He threw his arm across his face, shielding his sweat-drenched eyes from the heat of the conflagration. The others had fled at the first tongue of flame that now raged within the library, content to save themselves as uncounted ages of knowledge disappeared in fire and smoke.

He sprinted past hagiographies of the priest-kings of Atlantis, ignoring an archivist’s urge to sweep up tomes that had survived even the Nephilim as he darted through burning archways to the central hall, where the small, nondescript book sat, as-yet unharmed.

He stepped into the flames, ignoring his smoldering robes. The book was power.