LUCIAN POV
The seer-scribe's chamber existed in an alcove off the main library, hidden behind a tapestry depicting the First Hunt—wolves chasing prey that bled silver across ancient fabric. I pushed through without knocking, prophecy scroll still clutched in my hand, questions burning hotter than the fear churning in my gut.
The old wolf didn't look up from his work. Hunched over a desk crowded with ink pots and half-finished translations, he continued scratching symbols onto fresh parchment with methodical precision. Ancient beyond measure, his fur—when he shifted—would be gray as winter clouds, his eyes clouded with cataracts that somehow never stopped him from reading.
"I wondered when you'd find your way here," he said, voice like wind through dead leaves. "Lyra's been protecting those scrolls for years. Knew eventually she'd break."
