ã€ŠThe Priesthoodã€‹


 Prologue: The Ritual

    "I must say, the very sight of you makes me feel disgusted." Said the young nobleman, holding his nose as if the very presence of the young man soiled the air around them, "The fact that we have to share with the likes of you... here in a place where the most rich and powerful people go, it makes me wonder if the world is fair at all."

    This was usual for him. This was day-to-day life, living in the shadows of others in a highly privileged academy for the gifted. He was gifted and could argue that he was privileged as well, but because he lacked a name he was still treated differently.

    Sure, he has a name, but that was merely a given name, not a birth name. There is no name of a father, nor is there a name of a mother. Only the name that was given by a gentle soul who raised him, and brought him here in the end. Kanrel. But mostly people called him ¡°nameless¡±.

    As is usual for Kanrel, he tried to ignore the comments of others, for they were right. This really wasn''t for "the likes of him". The only reason he got in was because of the woman who taught him everything.

    That woman was like a mother to him, and he was even allowed to call her mother. And he did, but not when others were around. It wasn¡¯t because he was embarrassed. But because of the position that the woman held in this kingdom.

    She is a Herald to the Gods. A priest who holds much power in this world; thus, she taught everything to him, and to further his abilities, she made him come here. To The Academy of the Heavenly.

    As the young man tried to get past, the nobleman stood in front of him. Kanrel looked up ¨C up at the much taller man than him, and waited.

    "Just back up your things and leave... So, ''Nameless'', what do you say?" The noble asked with a loud voice, as he eyed the crowd that had started to gather around them.

    Kanrel looked up at the noble, straight into his eyes. ¡°Sure, if you¡¯re willing to tell my mother, why.¡± His tone sounded agreeable, for he was truly agreeing with him. He just didn¡¯t have any hope that his mother would agree to the explanation.

    Of course, not everyone knew who his mother was. But those who knew would be careful and not do anything overtly stupid.

    "What does she have to do in this matter? It''s not like she is even around." The nobleman said and laughed out loud; his laugh was bright and full of disbelief.

    Kanrel smiled a little; one could not even call it a smile, but rather a twitch of the sides of his mouth. He lacked the talent of smiling.

    Then he started to walk away; dealing with those who have no idea is a waste of time. He had a lecture to attend.

    ¡°Hey, Nameless! Where are you going?" The nobleman yelled at him, but a voice through gritted teeth him the noble stop what he was doing. "Drop it."

    Someone was about to make his day. Kanrel thought to himself and continued walking without looking back.

    What does one study at The Academy of the Heavenly? Everything. Science, history, culture, politics, and so on... But the one thing that the academy was most known for was magic: The power that the Angels bestowed on mankind.

    Only those going into the Priesthood were allowed to learn magic, so not many nobles would. There were a few, but it was considered a waste for a noble. The mission of a priest requires much more time and study than something like the management of a city or even a kingdom.

    Sure, magic was powerful. But the things one had to give up were many. You had to give up the joy of life. And feel nothing but despair; the collective torment of all of humanity.

    To give up the feeling of being happy all together. That is what one had to give as they were bestowed with the power of the Angels.

    But that happens after a long study of everything else. Most notably, the history of the use of magic and the Angels, who are Gods to the people of these lands, and the theory of Magic are also things a priest has to study. Six whole years of study are needed before one can gain the gift of magic and lose the gift of joy.

    In the Book of the Heralds, there is a verse that tells us why humans had to lose the gift of joy to gain the gift of magic.

    "Forget joy; understand what power brings. Power brings misery, and to understand what misery is, one has to forget all joy. Understand this human, for those who are powerful should carry the pain of the living on their shoulders and the pain of the dead in their hearts. So those who have no power can live with joy."

    One might ask, "What is the Book of the Heralds?" And Kanrel would be able to give an answer.

    "The Book of the Heralds is a collection of all the meetings that the Heralds have had with the Angels."

    It''s the textbook answer, and it''s the correct one.

    But for many, the Book of the Heralds is much more. It is filled with the wisdom of the Angels. To Kanrel, it sounds like something a human should aspire toward. To think and act like the Angels. Of course, no human would ever be able to reach such wisdom. That is why humans have to commit their lives to the Angels and to servitude to even get a glimpse of it all.

    The creed of the priesthood often involves such themes as servitude to the Angels and their ideals, servitude to humans and their needs, and responsibility of the powerful.

    These are the common teachings for those in the priesthood.

    Of course, it is not as simple as it seems. A priest always has to fight with his inner evil, as do all humans in these lands. But priests are men and women who have power. Such great power to use and exploit¡­ Therein lie the ideas of Good and Evil. Both are necessary, but a priest should never fall to Evil. A priest should always hold the creed above himself. Always do as the Angels wish.

    Kanrel had never spoken to an Angel. But his mother had, and thus she was The Herald of the Gods. There are even passages written by her in the Book of The Heralds. Some of the newer passages, but her passages talk of something more scary than the earlier ones¡­

    They talk of war. The return of the "Otherkind", as the Angel told the Herald, a warning of something that brings war.

    Many have speculated that those writings are about the end of the world or the destruction of the Angels... The latter is considered heretical, and not many dare reference such ideas in public. How can something so divine even be killed? It truly makes no sense.

    But Kanrel was worried about the possibility. Worry often filled his mind; he worried about things that may happen hundreds of years in the future. Or even thousands.

