“I have missed you as well, Ambrus—though you are still every bit as loud as ever,” Da'off chuckled, pointing at the carved wooden dragon’s head.

  “Shall I lend you a hand? I know the contents of most of what lies here; I could save you a great deal of time.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I can manage on my own.”

  With that, Da'off strode deeper into the library.

  The royal archives were not only resplendently decorated but impossibly vast, each towering bookshelf rising like the walls of a fortress. Occasionally, ghostlike silhouettes passed between the stacks—individuals of the highest standing, for only those of exceptional rank were permitted entry.

  Those who recognized Da'off greeted him with barely concealed delight. He returned each salutation with a warm smile and a few polite words before moving on.

  Though he had not visited in years, the search system remained familiar. It did not take long for him to locate the section he sought. A wave of his staff drew dozens of books from the shelves, and he knelt on the spot to sift through them.

  Time slipped by. Figures flickered past at a distance, but none dared disturb the old mage so wholly absorbed in his work.

  When he finally exhausted that collection of texts, Da'off still had not found what he sought. He moved to another section and repeated the process. Then another. And another.

  Still nothing.

  But he did not relent.

  Beyond the outer archives lay the inner sanctum, accessible only to those of the highest privilege. Da'off happened to be one of them.

  Without pausing, he made his way toward the ancient double doors standing silently at the center of the library— the sole entrance to the inner layer.

  Legend claimed these doors were crafted by a great high-mage in the era of Zenn’s first king, imbued with the mightiest wards in the kingdom.

  Da'off had barely approached when the doors glided open. Recognition took but an instant—such was their power. No impostor could ever pass; their detection magic stripped away all disguise.

  He stepped through, and the doors closed behind him.

  The inner sanctum was far smaller, yet every volume within was priceless.

  Da'off wasted no motion. Just as before, he delved straight into the search.

  Again, time flowed on without measure. When he had finished every possible text that might contain a clue to Glenn’s condition, he had gained nothing.

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  “It seems Glenn’s situation is truly without precedent… This will be troublesome.”

  He pushed aside the scattered tomes with his staff and rose, his waist aching in protest. He massaged it lightly. “I wonder what hour it is now…”

  “It is already midday of the second day,” came a rasping, elderly voice beside him.

  Da'off turned at once and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  Not far away, upon a small set of steps, sat an elderly man in a robe of blue and gold, calmly reading a book. This was King Mekailido of the Kingdom of Zenn.

  He wore no royal regalia, no crown—only simple garments befitting a man absorbed in study. His frame was thin, his hair entirely white, his face clean-shaven, his gaze keen and severe at first glance.

  “When I entered, I saw you wearing a rather troubled expression as you searched. I thought you must have encountered something weighty. I recall you as a remarkably steady man, Da'off—and you seldom come here.”

  The king closed his book and fixed Da'off with a measured gaze.

  “Yes,” Da'off replied, straightening. “Something I cannot decipher. I hoped the archives might offer an answer.”

  “And did you find one?” the king asked quietly.

  “No.” Da'off shook his head.

  “You will,” the king said simply. “I have faith in your ability.”

  He rose, returned his book to the shelf, and continued, “Have you heard what occurred recently?”

  “Of course. It is difficult for anyone to ignore,” Da'off said, following him.

  “A werewolf of the seventh tier…” the king murmured. “Had Fitt not confirmed it himself, I would never have believed such a thing. It seems the werewolves have risen far beyond the insignificant creatures we once considered them.”

  He drew out another volume bound in red, not bothering to turn toward Da'off.

  Da'off exhaled inwardly. He knew very well that the seventh-tier werewolf had been Glenn—his newly accepted apprentice, whose nature defied every known rule.

  Out loud, he said only, “I believe it may be an anomaly, Your Majesty. I doubt we shall see many such exceptions among the werewolves to come.”

  “That is hardly guaranteed, Da'off,” the king replied, flipping through the pages, his voice laced with unease.

  “Even if a second seventh-tier werewolf were to appear, our kingdom possesses the means to deal with it. There is no need for excessive worry,” Da'off said calmly.

  The king nodded, though without conviction. For a time, silence reigned—broken only by the soft rustling of pages.

  Da'off noticed the king was reading secret chronicles from centuries past. A suspicion stirred in his heart.

  From their conversation, he sensed the king cared little for the matter of the seventh-tier werewolf; that had merely been idle talk. What truly occupied his thoughts, he had not voiced. Perhaps it lay within the text he studied now.

  Just as Da'off began to piece his suspicions together, the king spoke again:

  “Da'off… why do you think the demons so desperately covet our world?”

  “They desire its beauty—its purer air, its richer resources, its denser magic,” Da'off replied, echoing the widely accepted belief held across the continent.

  “But some demons cannot survive here for long,” the king said, closing the book and turning toward him. “They thrive only in the lower realm. Why, then, do they persist in invading?”

  Da'off was silent a moment. “As you said, Your Majesty—some. Not all.”

  In truth, he understood the king’s implication: the reason for the invasions might not be so simple. Yet Da'off still leaned toward the common explanation; the supporting evidence was abundant.

  “Perhaps I overthink it…” the king murmured with a faint smile.

  Then he changed the subject entirely. “You have not visited the capital in quite some time. In a few days, one of my sons will celebrate his birthday. You should attend.”

  Da'off shook his head. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I have just taken on a new apprentice. Because of certain… unusual circumstances, I must return and complete his instruction at once. I cannot attend the celebration.”

  “What a pity,” the king sighed. “I had hoped you might offer a bit of guidance to a few of my children.”

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