Lufuna rushed into the library with her child in her arms. She stumbled and hit her knee on the threshold. The pain made her take a breath.
The little girl hugged her neck so tightly that she could feel the two little arms crossed behind her neck, and her fingers were holding the fabric of her collar until their knuckles turned white.
The door behind him was still open, and the wind poured in through the door opening, causing the pages on the bookshelf to flutter, like countless white butterflies flapping their wings at the same time.
The curator came out with a hurried expression. His glasses were crooked and there was a thin crack on the frame. I don't know where it was knocked.
The key chain on the belt made a dense collision sound in the rapid pace. It was no longer the usual rhythmic jingle, but like a bell that was shaken crazily in someone's hand, losing all order.
Behind him was another librarian, a taciturn colleague. The man was wearing a dark gray robe, with his hood up, revealing an expressionless face.
His eyes are dark brown, he is not a dragonborn, and he is a taciturn person. The curator said that he was "invited to help", but Lufuna felt that he was more like a bodyguard hired by the curator.
At this moment, the silent man stood one step behind the curator, his body slightly sideways, facing the door, his right hand hanging by his side, his fingers slightly bent, and his palm facing the door.
Lufuna has seen that posture before, on the battlefield, at the moment before the soldier drew his sword.
The curator walked up to Lufuna and took out a card from his pocket. It was not made of paper, but some kind of metal sheet, the size of a palm, as thin as a cicada wing, with a dark gray surface and fine lines like water waves.
On the front of the card is printed the emblem of Gerlen City - a stone bridge across a river with three towers - and a line of small gilded characters.
There is a Braille symbol on the lower left corner of the back that can be felt by touching it with your finger. The curator handed the card over.
"The capital may not be safe next. We need to go outside." The curator spoke much faster than usual, but he spoke every word clearly, as if he was afraid that Lufuna could not hear clearly."
I have a residence in Gerlen City, which is more stable than here. This is the certificate I got in the early years. You can take it first to prove that you are from the inner city of Gerlen City."
Lufuna took the card, glanced down, and rubbed the card surface with his fingers. The metal felt cold and smooth, and there were slight scratches on the edges, indicating that the card was old and was not made on the fly.
She put the card into the leather bag at her waist and tightened the string at the mouth of the bag.
"Don't pack too much."
The curator said that he had turned around and glanced at the surrounding bookshelves. The books he had spent decades collecting had now become things that could not be taken away. "Only take the most important ones."
Lufuna stood in the center of the hall, looking at the surrounding bookshelves. Her eyes swept from one row to another, and back again, staying on the spine of each row for no more than half a second.
She has been here for more than a year, and for more than a year, she has been dealing with these books every day. She has sorted them, read them, copied them, had lunch on the chair next to them, and taken a nap.
She recognized most of the books here, not just by their titles, but by their thickness, weight, cover color, and wear on the spine.
She knew which book was placed in which position, and she could touch it with her eyes closed without looking at the number. But she knew that there were more than 100,000 books here, and she had not even read a tenth of them.
It's time to leave now. Vagrian may be gone. The oldest, most complete, and least known collection of ancient books on this continent may be reduced to ashes in the subsequent turmoil, just like the great libraries of the empire were burned down in previous wars.
She may never see these books again, and may never have the chance to open those pages that smell like old ink before she has time to open them.
She is still a little short of her thesis, and the fragments copied from these ancient books are still in her notebook, and she has not yet had time to organize them into a chapter.
She still has many questions that she has not had time to find answers to in these books, and there are still many histories, myths, and legends about Vagrian that she has not had time to write down.
It makes me very desperate just thinking about it.
Lufuna took a deep breath and swallowed back the sour emotions that came up. She walked to the nearest bookshelf and started to smoke out books.
She pumped quickly, no longer the usual cautious and gentle way she treated fragile items, but used both hands, one in each hand, to pull it out without even looking at it, and put it under her arm.
The books she smoked were not the books that she liked, read many times, and had feelings for, but the books that she had never seen anywhere else, and that once destroyed, she could never find another copy.
There were not many books, but there were dozens of them, and she couldn't move them alone.
"Come here and help me." Lufuna shouted to the little girl behind him who was still standing at the door, bewildered.
