in search of the library.

Anthea left her chambers with her heart pounding, but with her chin held high, imitating the regal posture of the woman in the painting.

As she advanced through the corridors, the magnificence of the palace unfolded before her in a continuum of pristine white marble.

Fluted columns supported high ceilings from which hung translucent silk draperies, swaying gently in a breeze that seemed to come from everywhere. Vines of purple and blue flowers climbed up the structures and fell in vibrant cascades, breaking the neatness of the white with bursts of color and filling the air with a sweet, intoxicating perfume.

On her way, she passed several maids rushing about their chores.

Anthea noticed at once that their clothes were different from those of the first maid. They wore simple linen robes in earthy colors and carried no ornaments. Upon seeing her, they would quickly turn away to the walls, lowering their heads in a deep, respectful bow.

The contrast puzzled her for a moment. The girl who woke her wore a much more elaborate uniform, with embroidery and a superior quality of fabric.

-Of course... -

Anthea thought, tying things together as she kept her pace steady.

-If the maid I met in my private room, she's no ordinary maid. She must be someone of very high status, perhaps a lady-in-waiting or a head of personal service.

He decided to file this information away for future research. Now, the main thing was to find the library.

As she turned a wide corner that seemed to lead to a more important wing of the palace, she encountered two figures that made her stop almost imperceptibly.

They were guards, but not human. They were immense, easily exceeding two meters in height. Sharp, curved horns sprouted from their heads, and a long reptilian tail rested behind them, moving with menacing slowness.

On their backs, folded but visible, rested membranous wings. They had the unmistakable look of Dragonians.

What really captured Anthea's attention, however, was their equipment.

They wore full armor of a bronzed, ancient metal, covered in engravings so dense that there was hardly any smooth surface left. They were not simple protections, but works of goldsmithing.

The symbology was discreet, integrated into the decorative patterns: curves in the shoulder pads that suggested folded wings, textures in the breastplate that evoked overlapping scales and finials reminiscent of stylized claws.

Pieces of red and purple cloth, of a deep, rich velvet, fell from their waists and shoulders, adding an air of royalty to their martial brutality.

In their hands, they held giant halberds. The shaft was of a dark, dull metal, but the blade... the blade was a marvel of blacksmithing. Curved and lethal, it was inlaid with gems that pulsed faintly, and the edge seemed capable of cutting through the very air.

Anthea stared for a second longer than was prudent, her eyes of an artist (or at least, someone who appreciated beauty) running over the details of the filigree on the guards' gauntlets. The craftsmanship was superb, superior to anything he had seen in the museums of his previous world.

One of the guards moved his head slightly toward her, and the clanking of his armor brought her out of her reverie.

Remembering her role, Anthea blinked and regained her expression of haughty indifference. She straightened her back even more and continued walking, passing between them without deigning to look at them again, as if those imposing creatures and their weapons were as insignificant as the dust on the road.

-They are only guards," she said to herself, though her pulse quickened. And I am Anthea Rosengard. This is normal for me.

However, Anthea's initial determination began to waver after crossing the fifth hall identical to the previous one. The palace was a maze of immaculate beauty, an endless succession of marble corridors and inner courtyards that seemed designed to confound anyone not born within its walls.

She paused for a moment, frustrated, seriously considering giving up and returning to her room-if she could find her way back-when a movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

In the distance, on a cross gallery, walked a small group of people. They didn't look like servants or guards.

Anthea sharpened her eyes. They wore long robes covered by robes of deep purple, embroidered with intricate details of flowers in gold thread that shimmered with every step. They carried scrolls of parchment under their arms and gesticulated animatedly among themselves.

They looked like scholars. Academics of the highest order discussing.

The strangest thing, however, was not their appearance, but what happened next.

Even though they were across the huge courtyard, at a distance at which their voices should have been only an indistinguishable murmur, Anthea could hear them with crystal clarity, as if they were standing right next to her.

"This is a historiographical aberration, colleagues. Simply unacceptable."

