Chapter 35: When did i ever listen to safe?
Three days had passed since the heated argument with the Duke, and the mansion had settled back into its usual rhythm. The grand library, with its towering shelves and endless rows of dusty books, was unusually chaotic. Books lay sprawled across the floor, open and abandoned, as if tossed aside in frustration. Ladders were propped up against various shelves, and the normally pristine study tables were cluttered with piles of texts.
Amidst the mess, Axelius stood on one of the ladders, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scanned the rows of thick, leather-bound volumes. His fingers brushed over their spines, reading each title with a look of pure irritation. "Argh! Why are there so many damn books?!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Owen wearing small eye glasses perched comfortably on a thick book resting on a nearby table, flipped a page with his tiny slime tendrils, not even bothering to look up. "What exactly are you looking for?" he asked casually, his voice dripping with boredom.
Axelius pulled out another heavy book from the shelf, dust scattering in the air as he did. He flipped it open, scanned the pages for a brief moment, and then groaned before slamming it shut.
"Lorian Dravenhart. I'm curious who that guy is," he replied, his voice muffled slightly as he placed the book back and reached for another.
Owen finally looked up from his own reading, his slimy form shimmering under the sunlight that peeked through the tall windows.
"Well," he began thoughtfully, "if you're looking for someone important, maybe it's under history... or legends... or even Family records," he suggested, a bit of sarcasm lacing his tone.
Axelius snapped his fingers with sudden realization. "Right! I think I saw where that is!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.
Without a second thought, he descended the ladder with surprising speed, nearly tripping over a stack of books on his way down. He ignored the chaos around him and marched straight across the library, his eyes fixed on a tall, locked bookshelf that stood isolated from the rest. It was grander, more ornate, with intricate carvings along its edges.
He reached out, brushing off the dust that had settled on the plaque above it. His eyes squinted as he read the engraved letters. "Dravenhart," he whispered, the name lingering on his tongue. His eyes widened with disbelief.
"What the fuck? How did I miss this?" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Owen hopped down from the table and bounced his way over, staring up at the towering shelf. "Well, looks like you finally found it," he commented smugly. "Took you long enough."