    But still, he worried. Is it not the wish of all men for humankind to succeed far into the future so that there can be a kingdom of heaven, something that follows the ideals of the Angels.

    Kanrel took a seat, the same seat he always took, at the front of the classroom. This was something he enjoyed more than most would. Listening to the lectures of their teachers and professors about various topics. He even wrote down detailed notes as the lecture went on, and then again, so did most novices studying to become a priest.

    He never said anything during a class. There wasn¡¯t need for him to say a word, since there were always those who would ask the most interesting questions in his stead. The questions and ideas of others would always come from a different point of view than the ones that he could ask. So Kanrel would always write down their questions and the answers to those questions.

    Later on, he would review his notes, add minor details, and even come up with answers of his own to the questions asked. This he enjoyed in particular.

    But that wasn¡¯t the only reason. When one asks a question in a classroom or a lecture hall, they are supposed to stand up and clearly state their question. Doing something like that didn¡¯t sound enjoyable to him. Thus, he sat in silence and listened.

    Kanrel did meet some discrimination from his teachers because of his lack of a name, but less than from other students. He had been formally introduced to them by his mother when he began his studies, which was most likely the reason many would not dare to treat him differently.

    "He is to be treated fairly, not as someone who is better or lesser." The Herald had told the people who taught at the Academy.

    This, of course, was more than fair; at least, this is what Kanrel thought.

    Although he had first lived a life of poverty and now lived a life of luxury, often he felt that he was undeserving; well, to all of this...

    Imagine having a mother who is all-powerful, someone who can make even kings bow to herself. Imagine never feeling hungry and being able to study wherever you wish. Imagine that, in theory, you could do anything you wished.

    Of course, the latter was untrue in Kanrel''s case, but one gets the point. Power in your hands, but no desire to use it for evil. Power, which is only used for the desires of the gods, and never for the self.

    This had always been curious to Kanrel: if The Herald did things only for the gods, why had she adopted him? There are no laws for priests not to get married, but it often didn''t happen unless it was a marriage with another priest. So one could have her own children.

    But why go down the path of adopting someone who isn''t even related to you by blood? Had it also been for the desire of the gods? Had an angel commanded Kanrel''s mother to adopt him?

    What an amusing idea. Him being someone important was the amusing conclusion Kanrel had come to. Such a thing made no sense unless, in the future, like a thousand years from now, someone who was related to Kanrel does something great. That was much more likely than Kanrel being someone of importance.

    Well, technically, Kanrel was someone of importance, in the sense that he had been given that importance by his mother.

    Magic truly is a wondrous thing. It bends the laws of physics¡ªthe things that those without magic have to abide by.

    Magic in itself is part of nature, but it''s not something that can easily be explained with physics. Sure, one could explain why, without touching a stone, a priest can move it. "A force, which is magic, holds the physical object in its place."

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    Okay. Now what? It doesn''t really explain "how." It just says that it''s magic, but not what that magic is.

    A priest knows that magic is given by the Angels, but the angels have not told anyone, or at least not written down, what that magic really is. Is it an invisible hand? Or is it just bending the very fabric of reality?

    These questions that Kanrel has have no real answers. They bothered him. It all made him excited, though, because if there was no answer, then discovering the answer and making theories was more fun.

    For a few thousand years, humans have used magic, and in that time, there has not been a good explanation for that which is magic. Only that it was given by the Angels, to humans as a means to survive in the harsh world.

    A world that was trying to get rid of them. There are stories from ancient times. Stories of the Wildkind, creatures that almost wiped all of humanity into extinction: what were those creatures? Why did they try to wipe humans away? And why did the angels help humans? Of course, in benevolence, but were there hidden agendas?

    And what about the Wildkind? Why did the angels not help them instead?

    Kanrel was thirsty for this information. All of this and more.

    And for those reasons, even though Kanrel felt undeserving, he wanted to become a priest¡ªnot only a normal priest but a Herald. That, of course, was unlikely or maybe even impossible since no man had ever become one. But what if, this one time, the Angels made an exception?

    Of course, he had asked her mother if she could ask such a question, but the Herald had answered truthfully, "I would never dare to ask such a question; I am only there to listen to their wisdom. Neither to argue or question."

    Kanrel understood why, and he also understood that she no longer had the desire to ask that question. It would not bring her happiness; it would not make her feel less miserable. It would probably cause even more misery¡­

    Such was the life of a priest and the Herald''s even more so. Suffering, agony, torment... All words that were often used by the priests. This is why they were so respected. They lived while holding all the misery in the world so that others would feel less of it.

    Of course, there were still such things for those who weren''t priests, but not many would be brave enough to feel even more of them. And continue living without killing oneself.

    Suicide was an issue that normal people went through. The priests didn''t have such an option. They had to suffer until the day they would die.

    Kanrel believed that all this, and even more, and even worse, would still be well worth it. He felt no joy either way, so what was there to truly lose?

    Days for many are mundane, but he was lost in the pages of that book that held all the knowledge one could ever need and more. Lectures given; theories becoming something he might see with his own eyes. Magic...

    Few of the teachers at the academy were priests, men and women who wore their faces bare and gray robes with no details in them. All of them knew who Kanrel was¡ªwell, they knew who his "mother" was.

    They gave him no special treatment, but their eyes were on him. Emotionless eyes observed an anomaly: a child, barely a man, so focused on his studies that he was just like them.

    Those who had met his mother would say that they were alike, not in the way they looked but in the way they held themselves. An outsider would think that it was humility that made them not care, but those who knew the truth knew that they just didn''t care.

