The Weight of Inheritance Part 1

That evening, Caelbrim’s archives loomed dark and silent at the edge of the palace grounds. Most citizens treated the library as a sacred place — a reliquary of scrolls, star-maps, and tomes that stretched back to the first dome blueprints. The clerks locked the doors at dusk, and only high archivists carried the right to enter at night.

Which was why Michael found himself standing in the shadows with Ivo Marek, whose satchel bulged with stolen inksticks and crumpled maps.

“This is madness,” Michael whispered.

“It’s research,” Ivo countered, pushing his curls from his face. “And besides, nobody guards the eastern annex. Who breaks into a library?”

“Apparently us.”

The door gave way with a quiet groan. Inside, the air smelled of dust and parchment. Candlelight from their lanterns revealed endless shelves and spiral staircases vanishing into upper galleries.

Ivo moved with the feverish certainty of someone who already lived ten steps ahead. He darted between tables, flipping tomes open, muttering to himself. Michael followed, scanning the spines with a quieter reverence.

“You’re searching for your father,” Michael said softly.

Ivo froze. “I’m searching for what he was searching for. The First Library isn’t just a legend. It’s a convergence — knowledge gathered by an omniscient custodian. If I prove its existence, my family name rises again.”

Michael studied his friend. In the dim light, Ivo’s eyes burned with both brilliance and exhaustion. “And if you lose yourself chasing it?”

“Then at least I’ll be lost chasing something worth finding.”

Michael wanted to argue, but he remembered his own longing: to be free of expectation, to live unbound. Ivo’s obsession mirrored his own, only sharper. He said nothing, letting the silence carry their unspoken truths.

The next day, in the artisans’ quarter, Michael found Lina working at her father’s forge. Sparks lit her hair in shades of copper as she hammered a blade into shape. When she noticed him, she wiped her brow with the back of her arm and smirked.

“Back from your tower of scrolls?” she teased.

Michael smiled faintly. “Someone has to make sure Ivo doesn’t set the archives on fire.”

Lina laughed, a warm sound that eased something in his chest. She gestured for him to sit. “I don’t know how you stomach all that dust. Steel is honest. It doesn’t lie.”

Michael sat, watching her work. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal filled the workshop. He admired her strength, her ease in her own skin. For a moment, he almost let himself imagine another life.

But when she met his gaze, something inside him faltered. A memory pressed close: Lisa’s face, her betrayal, the weight of a child lost. The ache cut deep, and he turned his eyes away.

“You don’t let anyone close, do you?” Lina said quietly.

Michael forced a smile. “Maybe I don’t want to carry anyone else’s weight.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t press further. She only handed him the half-finished blade, its surface gleaming. “Then carry this instead. At least steel won’t betray you.”

That night, conflict returned. In the council chamber, maps sprawled before them, Daniel Marek traced the caravan routes with a trembling hand he tried to keep steady. His voice was iron, but his eyes betrayed the fatigue of a man eaten by guilt.

“You will go with the Oathbound,” Daniel said again, firmer this time. “The roads are bleeding. We need to know who’s striking at us.”

Michael clenched his fists. “You’re not sending me to learn. You’re sending me to prove myself. To you. To a kingdom that sees me only as an heir.”

“You think I wanted this?” Daniel’s voice cracked, rare and raw. “I wanted a life with your mother. I wanted peace. But peace is a luxury I could not keep. And now neither can you.”

For a moment, father and son stood like mirrors: both bound by duty, both yearning for something more.

Michael’s throat ached with words he couldn’t say. He only bowed his head, not in obedience, but in quiet defiance.