Lucian finally reached the library, his entire body coiled and scaled.
He was fully transformed into a serpent now.
His black and crimson-tinted scales shimmered faintly under the dim light as he slithered across the cold stone floor, silent as a shadow.
Every movement was fluid, deliberate, and predatory.
The sound of his body sliding across the floor was almost indistinguishable from the distant hum of ancient magic that lingered in Karn Dross.
The air was heavy here, thick with dust, old paper, and the faint, bitter scent of burned incense.
Rows of tall shelves rose into the darkness, each filled with books bound in leather, bone, or something uncomfortably close to human skin.
A thousand whispers of forgotten spells seemed to echo between them.
Lucian moved deeper, keeping close to the shadows.
At the far end of the great hall loomed a gate, a door sealed with crimson runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
That was it. The restricted section.
The shimmering ward burned faint red veins into the surrounding walls. He could feel the vibration of power radiating from it, humming through the floor beneath his scaled belly.
This was the barrier that kept lesser magi away, a living spell woven by the Dark Council's highest masters.
Lucian believed he could pass it. He only needed to wait for the right moment.
The transformation would last six hours, as long as he didn't break the spell.
If he tried to revert too early, the magic might backlash and destroy him from the inside out.
Patience was the only safe path.
He coiled near the edge of the ward, keeping perfectly still.
His golden eyes watched every ripple of magic across the runes, memorizing their rhythm. He would wait until someone opened the gate, someone with authority.
Time crawled. The silence pressed on him like a weight. Only the faint crackle of enchanted lanterns echoed through the shelves.
Then, finally, footsteps.
Lucian's muscles tightened. The air trembled slightly as the heavy boots of the Grand Magister echoed closer.
His crimson robe swept across the floor, its runic hem leaving trails of dying sparks behind.
The Magister stopped before the gate, lifted his hand, and touched one of the runes. The red glow faded instantly.
The seal was broken.
Lucian seized the moment. With one smooth motion, he slithered beneath the folds of the Magister's robe and slipped through the gate as it opened.
The air inside was colder and older, as if sealed for centuries.
When the Magister stepped inside, Lucian followed, silent and unseen.
He kept to the edges of the room while the Magister examined the shelves. The man's movements were slow and deliberate.
He pulled out a single book, inspected it, and placed it under his cloak. Then, without a sound, he turned and left.
The door shut behind him, and the crimson wards reignited with a low hum.
Lucian waited several seconds before moving. The library was silent again. He had done it. He was inside the forbidden archive.
The place was smaller than the main library, but it felt infinitely denser. The ceiling arched low, carved with sigils that pulsed weakly like dying embers.
Dust floated in the air like pale ghosts. The books here were ancient, their bindings cracked, pages browned, ink nearly faded.
The very air felt alive with quiet, smothered power.
He began to slither between the rows, scanning the shelves.
Most of the titles were disappointingly mundane.
Foundations of Firecraft, Tethered Spirits, The Basic Principles of Invocation.
These were books any apprentice might possess.
Why were they locked away here?
He continued deeper. Something in the air shifted, heavier, colder.
On one of the lowest shelves, nearly hidden in shadow, lay a single black-bound tome. Its surface shimmered faintly, marked with a faint, half-erased sigil.
The old language etched into its cover was unmistakable.
Resurrection.
Lucian froze. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt.
His heart pounded so violently he feared it would echo. He inched closer, studying the mark.
The seal was ancient and necromantic in origin but partially broken, as though it had been tampered with.
Carefully, he reached out and touched it. The leather was cold. When he opened the first page, a wave of power brushed across his senses; the faint metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
The pages were yellowed, some darkened with dried stains that looked far too familiar. The script was a mix of necrotic runes and fragmented ritual tongues.
It was real. The art of reviving the dead.
His breath quickened.
His mind flooded with thoughts of Lumi, her lifeless form, the night she died, and the promise he'd made to bring her back.
His hands trembled as he turned the next page. Every word felt heavier than the last.
He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in the text. The runes seemed to move on their own, pulsing like veins.
Then, from the corner of his vision, he noticed something. The faint red glow of the seal outside had returned.
The Magister had restored the barrier.
Lucian's heart sank. To leave, he would need to use magic again.
But his staff was still in his chamber. He couldn't revert forms, and the serpent body couldn't perform complex gestures.
For a moment, panic took hold.
He needed another way.
He focused inward, reaching for the mental vault, his mind bank.
Within it, thousands of spells and incantations floated like stars in a black void.
He combed through them one by one, searching.
Then he found it a teleportation spell.
Body Transference.
It was one of the highest-level incantations known, dangerous even to archmages.
The cost was confusion, dizziness, and sometimes blindness. But it required no staff.
Lucian hesitated only a second.
He clutched the resurrection tome close to his chest and whispered the words in his mind.
The air tightened.
A deafening hum filled the chamber.
A bright light split the darkness, shaking the shelves. Dust burst into the air as the spell tore through space itself.
Then, silence.
Lucian gasped as he collapsed onto the cold floor of his own room.
His body burned, his head pounded, and his vision spun in blinding streaks. He staggered, barely holding onto the book.
For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was or who he was.
Then his breathing slowed.
He was safe.
He had escaped the restricted library.
But not unseen.
Outside, a shrill alarm rose through Karn Dross, a wailing sound like a thousand voices screaming in unison.
The entire citadel shuddered. Boots thundered against stone.
Orders were shouted. Someone had detected the teleportation surge.
Lucian's instincts kicked in. He rushed to the hidden compartment behind the wall.
Sliding a loose stone aside, he pushed the book into the cavity and sealed it with a silent locking charm. The faint red glow faded beneath the wall.
He straightened the room in seconds, gathered the scattered parchments,snuffed out the candles, and reset the desk. His breathing slowed.
Then, as he heard hurried footsteps approach, he dove into bed.
The door burst open.
A squad of shadow-cloaked hunters stormed inside, their eyes glowing faint white.
They scanned every corner, every inch. One of them lifted a detection charm; the air shimmered, but nothing revealed itself.
Lucian blinked groggily and sat up, feigning confusion.
"What's going on?" he asked, voice hoarse with fake sleep.
The hunters ignored him. They overturned the bed, rifled through the desk, and pulled open drawers.
A faint hum filled the air as they swept a searching sigil across the room. No trace of forbidden magic appeared.
Finally, the lead hunter, a tall, gaunt man with silver eyes, looked at Lucian. His gaze lingered a second too long, then he turned away.
"Clear," he said flatly.
They filed out one by one. The door closed behind them.
Lucian waited several seconds before exhaling. His pulse hammered in his ears. Sweat trickled down his temple. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and let the silence settle.
He was alive. He was safe. He had the book.
Slowly, he lay back on the bed. The exhaustion from the teleportation spell hit him all at once.
His body ached; his magic reserves were almost empty.
He stared at the ceiling, the faint reflections of candlelight dancing on the stone. His breathing slowed.
"Let's hope that's the last chaos tonight," he murmured.
His eyes fluttered shut.
The fortress outside still echoed with alarms, but they were fading now, replaced by the usual low hum of dark energy.
In the shadows of his chamber, behind the sealed wall, the black book pulsed faintly once, twice, like a heartbeat.
Lucian drifted into sleep, unaware that the forbidden magic he'd brought back was still alive, and it was waiting.
He slept with a faint smile on his lips, dreaming of Lumi's eyes and of the day he would open that book again.