The Imperial Archives smelled of dust, old magic, and despair.
It was a massive, subterranean library located beneath the East Wing, filled with endless rows of bookshelves that stretched up into the darkness. It was the kind of place where silence was heavy enough to crush you.
Unless, of course, you brought a Wolf Warlord.
"This is boring," Lord Rurik announced, his voice echoing off the stone ceiling. He pulled a book off the shelf, sniffed it, and shoved it back. "None of these have pictures. It is just words. Words about corn taxes. Who cares about corn?"
"Civilization cares about corn, Rurik," Archduke Cassian replied without looking up from a pile of scrolls. "Now please, stop touching the Neolithic Agricultural Records. Your hands are greasy."
I sat at a long wooden table, my head resting on a stack of encyclopedias titled Myths of the First Era. My eyes felt like they were filled with sand.