The little girl was stunned for a moment, then trotted over. Lufuna stuffed a few thinner and lighter books into her arms.
"Hold tight, don't drop it." The little girl nodded, holding the pile of books with both hands, resting her chin on the spine of the top book, her eyes wide open.
The curator squatted in front of a row of low bookshelves, pulled out the largest, heaviest, but also most important ancient books from the bottom, stacked them on the ground, and prepared to pack them with the canvas bags he brought.
His movements are not as fast as Lufuna, but he is very methodical. He reads the title page of each book first, confirms the version, and then puts it in the bag.
The silent administrator did not move the books. He stood at the door, facing outside, holding the door frame with one hand and hanging the other hand by his side.
His body leaned forward slightly, like a fully drawn bow. His head was slightly tilted, his ears pointed outward, listening.
Lufuna heard it.
The noise outside has changed. It's not getting smaller, it's changing.
The previous din was screaming, crying, running, collapsing houses, broken glass, flying rocks - all the sounds mixed together, only fear.
The sound is different now. Although it is still very noisy, the way of making noise has changed. Some people are shouting, not screaming, but shouting; some people are responding, not crying, but responding.
Someone else was clapping or cheering? They were shouting a name, but she couldn't hear what they were shouting.
Lufuna put down the book in his hand, walked to the door, and stuck his head out from the administrator's shoulder. The people in the square did not disperse, but they stopped running.
They stood in the middle of the square, among the gravel and broken glass, standing next to the blood that had not yet dried, looking up at the sky.
There is a person flying in the sky - no, not flying, but riding on a wyvern. The wyvern's wing membranes glow with a dark brown luster in the sun, and its wings flap very slowly, hovering steadily over the square.
The rider wore the uniform of a Vagria palace guard, holding the reins with one hand and holding a silver amplifier with the other hand, amplifying his voice to cover the entire street.
"Everyone, calm down! Listen to me!" The guard's voice came from the loudspeaker. The amplified voice was somewhat distorted, with a metallic, buzzing echo, repeatedly bouncing, overlapping, and dissipating between buildings.
"Things have settled down! His Majesty Valerirus has passed the throne to the new ruler - His Majesty Caesar! Everything is operating as usual! The city guards will come to deal with the situation here!"
Lufuna listened to it twice before I could understand every word in that passage clearly.
Caesar? She has never heard of this name. The throne of the Vagrian Empire has been passed down for more than a thousand years, and she has never heard of "Caesar".
There are many descendants of the emperor, including the Dragon Prince, the Dragon Princess, and those distant relatives who are not in the line of succession but still have the blood of the emperor. There is no such thing as succession to the throne.
The emperor will not die, the emperor is irreplaceable. But now, the emperor has passed the throne to others.
From one ruler to another, the name of the country remains unchanged, the cities remain unchanged, the people remain unchanged, the currency remains unchanged, and the laws remain unchanged - just change one person to sit on that chair, and the country can continue to function?
Lufuna doesn't know, she is just a scholar who studies ancient history and legends, not a political scientist, not a military strategist, or any expert who can make accurate judgments at this moment.
"Let's go." The curator has already put the packed bag on his back and is still holding one in his hand. His glasses have not been straightened yet, and his white hair is still scattered.
"Stop looking."
Lufuna turned around, picked up his baggage from the door, and put it on his shoulders. He shrugged the baggage upwards with force, making it stick more closely to his back.
She walked up to the little girl, bent down and took the pile of books from her arms, placed it on a pile of luggage next to her, then pulled out a book with a red dragon with wings spread on the cover and put it into the little girl's hand.
"Here is this book for you."
The little girl looked down at the cover, then looked up at her again. "I can't understand it."
"I'll understand it later."
Lufuna picked up two piles of books and walked towards the door.
Near the palace, inside a luxurious building with gold rims on the exterior walls.
The round wooden table is large, covered with dark green velvet cloth, with a silver kettle and several empty cups placed on the velvet cloth.
No one poured water, and no one touched the glasses.
More than a dozen people sat around the round table. The top noble of the empire, Lord Protector, Commander of the Forbidden Army, Duke Luer Yas.
Everyone has different expressions written on their faces, but the underlying color is the same - shock.