Early morning light slipped into the palace through narrow archive corridor windows, cutting long pale lines across the stone floor. The rest of the palace was still in its quieter cycle, movement reduced to early servants and administrative staff preparing records for the day.
Lucian moved through that silence without interruption.
Not hurried.
Not wandering.
Directed.
The secondary archive hall sat deeper inside the administrative wing, where older records were stored before long-term sealing or disposal. The kind of place most people only entered when something had already been forgotten officially.
Lucian did not slow at the entrance.
The air inside carried paper dust and cold storage stillness. Not decay, just disuse. Shelves stretched in ordered rows, each section labeled with careful precision that made even forgotten history look controlled.
He approached the service desk.
The clerk behind it looked up, blinked once at recognition, then straightened.
