[History]

As Claude lay in his modest room, his thoughts wandered back to the conversation he'd overheard earlier.

"A giant hand, a dwindling catch of fish, and an old tavern that's been closed for years..." He furrowed his brow, trying to piece it all together. "Are all cities in the empire so... eventful?"

He sighed as he nestled into his bed. "I just hope these things aren't connected to anything dangerous... All I want is to live peacefully for now."

Yet, deep down, Claude knew that peace and quiet might not be in his future. His life had never been that simple, and it would be foolish to let his guard down.

"I'm not sure if it's safe to reveal my magic," he mused, "so I'll keep practising in secret for now. And speaking of magic..."

The thought of magic led him to two crucial realizations.

There was no immediate need to develop offensive spells; his strength was still limited by his rank as a Mage Apprentice, not by the spells at his disposal. But he desperately needed to find a way to enhance his mobility.

In that final battle in Limbo, he'd been a sitting duck.

Yes, he'd been immobilized, but even if he hadn't been, there was no way he could have kept up with his opponents. He would still have been outmanoeuvred, forced to stand still like easy prey.

With a resigned sigh, Claude shut his eyes, letting his body relax as his mind slipped into slumber.

The rough woollen blanket itched against his skin, and the straw-stuffed mattress creaked under his weight, filling the small room with the scent of dried hay. Yet here, in this humble inn, at least for tonight, he found a semblance of safety.

-----

----------

----------------

"Finally...!" With a sigh of relief, Claude dropped into a nearby chair.

It was already the next day, and he found himself in the library again. Mr. Pierre, the head librarian, had gone out to run some errands, leaving Claude with the responsibility of managing the place.

His tasks were clear: organize the scattered books, and assist visitors with borrowing and returning volumes.

The work had been more taxing than he anticipated. Claude had spent hours meticulously sorting through the shelves, rearranging books that had been carelessly misplaced, and making a note of any that required repair.

He had greeted each visitor, answering their inquiries with as much politeness and efficiency as he could muster, all while ensuring that the silence of the library was maintained.

There had been a constant flow of people, each with their own needs— scholars in search of obscure texts, and the occasional curious traveller.

Now that all his assigned tasks were completed, Claude allowed himself a moment of respite. With a slow yawn, he muttered to himself, "I didn't realize working could be so draining..."

Shaking his head to clear the lingering fog of exhaustion, he refocused his thoughts, rhythmically tapping the arms of the chair. His gaze drifted across the room, finally settling on a distant shelf.

'I should try to find some historical books,' he mused, 'to gain a better understanding of the world around me... Something more substantial than childhood stories...'

This new goal invigorated him, wiping away some of the fatigue that had settled into his bones. Rising from his chair, he walked over to the shelf he had in mind.

From his earlier tasks, he remembered that most of the library's collection consisted of literature, poetry, and philosophical treatises.

The historical records were tucked away in a quieter, more secluded section—dustier, less frequented, but filled with invaluable documents.

Claude traced the spines of the books with his fingers as he walked along the shelf, skimming the titles.

'Not this one... Or this...'

Suddenly, he stopped as his fingers rested on a particular volume. The book had a dark brown leather cover, its edges worn with age. The title, written in dulled gold lettering, caught his eye.

Chronicles of Arta: From Dawn to Darkness

René d'Aubigné, 13th Generation Archivist from the Royal Court of Francia

Intrigued, Claude returned to his chair, settling into it as he opened the book and began to read.

Oh, where to begin...

Though many think of it as mere legend, the main story of this sorry continent begins with Kourosh. A familiar name to many—a legend, a myth, but to most, a figure of fiction. After all, could gods and the like truly exist?

Nevertheless, I won't bore you with what most of you already know. Kourosh, having ascended to the throne of the Usayan Kingdom, turned the point of his spear toward neighbouring nations. Within a decade, the hooves of the infamous Usayan cavalry had trampled the infantry of nearly every other realm on the continent.

This was the first recorded use of horse archers in military warfare in Arta, and it was certainly not the last...

In the year 0 A.C. (After the Conquest), the Usayan Empire was established...

11 A.C., Kourosh enacted the Trade and Tribute Law, which standardized the collection of taxes across the empire, filling the imperial coffers while ensuring the flow of goods between conquered lands.

13 A.C., Rebel forces in the district of Assur were decisively crushed...

17 A.C., Kourosh embarked on a diplomatic visit to the province of Tarsis, forging alliances that would strengthen his hold on his empire...

On and on, Claude's eyes flicked through the long list of historical dates until he stumbled upon something unexpected.

23 A.C., Kourosh fell unexpectedly ill, believed to be the result of his many years spent on the battlefield, and passed his throne to his eldest son, Ardeshir.

24 A.C., Kourosh passed away, aged 43...

But what truly caught Claude's attention was what came next.

36 A.C., The year that marked The Cataclysm and perhaps the most frightful event recorded in history—the beginning of The Missing Millennia.

Claude's breath caught as he read this, the words not fully sinking in at first. A missing millennium...?

Shaking his head in confusion, he continued reading.

The Missing Millennia is something no one has been able to explain. All historical records of this era seem to have vanished without a trace. The time from 36 A.C. to 1171 A.C. appears to have been erased from existence.

Many now believe that these years never truly existed—that they are simply the result of mistranslated and exaggerated records. But I... I beg to differ.

Claude's fingers tightened on the pages as he read on.

There are fragments—small, overlooked details in genealogies, tales passed down in remote villages, and records kept by isolated monastic orders that suggest otherwise. One such example is the lineage of the House of Valois, which mysteriously skips from the year 40 A.C. to 1150 A.C., with no explanation.

Another is the Legend of the Lost Kingdoms, a story recounted by the elders of the province of Arquen in Francia, which speaks of lands swallowed by a plague, their very names forgotten by time.

These scattered remnants are the only evidence we have, but they suggest that something—something beyond our understanding—happened during those lost centuries. What it was, or why it happened, remains a mystery. All we know is that after the Missing Millennia came the Age of Dawn...