Just then, a faint murmur of voices reached his ears. It was quiet and seemed to be coming from a distance.

  "Could it be the library attendants?"

  Eros didn't hesitate and headed straight toward the sound. As he drew closer, he spotted two figures standing between the tall shelves.

  That familiar shock of golden hair, that impressively broad back... Wait... isn't that my old man? And who is the woman with him?

  Eros squinted. He took a second look. Then a third. She looked... vaguely familiar.

  Because the woman was facing Eros’s direction, she spotted him the moment he stepped out from behind a bookshelf. She froze, her eyes widening, and gave the man in front of her a sharp nudge.

  That man was, of course, the father of the year: Duke Alaric Orich North.

  "Someone's here! Someone's here!" she hissed, trying to push the Duke away.

  Our dear Duke, however, didn't seem bothered in the slightest. "Relax," he said dismissively. "I cleared out all the servants this morning. No one is allowed near the library today. There isn’t a soul for miles."

  Despite his bravado, he still cast a cautious glance over his shoulder.

  And there he was—his genius son, the pride of the family, the rising star of the Duchy, standing right there with a look of pure, unadulterated judgment.

  Duke Alaric froze. Then, a smile that was both awkward and desperately polite plastered itself onto his face. He gave Eros a stiff nod of acknowledgment, grabbed the woman’s hand, and scuttled away like a guilty thief.

  No wonder I haven't seen a single person since I got here, Eros thought, shaking his head. My old man chased them all out for his little tryst. Truly, he has no sense of priority. Is a library a place for games? He's making me find my own books.

  On the bright side, the section they had been "occupying" happened to be exactly what Eros was looking for: Historical Records. A strange expression crossed his face as he looked at the shelves. Were those two planning to... desecrate history? Truly scandalous.

  He shook the stray thoughts from his head and began scanning the shelves for records of the previous Eras. He soon noticed a pattern: the closer the shelf was to the entrance, the more recent the history. Without further ado, he marched toward the deepest, most shadowed corner of the section.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  There, at the very end, he found it: The Chronicles of the Mist Sea.

  Based on the title, this was exactly what he needed. Without a second thought, he scrambled up the bookshelf like a little monkey and hauled down the heavy volume. As for the dusty shelves and other books he stepped on? Psh. Even if he climbed to the top and took a dump, no one would dare say a word to him. That was the beauty of being the heir.

  Despite its age, the leather cover was spotless, which made Eros marvel inwardly. This library likely held millions of volumes. Keeping every single one of them dusted and pristine required an astronomical amount of labor.

  Feudalism really is terrifying, he thought. Luckily, I’m the one on top.

  He flipped open the dark grey cover. The parchment inside was yellowed with age, covered in dense rows of script. The ink had faded into a dull, light shadow, showing just how much time had passed.

  With just one glance, he knew he had hit the jackpot. This book went into far more detail about the Elves' departure than the general history had.

  After the Elven race vanished from the Croatian Continent, the long-simmering blood feuds between the two most powerful empires finally boiled over. War erupted, dragging the entire continent into a meat grinder. Smoke choked the skies, and death became a daily constant.

  There were so many casualties that no one bothered with cremations anymore. Instead, the bodies were unceremoniously dumped into the Great River, hoping the current would carry them into the sea to feed the fish.

  But the dead were countless. The blood of the fallen dyed the Great River a deep, gore-red, which in turn poured into the ocean, sending waves of crimson washing into the deep.

  The war raged for three hundred years, and those red tides continued to seep further into the abyss. Then, without warning, the mist began to rise.

  At first, no one paid it any mind. But the fog spread with unnatural speed. Within a year, the entire ocean was consumed. Anyone who entered the mist vanished—no survivors, no bodies, not even a trace.

  Even more terrifyingly, the mist began to crawl onto the land. Coastal towns and cities went silent overnight. Panic gripped the world. No one knew where the mist came from, or if it would ever stop.

  Doomsday prophecies spread like wildfire, and the war ground to a sudden halt. Everyone lived in paralyzing fear, terrified that they would wake up to find the white veil at their doorstep.

  Then, just as abruptly as it had appeared, the mist retreated.

  It pulled back to a point exactly five hundred kilometers from the shoreline and stopped. From that day forward, human exploration of the world was forcibly ended at that boundary.

  When the mist cleared from the land it had claimed, it left behind nothing but an eerie silence. Every living creature in the coastal regions had vanished.

  The mist had come like a thief and left like a ghost. Shaken by the bizarre state of the coastal ruins, the surviving nations lost their will to fight. They withdrew their troops and began a long period of recovery.

  But the terror of that event was carved into the soul of every survivor. Thus, the era was named the Age of the Mist Sea.

  The day the mist first stepped onto the land marked the end of the Second Era. It was the curtain call for the old world and the dawn of the Third Era—The Foggy Sea Era.