    Not about the things that were said about them behind their backs, not about the fear in the eyes of those who knew what they were capable of. Nothing. They cared for nothing.

    Except for one thing: duty to knowledge.

    This was the most important value that the Herald of Gods taught her son.

    So dutiful he ought to be, dutiful he shall be, and dutiful he was.

    And that duty would become a reality for him, more so than before. He and others who were studying the priesthood would soon take part in a ritual. The very ritual that would make them priests in the sense that they''d be able to use the gift of magic, the very curse that many were afraid of.

    Their studies would not end there; they would continue until every single one of them learned to use this curse. They would learn the rules, the responsibilities, and the duties of those who were in the Priesthood. Their minds had to become accustomed to the cold logic that would guide their morality. They ought to learn to become tools for the faithful and for the Angels.

    The students had no idea what would happen or what this ritual truly was. They wouldn''t know anything about it, just the fact that it would happen, and after it, they''d be able to use the curse.

    Kanrel had not asked his mother or anyone else about the things that would happen during the ritual. It was taboo to ask this very question, and it was more of a taboo to answer it. There was no access to the writings about it, even though there must have been someone who wrote about it. Be it the first Herald or those who came after.

    Maybe the Angels did not want the humans to know?

    Questions, yet no answers until one goes through it themselves. But it wouldn''t be far off... Since the beginning of their education, they have started preparations. Since the beginning, they have been taught to look at the world from a certain perspective. Again, from a logical point of view.

    Yet they were also forced to witness suffering of all kinds. Torture and the loss of a loved one; they were forced to see people in suffering; they were taught that this, all of this, would be for them to carry.

    It would be for them to cure it, to help those who went through this suffering, but not themselves or others like them.

    Kanrel''s room was mostly empty; only the things that he needed were there: a bed, a wardrobe, a table filled with papers and pens, and a bookshelf. This bookshelf held all the books they would have to study and all the books they''d have to learn to understand.

    Books about the Angels, and books about the heralds and priests that came before them. Books about the history of the peoples, books about the cultural differences in different parts of the kingdom, books about magic used as medicine, books filled with maps of the world, of cities, and different places in the world¡ªa priest would have to travel, and they would travel a lot.

    But the most important books were those that were empty. They were books used for writing. Books, which ought to be filled with words, memories, and thoughts¡ªknowledge.

    In fact, all the books of the self were meticulously written by Kanrel. As were all the books on the bookshelves of the other priest trainees.

    Writing was so important; it was their duty to remember, observe, and collect all the information they might find. When a priest would cure another man, they would write down this fact and all the facts around it.

    All this information, some so very mundane, but all important in its own way.

    An observation of emotions the night before the ritual: I feel as I''ve always felt; there is not much fluctuation in the emotions that I am feeling; the only difference is the slight excitement for the curiosity that will be satisfied tomorrow.

    This is the last entry with such an emotion as "happiness", so the next time will be different; I will no longer be the man I''ve always been.

    Kanrel put his pen down and left this book open with his thoughts and emotions; they would dry out by tomorrow morning. He removed his clothing and entered his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.

    Sleep just never came.

    And the next morning, he was tired yet excited for the ritual; he wanted to know; he needed to know. So he got up and dressed himself in the familiar gray robes that he always wore. He left his room and made his way to the cathedral, a place he had visited many times.

    The insides of the cathedral reminded Kanrel of the priests that he had met thus far: it was bleak and dark but filled with history, culture, and knowledge. The architecture of the building was grand, even though it tried not to be; it was beautiful despite the bleakness.

    Each collumn that held the high ceiling up was made to look like an Angel, their faces grotesque, each one of them holding a different weapon against their chest. They were beautiful¡ªscary even¡ªand they looked down upon the men and women who had entered.

    Above them was the great arched ceiling, which was adorned with elaborate paintings of the angels, all of them more beautiful than the others, as the pupils walked further into the cathedral.

    There were no chairs, no benches, and no carpets on the floor, for it was plain and cold. It was empty, as were those who walked on it.

    At the very end of the massive cathedral, there was an altar near which the highest-ranking priest would hold their sermon; from their lips parting words of the ancient wisdom of the Angels. The acoustics of the cathedral would make their voice carry easily to the ears of the believers who would come to listen, to pray, and to learn.

    But their way made them go even deeper into the cathedral, below it. On the wall that was at the end of the cathedral, there was a painting depicting the first Herald of the Gods, kneeling before an Angel that had granted her wisdom and the very first words of the Book of the Heralds.

    You could not see her face, just the clothes she wore and the long hair that she had. But the angel and his grotesque face and his magnificence could be seen by all. He wore scaly armor, and his wings were spread to their fullest.

    He looked down upon them all, past the Herald that was kneeling, at the humans that had entered the cathedral. In his eyes, they were nothing, but even then, he had given them everything.

    Merciful was that creature that looked down upon them. His eyes peered deep into Kanrel; every time he saw this, he couldn''t help but feel religious fervor rising within him. If this was the correct time for it, he would fall down on his knees like the Herald in the painting and pray for the wisdom of the Angel.

    The Grand Priest of this cathedral and the principal of the academy touched the surface of the painting. The picture disappeared, the colors fading, just to leave behind a continuation of the cathedral.

    Now before them are steps, a stairway, and the darkness that lies deep down below. Without words, the Grand Priest went ahead, taking the first step, and all with their own eyes could see him disappear. As if he never was.

