Chapter 162 - 157: A Door Long Closed
For several long moments...
John simply stood there.
The Chief Archivist’s offer echoed through his mind.
*A temporary research assistant.*
It wasn’t merely a title.
It was an opportunity.
One that most scholars would likely spend years hoping to receive.
John finally found his voice.
"...Why me?"
Aldric smiled faintly, as if he had expected the question.
"I wondered how long it would take you to ask."
John sat back down.
"I’ve only been in Valenor for two days."
"There are countless scholars here."
"Many are probably more qualified than I am."
"You’re right."
Aldric returned to his own chair.
"There are."
He picked up his teacup before continuing.
"Some have spent decades studying history."
"Others can read five ancient languages."
"A few possess memories far sharper than mine."
John waited.
"So..."
"Why choose me?"
---
The old scholar looked toward one of the bookshelves.
"When I was young..."
"I believed knowledge belonged only to the brilliant."
He smiled to himself.
"I was wrong."
John listened quietly.
"I’ve watched generations of students pass through this library."
"Some possessed extraordinary talent."
"They memorized entire books."
"Quoted ancient texts without error."
"They became respected scholars."
He paused.
"But very few became true historians."
John tilted his head.
"What’s the difference?"
"A scholar gathers knowledge."
"A historian asks why that knowledge survived."
The answer settled heavily in the room.
Aldric continued.
"You never complained that the records were incomplete."
"You asked why they were incomplete."
"There is an important difference."
John hadn’t even realized he had done that.
---
The elderly man reached into one of his desk drawers.
From it, he removed a folded map.
Unlike the polished maps sold to travelers, this one was worn and covered in handwritten notes.
He spread it across the desk.
It depicted the continent.
Several kingdoms John had never heard of were marked in faded ink.
Some names had been crossed out.
Others had question marks beside them.
John leaned closer.
"I’ve never seen this map before."
"You wouldn’t have."
"It isn’t official."
"It is mine."
Aldric rested a finger near the northern mountains.
"These notes represent fifty years of research."
John noticed dozens of annotations.
Dates.
Questions.
References to books.
Possible archaeological sites.
Entire regions had been circled.
"This..."
John said quietly.
"...is your life’s work."
Aldric nodded.
"It is unfinished."
John looked up.
"I thought historians finished writing books."
"They finish books."
The old man corrected gently.
"History itself is never finished."
---
John found himself smiling.
The old scholar had a way of making complicated ideas seem simple.
He looked back down at the map.
One location immediately caught his eye.
Near a mountain range labeled **The Ashen Peaks**, Aldric had written a single sentence.
**No confirmed expedition has returned.**
John frowned.
"What’s here?"
Aldric followed his gaze.
"The ruins of Arkanis."
"I’ve spent thirty years trying to verify whether it truly existed."
"You’ve never gone yourself?"
The old scholar laughed.
"I am eighty-three years old."
"My adventuring days ended before they began."
John couldn’t help laughing with him.
"Fair point."
---
A knock sounded at the office door.
"Come in."
Elena entered carrying several neatly organized scrolls.
She paused upon seeing the map spread across the desk.
"...Master?"
"I thought you never showed anyone that map."
"I normally don’t."
Aldric replied calmly.
He carefully rolled it closed before handing it back to Elena.
"Would you place this in the cabinet, please?"
She accepted it carefully.
"As always."
John noticed something.
The way Elena handled the map.
It wasn’t simply respect.
It was trust.
She treated it as though she were carrying something irreplaceable.
Perhaps she was.
---
After Elena left, Aldric folded his hands once more.
"There is one condition."
John straightened slightly.
"A condition?"
The old scholar nodded.
"If I grant you supervised access to restricted materials..."
"You must promise me something."
John waited.
"If you encounter information that could endanger innocent people..."
"You will not act recklessly."
The words were calm.
But serious.
John answered without hesitation.
"I promise."
Aldric studied him for several seconds.
Satisfied, he nodded.
"I believed you would."
---
The old scholar stood.
"There is someone else I would like you to meet."
John blinked.
"Another archivist?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Aldric walked toward the office door.
"Come."
John followed.
Instead of returning to the public library, Aldric led him deeper into the restricted wing.
The hallways here were noticeably older.
The polished marble floors gave way to smooth gray stone worn by centuries of footsteps.
Oil paintings lined the walls.
Many depicted librarians rather than kings.
One painting showed a woman carefully restoring a damaged scroll.
Another portrayed an elderly man teaching children how to read.
John noticed.
"There aren’t many nobles."
Aldric smiled.
"Knowledge has many guardians."
"Not all wear crowns."
---
Eventually they stopped before an unremarkable wooden door.
Unlike every other room, this one bore no sign.
No title.
No decoration.
Only an old brass handle polished by years of use.
Aldric knocked twice.
A voice answered from inside.
"Enter."
The room beyond was smaller than expected.
Bookshelves covered every wall.
Stacks of manuscripts occupied nearly every available surface.
At the center sat an elderly woman with silver hair tied neatly into a bun.
She wore simple brown robes rather than the blue uniforms of the librarians.
A pair of spectacles rested low on her nose as she carefully repaired a damaged manuscript with astonishing precision.
Without looking up, she spoke.
"You’re late."
Aldric chuckled.
"By three minutes."
"Still late."
Only then did she glance toward the doorway.
Her sharp green eyes settled on John.
"So."
"This is the young man."
John bowed politely.
"My name is John."
The woman set down her tools.
"I know."
"Aldric has spoken about little else since yesterday."
John looked at the old scholar.
"You have?"
Aldric cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I may have mentioned you once or twice."
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"Eight times."
John couldn’t suppress a laugh.
Even Aldric looked embarrassed.
---
"I’m Miriam."
She extended a surprisingly steady hand.
"I restore books too fragile for ordinary handling."
John shook it respectfully.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you."
Miriam studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Good."
"You have careful hands."
John blinked.
"You can tell?"
"I’ve restored manuscripts for fifty-one years."
"I notice hands."
She gestured toward a nearby chair.
"Sit."
John obeyed.
Miriam carefully lifted the damaged manuscript she had been repairing.
"Do you know what destroys more books than fire?"
John thought for a moment.
"...Time?"
She nodded approvingly.
"And carelessness."
She handed him a tiny brush.
"Here."
John accepted it.
"What do I do?"
She smiled faintly.
"Nothing."
He looked confused.
"Nothing?"
"Exactly."
She took the brush back.
"The first lesson in preserving history..."
She gently brushed a layer of dust from the ancient page.
"...is learning when not to touch it."
John watched silently.
Every movement she made was slow.
Patient.
Deliberate.
There wasn’t a single wasted motion.
He suddenly understood why Aldric had brought him here.
History wasn’t only discovered.
It had to be protected.
Preserved.
Passed to the next generation.
Aldric watched John’s expression with quiet satisfaction.
He had chosen well.
Not because John possessed extraordinary knowledge.
Not because he was unusually talented.
But because...
For the first time in many years...
The old archivist had met someone who looked at ancient books with wonder rather than ambition.
And perhaps...
That was exactly the kind of person the forgotten truths of the Dragon Kings had been waiting for.
---
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