concentrated burst of draconic mana. Kaelen, the Third Prince, stepped over the threshold. He was a mountain of a man, his red hair wild and his eyes bloodshot with a manic, predatory glee. Behind him trailed a dozen "Cinder-Knights," his personal executioners.
"Vaelin!" Kaelen roared, his voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. "I know you're hiding it, you old corpse! The record of the 'Hidden One.' My spies say you've been painting a ghost. Give it to me, or I'll burn every word ever written in this wretched tomb!"
Livius stood in the deep shadow of a marble pillar, barely ten feet from the Prince. He held his breath, his "Veil" spell pushed to its absolute limit. He watched as Kaelen grabbed the frail record keeper by the throat, lifting him effortlessly from his chair.
"I... have... nothing," Vaelin wheezed, his legs dangling helplessly.
"Lie to me again, and I'll feed your tongue to the hounds," Kaelen sneered, his hand beginning to glow with a searing, orange heat. The smell of singed fabric filled the air.
Livius felt the golden mana in his veins thrumming like a trapped hornet. Part of him wanted to unleash a pillar of solar fire and incinerate Kaelen where he stood. But he was thirteen. Even with the Dragon God's traits, a head-on collision with a seasoned warrior like Kaelen was a gamble he couldn't afford. Not yet.
Instead, Livius reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, silver sphere—a "Sound-Mimic" crystal he had stolen from the Second Princess's collection. He infused it with a drop of mana and tossed it toward the far end of the library, near the Restricted Section.
"Brother, looking for something?" The crystal projected Alaric's arrogant, booming voice perfectly.
Kaelen froze, dropping Vaelin like a sack of grain. He spun around, his eyes wild. "Alaric? You coward! Come out and face me!"
"He's in the East Gallery, Your Highness!" one of the Cinder-Knights shouted, pointing toward the Sound-Mimic's origin.
As Kaelen and his hounds charged deeper into the labyrinth of shelves, Livius moved. He was a blur of gray silk. He scooped Vaelin up—the man was lighter than a bundle of dry wood—and vanished into the secret passage behind the geography section. He didn't look back as the first flames began to lick the curtains of the archives. The library was lost, but the Ghost had saved the only record that mattered.