    Kanrel looked at the many trainees before him braced themselves, stepped on the first step, and disappeared like the Grand Priest.

    He swallowed and followed suit.

    On the other side, there were just stairs ahead. They went down; behind him, there was nothing, just darkness; around him was just the darkness that was behind him. There was no one there with him. None of the many students that had gone before him. Not even the Grand Priest who had gone first.

    Before him, there were only stairs and just one option: descend. He braced himself and took another step. Nothing happened, so he took another.

    So he continued. Step after step, a hundred steps and nothing happened. There was no change in that which he saw before him, just more steps going down and nowhere else.

    Time went by, or did it? Step by step, there was nothing to count than just steps and his beating, restless heart. Maybe hours, maybe minutes, maybe a mere second. Yet the steps remained. And he continued; there was no change.

    At last, he looked behind him and saw just the darkness¡ªnot a single step behind him. Just the awaiting, endless darkness; nothing.

    He had started sweating long ago, and that sweat was as cold as ice on his body. Yet he felt warmer than he had ever felt before. His legs were feeling weak, so he must have taken many steps thus far. But he couldn''t give up.

    So he continued his descent, which seemed to never end. More hours, or just moments, went by. All this did was make him feel like a fool; it was as if there was no way out of there. But he had to continue going down; there had to be an end to these stairs; nothing could last forever...

    Whilst taking a step, he looked behind him, and there was just darkness. Suddenly his view started to tilt, his legs gave way, and soon he was falling down the many stairs. His body hitting each of the stairs; all of him was in pain. He went around and around, and around and around.

    Until he fell off... His eyes open, but his world spun, and he looked as if the never-ending stairway was above him, becoming smaller and smaller until it was no longer there¡ªjust darkness, just nothing.

    Yet he continued falling.

    His body ached, and he felt humiliated and useless. What a fool he was. A useless thing that just ought to die, a failure in the eyes of the woman he called mother. He was not worthy to call her as such; he was too lowly. He was nothing. Nothing.

    At last, he closed his eyes and accepted that this would last forever. There would be no end to it¡ªnot the stair, not the fall. There would be nothing. Nothing.

    He fell, his arms wide open. Now he had just one thing to do; he had all this time to think. He kept his eyes closed and began accepting the fact that he had wasted his time. The very little time that he had had in this world.

    He had devoted his life to duty for knowledge, yet he would never truly achieve that. He had disregarded the need for companionship and for friends, and now he knew regret. How wasteful is a life with nothing to live for? What a useless thing he had done, and this was his end, if it would ever end.

    Who knows, maybe he would live forever with just the regret of the things that were left undone and all the things he could have experienced. Now he felt just thirsty¡ªthirsty for life. Nothing could quench the thirst he now had.

    There was no hope; he could never experience those things, not even in his memories, for he never gave it a chance. Now he just felt bitter, until even that passed as he began to accept his mistakes. It left him feeling hopeless and sad.

    This was suffering. The answer to his curiosity was suffering; it was just pain. This ritual, which he had failed, was just pain. Physical pain, and now the suffering that had affected his emotions, which were like a fog surrounding him in his own mind.

    Soon his heart returned to its normal beat. "I guess this is what I had wanted all this time." He said it out loud; he could hear his own voice. It had no emotion in it; it just sounded bored. This was boring.

    He exhaled and opened his eyes. Maybe another kind of darkness would excite him; it was doubtful, but why not try?

    Above him was a ceiling. Paintings of Angels; now they were more gruesome than before; their faces were grotesque. He looked around and saw others like him¡ªpriests lying down¡ªbut they had their eyes closed. He saw the columns that held the ceiling of the cathedral up, the stone angels looking down on them.

    Foolish, so foolish we are.

    Kanrel exhaled and then got up to sit. At the end of the cathedral, he saw an altar, and the Grand Priest was looking at his pupils. They looked at each other; they both had the same look on their faces, and the emotions they felt must''ve been the same. No joy, even though Kanrel had succeeded.

    He looked up and saw the painting. The once beautiful Angel was horrifying, and he now knew why they had not painted the face of the first Herald; she would''ve had the very expression he had on his face. There was no wonder, no joy¡ªnothing. There was nothing.

    Just the suffering that was to exist.

    Kanrel stood up and went to the Grand Priest, who just pointed at the door behind Kanrel; he was dismissed. So he left the cathedral behind, returned to his room, and locked the door behind him.

    On the table, there was an open book; it held the words of yesterday, the words filled with naivety. He walked over and sat down. He baptized his pen in ink and wrote down his thoughts:

    Now there is nothing but thirst, which will never be quenched.

 Chapter One: Laboratory for the Study of Magical Energy

    His bed wasn¡¯t very soft; it wasn¡¯t meant to be; even it was supposed to teach them something, maybe about the suffering of not getting enough sleep or the suffering of back pain. Maybe it was to prepare them for the times that were to come¡ªwhen one would be on the road, never having a good bed to sleep on.

    And it couldn¡¯t be because of funding; the academy was richer than most cities.

    Years have gone by, and Kanrel has yet to figure out the exact reason. If there even was one.

    There was no window, yet he knew it was morning. His body refused to oversleep; it refused his wish to stay in this little room of his and do nothing. So he got up and readied himself.

    Now standing in the middle of his room, he looked up at the ceiling, which refused to change, even a little. For years, he stared at the same ceiling. He did it lying down, standing up, and even while sitting down.

