Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 254

Chapter 254: Threads of Time

[The Divine Temple—Library—Lavinia’s POV]

I had changed into a flowing white gown, the fabric soft against my skin, glowing faintly under the temple’s stained glass light. The High Priest inclined deeply.

"Then I shall leave you, Your Highness," he said, voice respectful.

I nodded once, crisp. "Very well. Thank you, High Priest Eamon."

He smiled faintly and then quietly retreated, the echo of his footsteps fading into the library’s solemn hush.

I turned to Sera.

She smiled, saying, "I shall wait here. Take your time—there’s no rush."

I smiled softly. "Thank you, Sera."

She nodded and swept toward the door, Solena soaring above her in a graceful arc, feathers glinting like sunlight on steel. Marshi padded silently behind, tail swishing in a rhythm that made the air seem almost alive.

Just as they reached the threshold, Marshi stopped. His eyes locked on me, unblinking, almost worrying, and a shiver ran down my spine. Then, with a soft huff, he turned and followed Sera, his massive paws silent on the marble floor.

My heart thudded, heavier than usual. The library door loomed before me, massive and ancient. With a deep, measured breath, I placed my hand on the cold wood.

And pulled.

The hinges groaned, the air shifted, and I stepped into a hall of silence and secrets, where every breath felt like trespassing into eternity.

***

[Inside the Divine Library—Seconds Later]

As I stepped inside, the library seemed to exhale, its ancient breath brushing my skin. Endless rows of vellum and parchment stretched in all directions, like a forest of silent, watchful trees. Each shelf hummed softly, as if the books themselves were alive, aware of every heartbeat in the hall.

Light poured through stained glass, scattering fragments of blue and gold across the marble floors. Shadows trembled in their glow, quivering like secrets waiting to be whispered. I could feel it—the pulse of the ages, the weight of knowledge older than empires, older than even the gods.

I wandered slowly, letting my fingers trail along the spines, each touch sending faint sparks of energy crawling up my arm. Rusted, leather-bound tomes, cracked with age, called to me in low whispers.

"Wow..." I murmured, breath catching. "They’re... so old... seriously, do they ever dust these things?"

The books didn’t answer, but the faint hum made it feel like they judged me.

And then I remembered. This temple had stood long before the empire formed. These books weren’t just records—they were witnesses. Guardians. Keepers of every story, every secret, every life that had passed through history’s turning pages.

I pulled one particularly worn tome from the shelf and read its title: The Day the Empire Formed.

I opened it carefully, muttering to myself, "So... this is the first history book? Huh."

The pages smelled of dust and magic, faintly of iron and candle wax, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Around me, the library seemed to lean closer, listening, as if it knew I would ask more than just trivial questions.

My gaze caught a glimmer—golden wooden shelves tucked into a shadowed corner, their polish gleaming as if lit from within. Drawn to them, I walked closer. Each step felt deliberate, almost sacred, and the air itself seemed to thrum with expectancy.

Among the shelves, one book stood out. Its cover was smooth and golden-brown, with no title—only a single embossed number: ONE.

Curious, I pulled it out. The leather was warm under my fingers, alive somehow, and the second I opened it, a faint glow emanated from the pages, illuminating my face.

The words shimmered: "The First Emperor of Elorian..."

My eyes widened. "Oh..." I breathed, almost reverently. "...it’s about the first emperor?"

The book trembled lightly in my hands, as if eager to reveal its secrets. Curiosity prickled at my skin. I opened it fully—and the title on the first page was astonishingly simple:

EMPEROR HADREIN VALERITH DEVEREUX.

I blinked. "...A diary?"

Turning the second page, my breath caught. Every word was handwritten, inked with care and precision. Nothing printed, nothing mass-produced—just the personal musings of someone who had lived every moment.

"Today, Hadrein found something... a beast. But it was no ordinary beast. It was a Rakshar, and a divine beast at that."

I murmured under my breath, "Written by someone very close to him... probably a confidant, or maybe a servant who was too nosy for their own good."

I kept reading, and soon the diary became... strangely entertaining. There were accounts of the first emperor taking the throne, his petty moods, his whims, his temper, and even silly mistakes that no one would dare record otherwise. I chuckled softly, picturing the great Hadrein throwing a tantrum over a misaligned throne cushion.

Then—my eyes caught a line that made my heart skip.

"The emperor has found a girl... she looks exactly like him. How is that possible? Hadrein has never married, never had an affair."

"That idiot Hadrein... he killed those nobles without hesitation for opposing the adoption. I really can’t with his temper."

"Today we discovered that Princess Lilith was Hadrein’s dead sister’s child. We thought she had perished, but before her death, she gave birth to a girl, whom we found at an orphanage."

"Princess Lilith was assassinated. Haldor has lost his sanity.

"Princess Lilith was assassinated. Haldor has lost his sanity—he has killed all the knights, guards, and even some nobles."

I froze. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. If Princess Lilith is dead... then how is the line of Devereux still running?

"Today we discovered something... a power of Rakshar. Rakshar has the ability to reverse time. The Supreme Archmage is here, advising us that he can use Rakshar’s power to turn back time. But how... how is that even possible? I am not certain... yet I hope he manages it. Otherwise... this will be the end of Devereux."

A shiver ran down my spine as a memory surfaced—the old book I had read about Rakshar’s power. It had said that Rakshar could rewrite the thread of fate itself.

Damn it! Was I too dumb to understand that?

. . .

. . .

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