37. The High Archivist

  Harrison Aelric Bronn Geldhart, known simply as Harry Geldhart, was a hero once.

  In his younger days, he had traveled across all of Stulan – not once, not twice, but thrice. From the frozen cliffs of the Volaris Teeth in the north to the valleys and caves of Goliana in the far south. From the ancient catacombs near the west border to the eastern-most point in Stulan – the magnificent island city, Hydrala. There were few corners of the kingdom his boots had not touched.

  Together with his party at a time, he delved into ancient tombs and crumbling temples. They mapped what others feared to enter. They transcribed dead languages. They carried back timeless and priceless artifacts – some of which were now housed behind glass in the Stulan National Museum, marked simply: Donated by the Geldhart family.

  He had fought beasts and monsters. In fact, he once stood against the last dragon ever sighted in Stulan – perhaps one of the last seen in the world. And with the help of five other individuals, he had killed it.

  By thirty-five, he was named Archmage. The youngest in history.

  His contributions to magical theory, spellcasting, and historical preservation were not just celebrated in Stulan – they were studied in lecture halls across all kingdoms. In the modern era, his name was spoken in the same breath as the Founding Kings of Old - the ancient kings who had founded the four great kingdoms.

  And when Stulan called on him, he answered. He enlisted in the defense of kingdom’s western border, shielding its people from their forever archenemy – the Kingdom of Kuisar. Back then, during a time which historians would later call The Great Standoff – a conflict too prolonged to be dismissed, but too politically fraught to be called a war – he defended his kingdom from the enemy’s relentless raids and skirmishes.

  After six years, he was dismissed as the conflict was officially over and a ceasefire was achieved.

  He was married once.

  Her name was Diana. The love of his life. She wasn’t a mage. She was the only person who ever made him forget about magic and just focus on the moment.

  She died.

  He didn’t have children.

  He never had them with Diana. And after she died, he never found the will to try again. The thought of another partner, another home – it felt like betrayal.

  So, instead, he buried himself in what he knew best: Study. Research. Preservation. These were the things he believed to be the most important.

  He knew the younger generation of mages would shape the future to fit their views and needs, but he wanted them to have all the knowledge the previous generations had amassed so they’d be able to make wiser decisions.

  When he turned sixty-five, Ireveus Academy offered him the role of High Archivist – overseer of the Great Library and protector of its rich knowledge. It was a homecoming of sorts. The same halls he had once walked as a student now became his sanctum.

  Of course, he accepted.

  In time, he was even named one of the Academy’s headmasters as well. A title more honorary than functional in his case. Geldhart had no patience for meetings, curriculum revisions, or faculty drama. The other headmasters managed the administration, and he was more than happy with that.

  He simply attended the ceremonies, nodded politely, shook hands, and returned to his books.

  These days, at seventy-seven, he was rarely seen at the Academy at all.

  Five years ago, something happened to him – something he kept secret.

  A heart attack.

  He still remembered the exact moment. The tightening in his chest. The sharp pain in his left arm. The slow fall to the floor.

  But he survived.

  Using his Five Threads in Healing Magic, he managed to mend his heart – or at the very least, prolong his life for now.

  Since then, he had barely left the house they once shared – a modest two-story cottage on the outskirts of Dalina – only venturing out when absolutely necessary.

  Anyone who needed him was invited to make an appointment at his home. And anyone he needed? Well…they, too, were usually invited to make an appointment at his home.

  It wasn’t truly a weakness – though his body had slowed. It was something else. On death's door, he realized something.

  Being there, surrounded by her things he refused to pack away, walking the same creaking floors, sipping tea from her favorite porcelain set – those were the only moments that still felt real.

  It was as if he’d suddenly realized he hadn’t spent enough time with her in life. And now that she was gone, the next closest thing was to stay right there and keep on staying for as long as he could.

  Today had been another quiet, lonesome day for him.

  He finished the final sentence on the parchment before him – a translation of an old Ostian book – then stood, walking to the kitchen where he poured himself a cup of tea.

  He ran his hand through his short gray hair, then adjusted his glasses, as he made his way back to his desk.

  He returned to his seat almost immediately. No wasted movement.