    Yet there was no hole created by his very gaze. In theory, he should be able to easily dismantle it. He now had that power, yet he had no desire to use it. No wish to figure it out. So he let it be¡ªthis new thing he had and the ceiling that was.

    There was no feeling intertwined with the actions or thoughts, even when they were illogical. Suffering he did feel, but they weren¡¯t controlling his thoughts; they weren¡¯t there to guide him toward a path of suicide, as one who suffers might go toward. Instead, his feet took him to the door; his hands forced it open, and once again, his eyes saw the same corridors he had seen many times before.

    The corridor felt empty; the door now seemed like bars keeping him inside; his room was now a cell, and the academy was a prison for people like him. Opposite him was another cell with another student inside, if they had succeeded in the ritual. In fact, this corridor was filled with cells like his. They all had, or did not have, prisoners like him within.

    Did they all feel like he did? So¡­ empty? Even this question left unsaid felt like the contents of the question itself: empty.

    Kanrel had not received instructions; he had no idea where they should gather or if they should gather at all. He didn¡¯t know if there were others who might¡¯ve survived the ritual. All he had was routine, so he followed that.

    He remembered his wonder as he first walked through these corridors, courtyards, and buildings, and the rooms all these led into. He had so much curiosity that he wanted to explore everything the academy had to offer. And he had done so, at least in the visual sense.

    The tall corridors, with their intricate details¡ªcarvings that adorned every wall, ceiling, and floor¡ªtold a story of the people who had built it long ago¡ªhow they had given everything to create the very masterpiece that is the academy. All this feeling and artistic expression¡ªthis great manifestation of beauty¡ªfrom masons and such. Architecture that was awe-inspiring yet practical in nature.

    Now this, which was once a creation built with the sweat, blood, and tears of artists, had become a prison. Each corridor looked the same; each room was a mere extension of these corridors. Each place now lonely and devoid of life.

    What a waste of time to build something so grand just so that the eyes that see it cannot enjoy it. All this feeling poured into every inch of every little detail means nothing in the eyes of the prisoners that are held within.

    Minutes went by as he walked before he saw another human; it wasn¡¯t even a priest, just another student he didn¡¯t recognize. He didn¡¯t even offer the girl a look; he just went by as she muttered a greeting to him. Or did she? It was so hard to tell.

    Soon it wasn¡¯t just a student. First, it was a pack and then a flood. There were so many humans he did not recognize; they were all here with him. None of them felt like he did in this moment.

    Then he stopped in front of a classroom. Its door was open, and some of the human flood went inside. He entered, giving no regard to these people.

    The first person he recognized stood in front of a huge chalkboard¡ªa teacher who taught ancient history. Hanrek Mykwle. A man who wasn¡¯t really tall but was broad; truly a man of both strength and knowledge.

    Their eyes met for a short while. Maybe Hanrek saw in Kanrel''s eyes what he had seen many times before: the newborn priests wandering the halls of the academy in confusion. Nevertheless, he approached him.

    "You should seek one of your own." The man said this and gently turned Kanrel around and out of the classroom.

    He could feel the eyes of those who were sitting down; he could feel their burning curiosity; they all knew that the novice priests had entered some sort of a Ritual, and they all knew what they would be like after.

    The corridor was more or less empty; a few students rushed in different directions, trying to reach their classrooms before they were late.

    A priest¡­ He had to look for a priest.

    Only one place, other than the cathedral, would have them, no matter the time or the day.

    A large part of the academy was allocated for magical study, and this large complex of buildings and even more corridors was at the northernmost part of the campus. That was only an hour''s worth of walking.

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    He exited the large building, which was shared with classrooms and rooms for novice priests. He had entered a large park that had paved paths to every location of the campus. This was, in fact, the very center of it all.

    The air outside was fresh, and Kanrel could see the shadows on the paved paths and on the well-kept grass that covered most of the park.

    The shadows of trees and tall buildings were all around. He went northward, not paying much attention to this. He walked past trees and benches that were all around. Past flowers that were well kept and people who took care of those flowers.

    Past people who were cutting the grass, past people who were idling near the pond, on which the surface of the water glittered in gold as the light beamed brightly from above. Paradise it was. And so he had experienced that as well, as he had described it to be. Now it was just nothing. Just something he walked past in a hurry.

    The warm light felt cold. The fresh air was just as suffocating as the one indoors. The people who looked happy made him feel even more miserable. How could they be so happy if he wasn¡¯t?

    They are all so naive; they are all so useless. They are just like me, but more blind.

    Yet they lived a life filled with emotions and things that could bring them joy and happiness.

    He walked past them in a hurry, not because he was in a rush, but because this very scene of beauty and all these people enjoying it made him feel even more insignificant and useless. It made him feel bitter about the choice that he had made so foolishly and so willingly.

    All this for a thing he didn¡¯t even feel. All for a thing he didn¡¯t wish to use. A curse indeed.

    The name for the building complex was pragmatically boring: "Laboratory of the Study of Magical Energy." It is said that when this part of the campus was first built, the name was much longer: "Laboratory of the Study of Magical Energy and the Laws of Physics which are Affected by its Nature".

    But it is no wonder, as the priests were allowed to come up with the name by themselves.

    Before, Kanrel had thought that such a name was quite stupid and not cool at all. Now, it felt fitting.

    Not only for how accurate it was but also for how well it helps one understand the nature of priests, especially the priests who conduct their research within the complex.

