The morning corridors leading toward the library were tranquil as Eryndor walked slowly through them. He felt relaxed and peaceful. The halls and the surrounding atmosphere were still quiet with only a few scholars had begun their day's work. For a moment he let himself enjoy the calm and peaceful air until he found himself standing before a great door.
It was a massive rectangle of brown wood bound with brass, five meters tall and three meters wide. He saw above it, carved into a slab of pale stone, a plaque gleamed with the words,
WISDOM SANCTUARY
"The world is full of ancient knowledge and wisdom," Eryndor murmured under his breath, cynicism curling his tone, "yet we claim our scrolls and papers are the only true source."
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The scent of parchment washed over him—dry, sweet, ancient. Rows upon rows of shelves rose like pillars into shadowed heights, while light streamed through the high windows, filling the air with drifting motes of dust. The library held five floors in total, but because now he was a low-level scribe, Eryndor was permitted access only to the first and second floors, despite having worked here for more than a decade.
Without wasting time, he walked toward a table a few meters from the entrance. Someone was already seated behind the desk—an elderly woman with spectacles perched low on her nose. She was the librarian on duty. She looked up, noticed Eryndor, and offered a thin but professional smile, the sort of politeness trained over decades of quiet service.
"Looking for something, young man?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.
"Mm… could you tell me where to find documents and records from before the Kingdom Era?" Eryndor asked hesitantly. Somehow He suspected that knowledge predating the Kingdom Era was heavily restricted by the Temple.
"At the back shelves," the librarian replied. "You'll find them there. Though… didn't you already know that, young man?"
"I've seen you often reading those books in the reading room," she continued. Her smile deepened, though her eyes did not.
"Ah—not those," Eryndor replied. "Not those myths and urban legends. I'm looking for the genuine historical archives that predate the Kingdom Era."
"But it seems the Temple doesn't have them, does it?" he added casually.
Without warning, Eryndor felt as though time had frozen. A sudden chill crawled up his spine. The librarian's smile remained fixed, but something in her gaze hardened, like frost forming over still water. Her voice dropped, slower and quieter.
"We don't have them, Eryndor," she said. "And listen to my advice—don't seek beyond your faith."
Eryndor stood frozen for a moment, heart racing, speechless and confused. Slowly, he nodded, murmured his thanks, and walked deeper into the library. He could feel the librarian's eyes following him in silence.
As he moved toward the shelves, he muttered under his breath in annoyance.
"Was she threatening me just now? A noble of the High Mortal Realm threatening someone of Knight tier like me?"
Upset, Eryndor exhaled and shook his head. He decided to reread one of the urban legends he already knew well—the tales of the ancient wars.
The legends spoke of a time long before the Kingdom Era, at the dawn of the so-called Legendary Era. Mortals of Terra Proper became aware of the veil and the existence of other Beings, the legends refer them shortly as, Malakh, a being seemingly made of light, Assura the flame like being and Svapada the savage beasts.
From there silent envoys appeared. Ancient ruins were discovered. Divine storms crossed barriers unseen for eons.
For a time, the world endured this strange coexistence. But in the Epic Era, what began as curiosity turned into pride, and pride gave birth to arrogance. Arrogance, in turn, ignited conflict. What started as divine diplomacy descended into conquest.
In the end, wonder became fire.
All four Beings began invading one another's Plates. Wars raged across heaven and hell alike. Civilizations of the previous age faced an utter destruction and crumbled, consumed by their own brilliance. Cities of light were swallowed by darkness and rivers boiled with divine blood.
It was an era where the epic wars and legendary heroes appeared—but left as its consequence was the Age of Void. A time when nothing moved. No war, yet no progress. Only collapse, exhaustion, and rotting faith remained, as though the world itself wished to sleep. Each realm retreated into its own Plate, licking their wounds.
As time passed, mortals slowly rebuilt. From small villages to growing towns, brick by brick, the inhabitants of Terra Proper restored civilization. The cycle of rise and fall continued—from kingdoms to empires—until the present age, where six Great Nations ruled the landmasses of Terra Proper after millennia. Each inherited fragments of the ancient Eras and Ages.
Eryndor had always found the stories of the Legendary and Epic Eras fascinating. Wars of gods, as they were called—hence the title:
Records of Ragnarok: When Gods Marched and the Sky Bled.
Something about these myths stirred deep curiosity within him.
Most people in Terra Proper—especially in Matrabhumi Ayoga—refused to believe these stories were true. The existence of other Beings was denied outright, even by the Temple of Radiant Memory. They were dismissed as folktales, urban legends—classified in scholarly terms as mythology.
Modern civilization simply did not believe mortal history stretched that far back. Most accepted that history began in the Void Era, or they called them the Era of Creation or Beginning—when mortals first appeared.
"Well, most people have limited access," Eryndor thought, "and they interpret records and artifacts through confirmation bias—trying to make sense of them with limited belief and knowledge."
"And it's said that in nearly ten thousand years since this nation was founded, yet no valid records have ever been found to confirm their existence," he murmured to himself as he continued reading and taking notes.
To Eryndor, the myths were too rich, too complex, too consistent to be mere fantasy. Though now he was only a low-level scribe, he had read, listened, seen, and heard far more than ordinary people.
Even so, the knowledge available to him remained limited—or perhaps intentionally limited.
At least, that was his suspicion.