Said the oldest of the group, a man whose white beard reached his chest, as he shook a scroll indignantly.

"We have treatises of the 5th Age and detailed chronicles of the Fourth, but the Third Age... it's a chasm. A black void in our understanding of the world. How is it possible that there are beings who walked the earth in those times and yet our archives are as empty as a fool's mind?"

"Perhaps there is no need to dig through dust and paper, Master Elian."

Selene, a stern-looking but inquisitive-eyed woman, interjected, adjusting her purple robe.

"We walk under the roof of living history. Her Excellency Anthea didn't just witness those events; she was part of them. A simple hearing, a few questions... she could illuminate centuries of darkness in an afternoon."

"Silence! Do not utter such imprudence again, Selene."

She was cut off by Thaddeus, the third scholar, a man with a hunched back and a face furrowed with deep wrinkles, stopping short and tapping the floor with his cane for emphasis.

"Has scholarly ambition clouded your judgment? Or have you forgotten that the shadow that covers his gaze has not dissipated in centuries?"

He lowered his voice, turning it to a whisper laden with respect and fear.

"No one knows for certain what horrors were unleashed at the end of the Second Era, but the scars it left on His Excellency are deep. Since then, his silence has been his shield. To disturb her retreat with our curiosities would not only be unforgivably disrespectful to our benefactress. but could invoke a wrath we are not prepared to face. Let the past slumber in her memory. We will seek our answers in the library, as befits our rank."

"The library? Again?"

Protested the first, the one with the white beard, pausing for a moment to look at his companions in disbelief.

"We've been there a thousand times. We've been through every shelf, shaken every scroll. We've never found anything but dust and trivia. It's a dead end."

"Don't be so pessimistic, Elian."

The woman reprimanded him, picking up her pace with determination.

"Ancient texts are capricious. Sometimes they reveal their secrets only when asked the right question. We might find clues we overlooked last time, cross-references, margin notes..."

He paused, looking straight ahead.

"And if not... well, I know an archaeologist who resides near the borders of the principality. He is said to have interesting theories about historical gaps. We could consult him about that."

"An earth digger?"

Elian snorted, though he seemed to consider the idea.

"I suppose it's better than nothing. But first, the library. It's our best bet for now. Let's go."

Anthea blinked, surprised by his sudden hearing acuity. Was this part of his new body's "magic"? She didn't have time to analyze it. The key word had been spoken: library.

A smile of triumph curved her lips. She already had her involuntary guides.

Without wasting time, Anthea began to follow them, keeping a prudent distance. Her footsteps were silent on the marble, a skill she was instinctively grateful for.

As she walked, the words of the scholars echoed in her mind. Thaddeus had spoken with scholarly eloquence, wrapping the truth in metaphors of "shadows" and "scars," but the underlying message was brutally clear.

Something terrible had happened at the end of the Second Era. Something catastrophic enough to scar Anthea for life and change her personality so drastically that, centuries later, people are still wary of her.

-Basically, I'm a traumatized Old Glory," she thought with a black humor that barely managed to hide her unease. A great ruler, perhaps, but consumed by the melancholy of a tragedy I don't even remember.

But then a second realization hit her with the force of a brick wall, causing her to stagger slightly.

She paused for a second, wide-eyed.

-Wait... -

She reviewed the conversation mentally. Elian had mentioned "treatises of the Fifth Age" and "chronicles of the Fourth" as consolidated historical documents. As things of the past.

If Anthea had lived through the end of the Second Era... and now they were in a post-Fifth Era....

A shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze in the hallway ran down her back.

-How long had this woman lived? -

he wondered, feeling a sudden vertigo at the time scale.

-Centuries? Millennia? -

They spoke of entire eras as if they were chapters in a dusty history book. And Anthea had been there to see them written. She wasn't just a powerful noblewoman. She was a living relic. An ancient entity.

She shook her head, trying to clear the existential dizziness. This was no time for chronological identity crises. The scholars rounded a corner and Anthea hurried to keep an eye on them.

The library had the answers, and now she had many more questions than before.