Grimoire Valentine
Legacy Name: Grimoire Valentine

Entering the library, Grim inhaled deeply. The smell of books filled his nostrils. He exhaled, feeling relaxed and at peace for the first time since his Name-day. He knew he had chosen correctly.

Moving from shelf to shelf, he ran his fingers along the spines, feeling each one with care. Books had always been his life. He had chosen his name, Grimoire, for his love of a good novel, though he had told the townsfolk that had asked that he had chosen Grim. It suited him, too, as his face was more often than not warped into a grimace or scowl of pain. They assumed that he had chosen Grim for that reason. His wings were twisted, his spine deformed, and most days he could barely walk. But when he was among his books, it hardly mattered. He could sit, or more often lie down, and peruse their pages for hours on end, forgetting his condition and falling into the worlds and facts of his library.

Shouting in the town square interrupted his reverie. With effort, he made his way to the window, where he saw a blaze of fire. Wiping at the dust on the windowpane, he could see that the town was not on fire; someone had built a bonfire in the middle of the square. But what were they using for fuel? Books, he realized without seeing. The chancellor had never been a fan of learning. Heretics, he called the men of science that Grim so yearned to meet and study with. Common-folk were meant to serve their betters, he said, not to better themselves. So he would burn the books, convincing weak minds that it was their own idea.

Grim turned away, the sight of the fire making him nauseous. He could not help but wonder at the timing; Grim's personal library was the largest for miles, and he had not expected to return so soon from his Naming. Had the chancellor anticipated his absence and planned accordingly? Lightning crackled over his skin, the sweet burn reminding him of his power, power that had in his youth gotten out of control and crippled him. But now, he was Named. He was Grimoire Valentine, and no one knew his true Name except himself. There was power in a Name, as the chancellor well knew. Grim had a slight advantage, as the chancellor probably assumed he knew Grim's true name, but he would need to use it carefully.

He felt a slight tug under his skin, the first indication of a spell being cast upon him. But, if his Name was known, that would have intensified into searing pain. Instead, it rolled off of him like water. Feeling the spell's intent to send him into a deep sleep, he fell to the floor and shut his eyes. Now was not the time to reveal his hand.

The door to the library flew open. Grim felt, more than he saw, the chancellor enter the room, flanked by the mayor and the city councilman.

"This was a superb initiative, gentlemen," he spoke, his voice like silk. "You were correct in coming to me with your concerns. Valentine here, as you can see, will not be protesting. I will bring him to his chambers where he can recover from his naming in peace while we conduct our business here."

Yes. He thought Grim was his full, true Name. Otherwise he would not have used his birth-name in front of his two goons. The lightning called to his anger, but he quieted it. It was still not time. He could hear the chancellor's footsteps approaching him. The two men reached for his shelves, his precious collections, and he knew that he could contain it no longer.

Crack.

Lightning struck in the middle of the room, a black mark in the carpet and a hole in the ceiling proof of its existence. Grimoire rose, ire rising deep behind his eyes, and the electricity brought the three men in his presence to their knees. The chancellor, the man closest to the strike, was gasping for air as the current swept through his stunned body.

Grim approached him, his back straight as it had been since he had learned to master his power, wings spread to their full extent, blocking the light from the fire outside. Already he could hear voices approaching them, filled with incredulity and fear, but he cared not.

He stared into the chancellor's eyes, his violet to the chancellor's ice-blue. "You will not underestimate me again," he said, and his Voice was like thunder. As he spoke, the winds began to rise, and electricity crackled around the walls. The books animated as his power touched them. He sent it deeper, farther, where some books still waited for the touch of the fire, and they joined him too. Catching the wind, he ascended into the air, and his books followed, pages flapping like wings as they flocked together to follow him wherever he would go. He flew without direction, tears in his eyes as he thought of the town he had loved, the people he was leaving behind, and the knowledge that the war had just begun.