Chapter 230

After her relaxing bath and a short nap, Lyssandra slipped out of the guest quarters. Having retrieved her robe from the inventory, she moved through the church halls, the cloak's shadow making her face difficult to discern.

She remembered Miriel pointing out the way to the main archives during one of their conversations.

"Third floor, west wing," she'd said. And here she was.

The library was not as she had imagined. Instead of a grand, open-spaced hall with soaring ceilings, it was a labyrinth. A maze of tall, dark wooden shelves, stretching from floor to high ceiling, created narrow, canyon-like aisles. Ladders on brass wheels could be rolled to reach the highest volumes. The only light came from narrow clerestory windows, casting dusty, golden rays of light across the shadowy paths.

The air was cool, dry, and smelled of a million books. Leather, paper, glue, and the faint, sweet scent of vanilla. Scholars and priests hunched over heavy tomes at scattered oak tables, the only sound the faint rustle of a turning page.

"Let's see," Lyssandra muttered, finger running along the spines of the books. She was looking for something specific.

"The Prophet's Song," she read aloud, "No."

"A Compilation of Saints and Sinners," she snorted, "Definitely not."

"On the Nature of Angels, Volumes I, II, and III," she rolled her eyes, "Glorified fairytale hour."

She shoved a heavy volume back onto the shelf.

"Damn it. How big is this library?" Lyssandra felt like screaming at the overwhelming scale of it all.

"SHHHHH!" came several harsh whispers from various tables.

"Sorry," she grumbled under her breath, and continued the hunt, determined to find what she came for.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of searching, Lyssandra located her quarry. Not a single book, but an entire alcove dedicated to local geography and legends. She spent half an hour pulling volume after volume, her arms full of books that promised even the smallest mention of what she needed.

"So…" Lyssandra murmured, letting the heavy pile crash down onto the polished surface of a nearby empty table. A small plume of dust rose into the air.

She separated the books into two smaller stacks. The first contained histories of the surrounding lands. The second held folklore and apocrypha.

She tapped the first book on the second pile. Its title was gaudily embossed in gold foil: "Legends of the Labyrinth Lurkers." Next to it was a much plainer, more serious-looking tome: "A Treatise on Geologically Unstable Caverns and Their Fictive Denizens." On the bottom was a slim, leather-bound volume with a rather nonsensical title: "Who Picks the Lock? An Unofficial History of Dungeon Keys."

A small, triumphant smile spread across Lyssandra's face. Her hunch was right. Even holy places had records of the secular. Especially records that appeared to contain nothing of value.

"Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles and pulling a chair up to the table. "Let's get started. This is going to be a long day."

She opened the first book, Legends of the Labyrinth Lurkers, to a page titled "The Silent Woods," and began to read.

The morning light through the library windows gradually shifted, growing brighter, harsher. It passed its zenith, casting sharp shadows stretched across the floor like pointed fingers. Then, the light began to soften, the gold deepening to amber, to rose, and finally to the deep purples of twilight.

The only movement was the occasional rustle of a turning page or sigh from some weary clerics.

But Lyssandra barely looked up. She was a machine. One book closed, another was instantly opened. Her eyes scanned the pages rapidly, fingers flying across the lines, absorbing the information. She was searching for patterns, for maps, for names, for any hint that would connect her dungeon to the outside world.

She found legends of goblin hordes in the Whispering Woods. Stories of a reclusive necromancer in the Black Mire. Fables about a treasure hidden in the Glass Spires. All of them were useless. Just tales for the fireside, not knowledge for a dungeon.

She finished one stack, shoved it aside, and started the other. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw set with frustration. The silence of the library, once soothing, now felt oppressive, as if the books themselves were hiding what she needed.

Finally, long after the last person had left and the only light was a single candelabra flickering above, Lyssandra slammed a book shut with a force that echoed in the emptiness.

"This is so frustrating!" she sighed, leaning back in the chair and running a hand through her long hair. "I swear, one of these old toad scribes wrote the damn thing down and it got lost in the editing phase."

She looked around at the thousands upon thousands of books, a sea of paper and leather.

'Want to help me?' she transmitted to Luna, the thought filled with a mixture of hope and annoyance.

'I can't read, Master,' Luna's sleepy-sounding thought returned.

'You are a liar, you parasite. You were in the learning how to read classes before. I saw you absorbing the information just as fast as the other students were,' Lyssandra retorted.

A faint vibration within her. The sensation of the slime shifting and sulking. 'But I don't want to. Reading hurt my head. I just want to stay inside you forever…' Luna's thought trailed off into a blissful, sloshing dream.

"Grrr! Fine, suit yourself!" Lyssandra grumbled, her voice rising in the stillness, laced with irritation. She pushed the final book away, her search a complete and utter bust.

A stern voice, sharp as knife, cut through the gloom.

"Is there something you need help with, guest?"

From behind the bookshelf, a figure emerged. It wasn't human. Not entirely.

The woman's upper half was exquisite. She was tall. Striking, beautiful features framed by dark hair pulled into a severe, yet immensely flattering bun at the back of her head. A pair of half-rim glasses sat perched on her nose. She had sad, sapphire-blue eyes that held an unnervingly calm and intelligent gaze.

She wore a crisp blouse beneath a tailored vest. But it was what emerged from the waist of her prim, professional dark blue skirt made Lyssandra freeze.

Instead of legs, a long, thick, serpentine tail coiled out from under. Its scales were deep, midnight blue, glittering faintly when the lower body propelled her silently across the floor. She held her upper body perfectly still, the fluid motion of her tail doing all the work.

There was no mistaking her species.

Lyssandra's eyes widened when she scanned with her skill. "A… a lamia?"

"That is the usual term, yes," the librarian said, adjusting her glasses. "Now, you were disturbing the peace. And I am head librarian in this archive. What was so important that you felt the need to shout?"

Her voice was level, authoritative. It wasn't a question but a command for an explanation. The sharp, professional tone cut through Lyssandra's irritation like a hot knife through butter. She immediately felt a pang of regret, though it was swiftly overshadowed by intense curiosity.

"I'm sorry for disturbing," Lyssandra said, her own voice becoming more subdued and respectful. "I'm just trying to find information."

The librarian, whose posture was ramrod straight, did not seem impressed. "We have procedures here, guest. What is it you seek that has you yelling in a house of knowledge?"

Lyssandra hesitated for a second. "Information on dungeons. Local legends, histories of their formation, lore about their bosses…"

The lamia's eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. "You are aware that this is the archive of the Church of Caelus? Our texts concern scripture, the lives of saints, theology, and philosophy. We are not a guild hall of dungeon-dwellers."

A disdainful, assessing glint in her blue gaze. "The materials you seek would not be here and the library is now closed. Please exit so that I may lock up for the night."

Lyssandra stared at the strange, elegant, and intimidating creature for a moment. She wanted to protest, to stay longer, but the woman's authority was absolute in this domain.

Finally, she gave a curt nod. “I understand. Thank you for your assistance.”

Lyssandra turned toward the large double doors and crossed the room. Her hand had just reached for one when a thought stopped her.

"Thank you, Jeene," the name slipping off her tongue easily.

The lamia, who had already begun gliding back toward a large key ring at her desk, stopped cold. Her tail coiled tightly against the floor. She slowly turned her head, her eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

"How did she know my name?" a sliver of ice snaking its way down her spine.

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