Isabel's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she nodded. "Of course, Young Master. Those were the evenings after your lessons, when you'd tire from the tutors. I chose the ones with the least... details, to keep you from nightmares." Her tone held a nostalgic edge, as if the memory pulled at something long dormant in her.
"But why now? Have you taken an interest in them again?"
Azael chuckled lightly, keeping his voice casual to ease her into it. "Something like that. Ever since I recovered, these flashes keep coming back bits of those stories, mixed with dreams I can't quite place. I think there's a rite or heirloom mentioned in one of the volumes, something only the head maid like you would have access to verify. The librarians are too stuffy; they'd drone on for hours. But you... you always knew which pages held the real power."
It was a half-truth, woven from the inherited memories. The original Azael had been interested in those section of the archives a lot in his free time. Guarded by blood oaths that only long-serving trusted servants like Isabel could bypass without triggering alarms.
The head maid before Isabel was someone close to her. She had worked for House Ignovar for the last thirty years. According to her, Isabel was trustworthy and someone who could be the next head maid.
After she retired, Azael's late father decided to choose Isabel as head maid, despite her being only 32 years old.
Now he needed her insight not just for the lore, but to see how she'd react whether her loyalty would bend toward him in this new, bolder incarnation of her young master.
Isabel walked in silence for a moment, her gaze drifting to the tapestries lining the walls—depictions of their family's storied past, knights and mages entwined in eternal vigil. Then she sighed softly, a sound more resigned than reluctant.
"Very well. The archives are sealed during the afternoon hours, but I have the key. It's been years since anyone but the scholars touched them, and even then... not the deeper vaults. Also, you are a family member. It's no problem for you to go there.... why are you asking me, Young Master?"
"Well, it's better to have the guidance of someone who knows this place well for years," he tried to give her a vague reason. His memories were still like fragments. He didn't know much about which books were those.
Though it's not like the archives hid some forbidden arts or anything. It was more like historical records of the Ignovar family: how they became strong, and details about their bloodline and powers.
They turned a corner, descending a short flight of stairs toward the heavy oak doors of the library. Azael could feel the weight of the estate's history pressing in, the air growing cooler and laced with the scent of aged paper and faint incense.
As Isabel produced a slender silver key from a hidden pocket in her skirt, inserting it into the lock with practiced ease, he watched her closely. Her fingers were steady.
Despite being a maid, Isabel was at the peak of the 3rd core stage. Which was praiseworthy.
Maybe in some months, she could break through to the 4th stage.
The door creaked open, revealing shelves upon shelves of leather-bound volumes, their spines etched with gold runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light. Isabel stepped inside first, lighting a few oil lamps with a whispered incantation—minor affinity for basic magic, a remnant of her own family's service to the house.
"What specifically do you seek, Young Master? The bloodline chronicles? Or the ritual codex?"
Azael followed, letting the door close behind them with a resonant thud. 'This is it,' he thought, his pulse quickening not from nerves, but excitement.
'Time to pull her deeper into my web—gently, of course.' Aloud, he said, "Start with the codex. There's a passage about the 'Veil of Inheritance'... and how it's unlocked not by blood alone, but by trust from those who've sworn it eternally."
Isabel paused, her hand hovering over a particular shelf.
Her eyes met his for a brief, searching moment, and in that gaze, he saw the walls she'd built over the years begin to crack just a little more.
"As you wish," she murmured, pulling down the tome. As she opened it on a nearby reading table, the pages rustling like dry leaves, Azael settled into a chair beside her, close enough to catch the subtle floral scent of her perfume.
The session stretched on, her voice weaving through the archaic text with the familiarity of old habit.
Questions led to clarifications, which bloomed into shared recollections. Laughs over a misremembered tale, a quiet admission from her about the fears she'd harbored during his illness. By the time the lamps began to gutter low, the distance between them felt smaller, the air charged with unspoken possibilities.
As they finally rose to leave, Azael placed a hand lightly on her arm chaste, reassuring.
"Thank you, Isabel. This... it means more than you know. We'll continue tomorrow?"
She didn't pull away immediately, her stoic mask softening into something almost tender. "If it pleases you, Young Master. Rest well tonight."
He watched her go, the key vanishing back into her pocket, a satisfied smile playing on his lips once more. The archives had yielded more than lore; they'd planted another seed in the slow cultivation of her heart. And tomorrow? Well, he'd push just a fraction further.
More than anything, he got to learn more about this Ignovar family's history.
---
Next day.
Azael lay on the bed with an expressionless face. Why? The reason was very simple. Ellire had told him about Isabel... everything... except one most important detail... that he just got to know today from Ellire herself.
'Damn that girl!' He cursed Ellire.
"To think Isabel was married... hah... Ellire told me about Isabel's personality, where she lives in the city, and many more. But she didn't tell me that she had a husband and that she had taken a holiday just a few days ago for visiting him, since he was ill."