    The last time he visited the place, he couldn¡¯t really see the difference between this complex and the other parts of the campus. Now he could feel it. His skin was crawling as he went closer; cold shivers went through his body, and he felt disgust. He felt hopeless as he stood before this thing.

    He had seen other priests use magic in their demonstrations and when they had to study magic in theory. It looked amazing; it was like nothing else. But now that he could feel and sense it in all its awe, it felt wrong. It was disturbing and so¡­ so wrong. This thing.

    This complex was visually different. Before, it had had the same sort of reaction that the cathedral had given him; now it was the same, but just how he felt about the cathedral now. The magical energies flowing through it all didn¡¯t make it any better, but they did make the cathedral more pleasant in his own memory of it.

    And as he entered, more sensations went through him, until he stopped in realization. All this magical energy did was amplify the feelings he had within. No, he felt the feelings of all of those who had used magical energy here, in this laboratory. This fabric of magical energy was filled with their feelings of despair and suffering. It was a testament to the pain each of them went through each day of their lives, and there was no end to it. Nothing.

    How did they feel when they used their powers? Kanrel wondered as he continued his search for a priest.

    It didn¡¯t take him long to find one. Inside a large, mostly empty room, there was a woman weaving with her hands. Lights ignited harmlessly within the room as she carefully observed this reaction. Soon she stopped and turned around to a table on which there were papers, books, ink, and quills.

    She noticed Kanrel yet ignored him; instead, she picked up a quill and dipped it in ink. Carefully, she started writing on a piece of paper.

    Kanrel approached the table and took a peek at what she had written:

    ...the lights ignited without bursting for the first time; this is only possible when the lights are kept small enough, and it doesn¡¯t matter how many of them you weave in at the same time, but have them any bigger and they¡¯ll ignite in a violent manner, causing an explosion.

    I wonder what is needed for a reaction in which the lights explode inward, a reaction I call an "implosion."

    "Novice, it is impolite to come in without permission or an introduction, and even more impolite to read through someone else''s writings without, again, permission."

    The woman suddenly said, while still writing, her voice was very nonchalant; it was like she was teaching someone such a simple thing as manners.

    "Forgive me; it seems I¡¯ve forgotten how to behave," Kanrel said and returned to the door. Then he knocked on the frame of the door and said, "Excuse me, may I enter?"

    The woman put her quill down and turned toward the novice. She lacked any facial expression that could give any information about her mood or thoughts; she just gestured for him to enter.

    It is clear that she was beautiful; her blue eyes were piercing, and not even the lack of hair on her head made her look any less beautiful, though the lack of eyebrows was quite strange.

    "I am Kanrel Iduldian, and I¡¯ve recently gone through the Ritual; in fact, I went through it yesterday or I woke up from it yesterday, but nevertheless... I would like some direction on what to do now."

    "Where are the new novices supposed to be?"

    The priest inspected him from head to toe and said, "I see. So you¡¯re one of those early birds, as they say. Rare ones, who awaken more quickly than others."

    Kanrel just stared at her, waiting for an actual answer.

    "For now, you don¡¯t have to do anything. Just get used to what you are now. Your studies will resume when the rest are awake¡ªwell, at least the ones that wake up at all."

    Kanrel gave a nod and was about to leave.

    "But I would suggest that you stay here for now and try to put that which you¡¯ve learned in theory into practice. It should make things much clearer for you. It does so to all of us."

    The priest said this and smiled in a practiced manner; there was no joy in her smile. She then returned to her writing, as Kanrel still observed her.

    ¡°Where might I practice?" He asked.

    With her right hand, the priest made a gesture toward the other side of the room, saying, "Just don¡¯t blow this place up."

    Kanrel thanked her, and as he was going past her, she added, "Iduldian... fancy meeting the son of the Herald... Ewen Oidus, ask for me if you need help."

 Chapter Two: To Lift a Chair

    Now that he stood there and observed the things that he had learned during lectures and demonstrations, he was at a loss. Suddenly he was supposed to "figure things out", to conjure this magic and alter the physical realm around him so that he could truly see what he was capable of.

    From his studies, it is said that bringing forth things that aren¡¯t there takes a lot more effort than, let¡¯s say, pushing an object. So within the hall, he found an object¡ªan unsuspecting chair¡ªjust minding its own business.

    Kanrel carried it to the middle of his half of the hall and sat on it. He took a comfortable sitting position and went through many different memories:

    During his second year of learning about magical phenomena, there was a demonstration in class with a subsequent lecture about what they had just witnessed. Basically, a priest showed them how to alter the location of an object in the physical world¡ªin other words, how to push a stone or how to lift it with magic.

    The priest explained that she first imagined the rock, its dimensions, and its features; for example, a stone is made out of stone, its size is small, it is cold to the touch, and it isn¡¯t that heavy, but it isn¡¯t really that light either. If put under lots of heat, the stone would get hot, and with enough heat, it would melt.

    Then the priest would note the location of the stone; of course, this is rather easy as one has to just see the said stone. After this, the priest would imagine what she would want this stone to do: hover a few meters above the floor.

    Sounds easy enough, right? Sure, but that isn¡¯t the hard part, for the second part of the lecture was all about "coding" the things that you want to happen based on the information you have about the stone and the laws of physics that keep the stone where it is.

    Lifting the chair would not be hard, but if one used too much force, it would break against the ceiling above or go through it. Not to mention that you wouldn¡¯t want to accidentally make it burst into flames. This, and more, can happen with a simple error in "coding", as the priest promptly put it.

