The Royal Grand Library was older than the empire.
Not publicly.
But structurally.
The lower vaults were built from stone no longer quarried anywhere in Drakenhart territory.
Arthur walked alone.
No guards.
No siblings.
No Emily.
Only a lantern and silence.
The festival incident still echoed in his core. The crack pulsed faintly — deeper now, temperamental.
He hadn't come for political records.
He had come for something else.
A feeling.
Ever since the foundation chamber destabilization, something had lingered in his mind — a memory that wasn't memory.
A word that didn't belong.
Skybreak.
He had never heard it before.
And yet—
It felt familiar.
He descended into the restricted archive vaults.
Dust-coated shelves.
Sealed tomes.
Forgotten genealogies.
He passed military records.
Ancient treaties.
Then stopped.
A thin, black-spined volume wedged sideways behind a larger imperial chronicle.
No catalog mark.
No seal.
He pulled it free.
The title was faded.
But barely readable.
"Fragments of the Southern Expanse."
Arthur's fingers paused.
Southern Expanse?
The empire's southern ocean was mapped.
Mostly.
He opened it.
The first pages were deteriorated.
But intact enough to read.
"Three thousand years prior, sailors reported vanishing beyond the Southern Veil. The sky bent. Stars misaligned. Compasses ceased responding."
Arthur's eyes sharpened.
He turned the page.
"Survivors spoke of land beyond perception. Of cities built of impossible stone. Of men who walked like kings among gods."
He felt it.
That pulse again.
Not from his core.
From deeper.
He flipped forward.
Most pages were missing.
Torn deliberately.
One fragment remained:
"They called themselves Transcendents."
The word felt heavy.
Unnatural.
Arthur's breathing slowed.
He continued reading.
"Realms defined their existence. Lower. Awakened. Upper. Mythical. Divine."
His hand tightened slightly.
Mythical.
Divine.
The crack in his chest throbbed.
Hard.
A flicker of something flashed in his vision—
Not the library.
A vast golden throne.
A sky darker than night.
A presence so overwhelming it bent reality.
Then—
Gone.
Arthur steadied himself against the shelf.
That wasn't imagination.
That was residue.
He turned another page.
Only half remained.
"The Mythical Sovereign— Or—"
The rest was burned away.
Or.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
Or what?
He flipped further.
Blank.
Nothing more.
The last page bore a single sketch.
A symbol.
A circular mark with three branching lines extending downward.
Arthur froze.
Slowly.
He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.
On his chest—
His birthmark.
The exact same shape.
Silence.
Absolute.
The crack pulsed violently.
A whisper brushed against his consciousness.
Not audible.
But distinct.
You were not meant to stay.
Arthur slammed the book shut.
Breathing steady.
Eyes cold.
He wasn't shocked.
He wasn't afraid.
He was alert.
This wasn't coincidence.
Someone had removed pages deliberately.
And no one in the palace knew this book existed.
Not even his father.
He replaced it exactly where he found it.
For now.
He would not confront this blindly.
He left the vault.
And did not notice—
A faint distortion flicker in the shadowed corner of the ceiling.
Watching.
—
That evening.
The foreign delegation held a private banquet.
Arthur attended.
He needed to observe.
The estate was beautifully lit.
Music soft.
Wine flowing.
Nobles laughing.
And near the center—
Two figures who did not laugh.
Lyra Aetheris noticed him first.
She smiled.
Perfectly.
Gently.
Like sunlight over winter.
"Your Highness," she said, bowing with flawless elegance.
Arthur inclined his head.
"Lady Lyra."
Caelum joined beside her.
"Our empire has long admired your strength."
Arthur studied them carefully.
Their mana signatures were refined.
But… strange.
Not unstable.
Not aggressive.
Just—
Layered.
Like they were masking something deeper.
Lyra tilted her head slightly.
"You seemed distracted tonight."
Arthur replied calmly.
"I was reading."
Her eyes gleamed faintly.
"Dangerous hobby."
He smiled slightly.
"Only if one understands what they read."
She held his gaze a fraction longer than etiquette allowed.
Testing.
Caelum spoke lightly.
"The festival display was magnificent. Especially the final skyburst."
Arthur's golden eyes sharpened subtly.
"You found it impressive?"
"Very."
Caelum's tone remained polite.
"But exhausting."
Arthur felt it then.
A subtle shift.
The air around him grew heavier.
Just slightly.
His core pulsed.
The crack reacted.
Not violently.
But noticeably.
Arthur didn't move.
He didn't flare mana.
He didn't respond.
Lyra stepped closer.
Almost casually.
"Do you ever feel," she said softly, "like the world is slightly misaligned?"
Arthur looked down at her.
"Only when someone tilts it."
For a split second—
Her smile sharpened.
Just a fraction.
Then softened again.
"How poetic."
Behind the music.
Behind the conversation.
In the cellar beneath the estate—
A device hummed to life.
A small circular construct embedded into stone.
Runes pulsing faint violet.
Arthur felt it instantly.
The crack constricted.
His mana output dipped.
Not collapsed.
Reduced.
Five percent.
Ten.
He kept his expression calm.
Lyra was watching him carefully.
"Are you unwell?" she asked sweetly.
Arthur met her gaze.
"I am fine."
But inside—
His control tightened sharply.
Someone was manipulating frequency.
Local.
Contained.
Experimental.
He didn't react.
He turned to Caelum instead.
"You've extended your stay."
"Yes," Caelum replied pleasantly. "The capital is… educational."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Be careful what you study."
Lyra laughed softly.
"Oh, Your Highness."
Her eyes gleamed.
"We always are."
—
Later that night.
Arthur left the estate alone.
Once outside the suppression radius—
His mana normalized.
The crack eased slightly.
He stopped walking.
Turned his gaze back toward the lit windows of the estate.
"They're not part of the organization."
Not fully.
They were using it.
Testing it.
Studying him.
And they were intelligent.
He had not won tonight.
He had been measured.
And for the first time—
He had felt reduced.
Not by his own choice.
But by someone else's design.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
"Good."
Because now—
The game had teeth.
And somewhere deep in his mind—
That burned fragment of a word lingered.
Or—
He did not yet know what it meant.
But he would.
—
In the cellar—
Lyra shut off the suppression device.
Caelum checked the crystal readings.
"Ten percent reduction."
Lyra smiled faintly.
"He noticed."
"Yes."
"And?"
She turned toward the chained figures.
"Next time… we increase it."
One of the mutated subjects twitched violently against its restraints.
Its eyes no longer fully human.
Lyra crouched in front of it.
"You'll meet him soon."
The creature growled softly.
Not with rage.
With obedience.
Lyra stood.
"He protects instinctively."
Caelum nodded.
"Then we give him something he cannot ignore."
—
Back in the palace—
Arthur stood before the mirror once more.
He removed his coat slowly.
The birthmark gleamed faintly under candlelight.
And for just a second—
He saw another reflection behind his own.
A throne.
A golden sky.
And someone sitting upon it.
Watching.
Arthur blinked.
Gone.
He did not yet know—
That the real war was not political.
Not industrial.
Not even against the twins.
It was older.
And far larger.
But for now—
The twins had drawn first blood.
And Arthur had felt it.