  His study was clean. Orderly. Nothing scattered. Not a speck of dust dared gather on any surface.

  Then the Whisperplate vibrated against the table in one soft, single pulse.

  A polished blue stone, no larger than a playing card – an enchanted device used for mage-to-mage communication. Efficient and secure.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Geldhart placed his hand on it, channeling his mana, unlocking the channel.

  A voice came through at once. Calm, but tight.

  “Harry. It’s me – Erwin.”

  Geldhart nodded slightly to himself. Erwin Marce. Fellow headmaster. Lifelong friend.

  “I’m listening.” Geldhart said, lifting the teacup toward his lips.

  “There’s been an incident in the library.”

  Geldhart paused mid-motion. He hadn’t taken a sip yet. He lowered the cup back to the table. “What kind of incident?”

  There was a long pause before Erwin spoke again.

  “A magical explosion. In the Classified Wing.”

  Harry stared at the cup. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “All the knowledge…just gone.” Erwin continued.

  “That’s not what worries me.” Geldhart said firmly, shifting to a question. “Casualties?”

  “At least thirteen. Some of the bodies haven’t been recovered yet. We’re still trying to identify those we have – so we can reach out to the families, but it’s hard. There are also plenty of injured.”

  “But the enchantment…” Geldhart muttered in disbelief. It didn’t make sense to him.

  “Didn’t work.” Erwin said. “I don’t know how or why, but your famous enchantment didn’t work, Harry. And the magic…this wasn’t something small either. The mana signature is complex. Extremely high-level. The floor’s still hot.”

  There was a pause. Then his voice dropped.

  “You need to come see it. You must come see it with your own eyes.”

  Geldhart closed his eyes briefly. He nodded once.

  “I will.”

  He took one breath, before speaking again. “Suspects?”

  “None confirmed. The Peacekeepers are investigating.” Erwin replied. “But…there were witnesses. Reports of an eye-patched woman carrying a child with ashen hair. I can’t say if they're involved, but – “

  “Ashen hair?” Geldhart interrupted, recalling a certain individual he once knew very closely. A mistake he wanted to forget for the longest time, but couldn’t.

  “Indeed.” Erwin replied. Then his tone became almost sarcastic. “Rings a bell, huh?”

  “Indeed.” Geldhart echoed his friend’s reply. “I assume the reports of a son were correct.”

  “We can’t say for sure. Rather not jump into conclusions.”

  Geldhart sighed. “If the explosion was internal, then the perpetrator had to leave a vial of their blood behind to enter. I can trace them.”

  “Assuming you can find it in that wreck. We don’t even know which of the librarians took it from them in the first place – or if they’re still alive.” Erwin replied. “The Enkindling Basin is destroyed, and it might take days until we figure out anything new.”

  Geldhart took a deep breath. “I’m on my way.”

  “Good.”

  The Whisperplate went quiet.

  Geldhart rose without hesitation and began packing.

  There was no rush in his movements. But no pause, either. He just packed a few formal suits, and a couple of books. He knew he’d be sleeping in the Academy staff’s quarters until he figured it out.

  As he slid the Whisperplate into the inner pocket of his coat, he glanced around the house for the longest time.

  He had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping in it again for a long time.

  Maybe not ever.

  ***

  During the first three days after his arrival, Geldhart had little he could do.

  The Peacekeepers – or, as he liked to call them, the Leasekeepers – were still “investigating”.

  Any time he tried to leverage his status to gain access to the scene, the Chief himself – Grand Marshal Jeremiah Grahad, the highest-ranking officer in the kingdom’s peacekeeping force – descended from his ivory perch to personally block him.

  It was infuriating.

  He had been denied entrance to his own domain – the part of the academy that had been entrusted to him for more than a decade. And with no support from the other headmasters, all he could do is wait. Wait and hope the “investigators” wouldn’t trample over the very clues he needed.

  Because Geldhart already knew who the culprit was – or rather to which house he belonged to.

  He just needed proof.

  When the investigation was finally over, the official report was released:

  An unidentifiable individual, brought into the library by student and junior librarian Viki Holmes – who now lay in a coma, having suffered a severe head injury during the explosion – had somehow bypassed the Silencing Enchantment and triggered a magical detonation that destroyed the Classified Wing of the library, taking the lives of everyone in it at the time – including his own.

