The bells of the Great Cathedral began to toll at midday, a somber, heavy sound that vibrated through the very bones of the city. It was the signal the entire empire had been dreading: the Emperor had collapsed.
In the North Wing, Livius stood by his grandmother's bedside. Her breathing was shallow, a faint whistling sound that signaled the end of her long journey. She had held on through sheer willpower, waiting for the day the "little dragon" no longer needed her protection.
"Go... Livius," she gasped, her hand clutching his. "The palace... it will become a slaughterhouse tonight. Do not let them... find you."
"I am a ghost, Grandmother," Livius said, his voice cracking for the first time in years. "They cannot find what they refuse to see."
He stayed with her until her heart gave its final, weary beat. He didn't call for the palace healers; they wouldn't have come anyway. He performed the final rites himself, using a small burst of solar-mana to cremate her remains into a fine, white ash. He placed the ash in a silver locket, hanging it around his neck.
As he stepped out of the North Wing, he felt the atmosphere of the palace change. The air was charged with hostile mana. He could hear the clatter of boots, the unsheathing of swords, and the muffled screams of servants caught in the crossfire of the "Succession War."
He made his way to the archives one last time. He found Vaelin slumped over his desk, his hand resting on the book containing the portrait. The old man was still alive, but barely. His eyes were fixed on the door.
"You... you must go," Vaelin wheezed. "Kaelen... the Third Prince... he's coming here. He heard a rumor that I knew the identity of the 'Ghost.' He's going to burn the archives to smoke the truth out."
Livius looked at the rows of priceless knowledge, the centuries of history that his brothers were willing to destroy for a piece of gold. A cold, absolute fury settled into his soul.
"Let him come," Livius said, his golden eyes glowing with a terrifying light. "He wants to see the Ghost? I will show him the nightmare instead."
He took the book from Vaelin's hand, tucked it into his cloak, and stood at the entrance of the library. The smell of smoke began to drift through the halls. The Civil War of Argentine had officially begun, and the Ghost was no longer content to just watch.