    Coding, magic, and physics are all based on logic. Coding is like inputting a set of keywords or commands in your own mind in the correct order so that a desired effect might take place. To explain physics, you might need mathematics so that you can more easily understand things like velocity or mass.

    Magic, on the other hand, goes against all logic, yet it has a logic; you can¡¯t really use mathematics to make it easier to understand, but it does help. You need all of this and the will to make it happen.

    So Kanrel got up from the chair. He already knew what he wanted to do; he knew the dimensions of the chair that he had just sat on; he knew what it was made out of; and he knew the weight of it.

    Now he just had to carefully input the correct words to create a code that did the thing he wanted it to do. Kanrel relaxed himself and stared intently at the chair. He wanted to lift it, so he imagined someone lifting it¡ªan invisible pair of floating hands to do the work for him.

    He felt an itch go through his body, and then he shivered as the chair jumped an inch from the floor and then fell back down. A wave of disgust went through him, and he vomited on the floor before him.

    He breathed rapidly and took a step backward, then his vomit burst into flames.

    "That is the usual reaction for a first-timer. Some vomit blood, some faint, and some even die¡ªthough that is quite rare." So nonchalant was the mention of death that Kanrel barely registered it as such.

    "I assume this doesn¡¯t happen every time?"

    "Well, we all get used to it, so I advise you to keep at it; then you¡¯ll puke less than the others during your first practical classes."

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    With a long sigh, mostly out of habit, Kanrel looked at the chair intently. This would be a long day of vomit, failure, more vomit, and even more failure.

    Hours went by as he tried to lift the chair with the invisible arms that he had imagined, and after almost every try he would vomit, and the times he didn¡¯t vomit, he would feel like shit. He was disgusted with himself and the thing he was doing; this practice of magic felt so unnatural and so vile to him. It felt so wrong, yet he kept at it until he managed to keep the chair in the air for more than just a moment.

    For five whole seconds, it was suspended above the floor, which was covered with ash from the times he had had the urge to vomit. Ewen had, in between her own tests, burned the vomit away; it didn¡¯t seem to bother her much.

    A few days ago, Kanrel would have thought that she did it out of the kindness of her soul, but that was unlikely, as she most likely did it so that she wouldn¡¯t have to do it later.

    After these many hours, he felt spent; he was hungry and needed some rest, maybe a few hours of sleep even. So he thanked the priest for her help, who probably didn¡¯t even notice that he left, and left the Laboratory for the Study of Magical Energy for now.

    He navigated his way through the park that was in the middle of the campus and went to the eastern side, where there would be the school cafeteria and a great collection of restaurants, shops, and libraries. Basically, all the things that a student might need in his or her daily life, be it soap, food, or an erotic novel.

    This time, Kanrel needed only food.

    Only one of the restaurants was free, so of course he visited that one. Even though he had the money to visit any of them at any time, he had thus far never had the urge to visit any of the other ones. And it was highly unlikely that he would ever feel that urge.

    Today''s food was one of Kanrel''s favorites, a meat soup. He got his portion and found an empty chair in the crowded restaurant. He found himself sharing a table with a few others, but that didn¡¯t matter to him.

    He took his spoon and gracefully dipped it into the soup, then he ate. As the food touched his mouth, he was expecting that familiar feeling whenever he had had it before. He was waiting for a taste that would bring him warmth and a feeling of joy from eating good food.

    He chewed the food and sat in silence. Sure, there was warmth, but that was just because it was soup and it was supposed to be warm; it was just a sensation brought by warm food. But there wasn¡¯t any other feeling. Sure, there was a taste to the food, and he did recognize the things that he had liked about the soup before; they were there still. But he did not enjoy it.

    It tasted the same, but his feelings toward it had changed. He could have eaten ash for all he cared, and he would have had the same reaction to it.

    It was food, and it didn¡¯t matter; he ate it just because humans need it for sustenance.

    It was disappointing. He had hoped that at least this he could enjoy; at least this he could wait for. That at least this he could still have, as this one thing that could make it all worth it.

    He looked at the bowl and bitterly went for another spoonful; that too was just ash for him; it was all ash, each spoonful. He ate a bowl of ash. At least it had done its job; he no longer felt hungry, but he did feel regretful.

    Through all this, he felt eyes on him, and he knew that the other students at his table observed him and his reactions. Perhaps they were wondering if a priest would be able to enjoy food; perhaps they knew that he wouldn¡¯t enjoy it. Perhaps they knew pity; perhaps not.

    Kanrel ate his food and left the cafeteria behind. He entered the large public library, which was on the same floor as most of the restaurants.

    He knew this library like the back of his own hands, so he found the section that had most, if not all, of the literature about magic in this specific library. There was nothing better to do for him, so he might as well try to figure out how to conjure magic more fluently and more efficiently.

    He was sure that there were many ways he could improve the way he did things and even the way he thought of things.

    After a while, Kanrel left the library with six books with him; all of them had different views on how to do magic in practice and even in theory; it would be left to him to decide which suited him better. It might be that none of them would be of any use, as all priests had their own way of seeing and imagining magic.

    For Kanrel, it might have been the pair of arms; for another, it might be that the chair grew wings, and that is what made it float. There are endless possibilities for how it all could work, and there is no "correct" way of imagining magic.

    So it all would, in the end, come down to information about the physical world and the limitations of magical energy, and then putting all that information about an object and a desired reaction into a code that would bring forth the desired outcome.