  No clear motive was found. But the Leasekeepers’ leading assumption?

  A former student. Expelled. Nursed a deep grudge. Returned to destroy what he couldn’t be part of. Petty revenge. Simple-minded rage. Case closed.

  “That’s a bunch of nonsense and you know it.” Geldhart told Erwin who was reading him the report, his voice flat. "They even ignored all the witnesses' reports."

  Erwin just shrugged. “Listen, my hands are tied here. Grand Marshal Grahad himself is the one pushing this version forward.”

  Geldhart sighed.

  He didn’t believe Erwin was corrupt – not on Ifrit’s payroll like the Leasekeepers. But he had always known his friend wasn’t the type to push when it mattered. And with a family to protect, Erwin’s silence was understandable.

  Cowardly. But understandable.

  “…But,” Erwin added, more softly, “and I’m sure you’ll appreciate this – since the investigation is officially closed, you’re finally allowed inside the library. The scene’s yours.” He paused. “Well…what’s left of it. It's either that or a witness report straight from one of our alumni.”

  Geldhart raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

  "A certain Morvain." Erwin smirked. "She told me she didn't say anything to the Peacekeepers because she wanted to give it to you directly."

  Geldhart chuckled softly at the name. He had a soft spot for Azmira Morvain.

  "Let's check the scene first." He said. "I'll talk with her later."

  Without another word, he turned and began walking. Erwin followed behind, silent.

  They took the stairwell down, descending a few levels. The first signs of damage didn’t appear until the floor directly above the Classified Wing – holes in the ground, bricks strewn across the floor, broken wall sconces. Shelves and tables had been knocked over, books scattered across the floor.

  There were no signs of fire here. Just the aftershocks of a massive explosion that had rippled upward and shoved everything chaotically.

  The real devastation waited one floor below.

  When they reached the level of the Classified Wing, it was as though the library had tried to swallow itself.

  More bricks than before filled the floor in all directions. Entire sections of the wall were torn through, the stonework ripped open to reveal gaping holes into the chamber beyond. Through these holes, the remains of the Classified Wing were partially visible – blackened, crumbling, and still carrying the stench of burned flesh.

  The great metal door that once sealed the Wing lay twisted beside the staircase, half-buried in rubble, bent at a sharp angle after it had been peeled from its hinges.

  Overall, without stepping inside, one thing was clear: The explosion hadn’t spread. It was targeted.

  Nothing else in the library had burned. The fire hadn’t reached outward. It hadn’t tried to.

  It was always aimed at the Classified Wing alone.

  Purposeful. Controlled.

  Geldhart paused at the alcove where the Enkindling Basin had once stood. It was shattered beyond recognition – only jagged fragments of stone remained, the enchanted core he placed there likely destroyed. Still, he made a mental note to look for it later.

  Then, they stepped into what remained of the Classified Wing.

  As they passed the threshold they felt it immediately – the residual magic. Unlike anything they had ever sensed before. It was suffocating.

  “What the hell is this?” Erwin muttered, his face twisting. “It’s so heavy.”

  Geldhart nodded, feeling the same way. “Too concentrated to feel real.”

  They pressed despite the uncomfortableness.

  The chamber was in ruin. Walls blackened, scorched stone peeling away in layers. Piles of ash where shelves and tables once stood. In several spots, the soot on the floor and walls left clear marks in the shape of bodies that had been already removed by the Peacekeepers.

  But at the side of the chamber, something caught Geldhart’s eye.

  A patch of stone where the floor should’ve been dark with soot…but wasn’t.

  A clean zone. As if the fire had exploded around it but not touched it directly.

  They stepped closer, crouching to analyze it clearly.

  Then, they saw it.

  A silhouette. A faint outline of a child’s form, burned into the stone. A perfect trace in the center of the devastation.

  No ash. No char. Just that one strange shape burned into the floor.

  Geldhart rose slowly, his expression serious.

  He looked at his friend, voice sharp. “This so-called expelled student of ours seems awfully young, don’t you think?”