The next day started with rain.
Not the dramatic kind that rolled in with thunder and fury—no. This was the slow, annoying drizzle that made everything damp, sticky, and irritable. A perfect match for my mood.
"Of all the days to start with library duty," I muttered, tugging my coat tighter around me as I stepped across the slick flagstones. "And they wonder why I drink."
The Grand Archive was an ancient structure grafted into the mountain's spine. Towering spires of black-stone and weathered copper jutted skyward, and the faint scent of old paper and dust hit the moment I pushed through the double doors. The place reeked of forgotten knowledge and burned-out scholars.
It also happened to be a maze.
Rows upon rows of floating platforms, bookshelves that moved when you weren't looking, and staircases that didn't follow basic geometry. A bibliophile's dream. A sane man's nightmare.
"Professor Drelmont?" A meek voice cut through the silence.