    Ewen Oidus had suggested that "putting theory into practice" would make things "much clearer for him", but it was now obvious that it had only made him first vomit and then obsess with not vomiting again. Therefore, he had to find a way of doing things that was less disgusting than the one he had used, or just get used to it.

    So Kanrel shut himself in his own room and did what he does best: study.

 Chapter Three: To Burn a Page

    By spending the rest of what was left of the day reading one of the books, Kanrel felt more knowledgeable about coding. He could actually understand it, but that was because he now had the ability to practice it.

    If he had read these books before, most of it would have been forgotten information, with just a few pieces of useful information remaining somewhere in the back of his head.

    But by the second day of reading, he started to wonder if any of these given methods would be the "correct" one for him. Perhaps there was another way of doing things, something more streamlined than just imagining a pair of hands or whatever to do all the work for him.

    He basically wanted to skip a step.

    The imagined hand is better as a tool of explanation for something that one can¡¯t see with their eyes, but for someone who has to actually use this invisible power we call magic, it might actually be just a hindrance.

    By far, the fifth book was the most useful to him in this regard. It held many views on this topic of "skipping a step", and it elaborated on the thoughts and theories that Kanrel had.

    On the third day, he read the books he had borrowed and made notes on the parts he found to be most interesting or most useful for his journey of improvement. Thus, he returned to the Laboratory for the Study of Magical Energy. He entered the same hall that he had shared with Ewen Oidus, but she was not there today; in fact, no one was.

    Her notes were scattered on the tables and chairs and even on the floors of the side of the hall she had used. The chair that he had used for his tests was standing proudly in the middle of his side of the hall. The poor chair had a long day ahead of itself...

    Kanrel found a second chair so that he could place his notebook on it with a pencil and some ink. Before arriving, he had already had something to eat, which might¡¯ve been a poor decision, but time would tell.

    Before starting his experiments with lifting a chair, he first had to figure out how to burn vomit without burning the whole hall. So he went out to get a bucket of water, just in case.

    And when he felt ready, he began to wonder about the qualities of fire¡ªthe very existence of fire. He knew that fire would need air and something flammable as fuel, so he ripped a page from his notebook and set it on the floor.

    He then thought of a code, a sequence of things that needed to happen so that a piece of paper might catch fire; he would need a spark... So he chose a small area of the piece of paper on which he would focus his efforts.

    He just had to heat the piece of paper until it caught fire. This he tried to achieve without thinking of a pair of hands setting it on fire with something like flint and steel. He wanted to skip this one step.

    What if it just burst into flames? Not through this invisible action but instead according to Kanrel¡¯s will. It didn¡¯t have to happen instantly; it could be gradual and slow. So he tried just that.

    Minutes went by, but nothing happened. So he tried again, this time with an altered code. Minutes went by again. Yet nothing.

    He felt sweat going down his brow; it took a lot of effort; conjuring itself wasn¡¯t so laborious, but withstanding this feeling of disgust... was horrid. He felt sick, like he suddenly had a fever.

    He had to take a break. So he stopped for a while, went to the piece of paper, and lifted it into the air.

    In an instant, the piece of paper burst into flames, covering his whole body, and panic rose. He found the bucket he had brought in and poured its contents over himself. He then rolled on the wet floor to make sure that not even a spark would be left.

    Soon he was lying on the ground, breathing heavily after such a scare. Moments ago, he was wondering if he might die, but now a question had conquered his mind: what caused such a thing?

    Why would the piece of paper burst into flames after he touched it?

    He got up, recorded his findings, and formed a theory: could it be that even though there was air around the piece of paper, it couldn''t, for one reason or another, access that air so that it would burn?

    His clothes were slightly burned and wet; there was a puddle of water on the floor; and there was a burned smell in the room. The discomfort of these things didn¡¯t matter to him, for he had to try again.

    He went and got himself another bucket of water, then repeated his previous experiment with fire the same way he had done it before, using the exact same code. He then braced himself and lifted the piece of paper; lo and behold, once again it burst into flames.

    Again, Kanrel poured the water over himself and rolled on the floor. He recorded the events as they happened and then got another bucket of water and ripped another empty page from his notebook.

    Put it on a dry section of the floor and tried a different code; this one was much more complicated than the other. He wanted to do another action at the same time with the same code.

    He wanted to feed air into the piece of paper so that it would catch fire. In a way, he knew how to do that; it wouldn¡¯t be more complicated than lifting a chair, but it would require a lot more delicacy than that.

    This also gave him the possibility of trying to push a thing, in this case, air, in a desired direction toward the piece of paper without imagining a pair of hands doing the pushing for him.

    In his head, this sounded easy enough, but in reality, it took hours, at least a hundred tries, and many different codes. Not to forget the buckets of water and an equal number of pages from his notebook.

    But when he finally found success, it felt like another defeat. There was no victory when he managed to safely burn the piece of paper by using the code he managed to create, not even the fact that he had succeeded in "skipping a step".

    His celebration was simple: he wrote down his findings. How long did it take, what were the steps, and what was the code? Then he tried again; maybe he could do it more quickly. Maybe he could shorten his code.

    He stopped only when he heard a voice coming from the door¡ªa knock.

    "Excuse me, may I enter?" The voice was a familiar one, and Kanrel was sure that he had heard it before. So he turned and observed who it was that had interrupted him.

    He recognized the individual; it was another novice like him who had now awakened with new-found powers. But there wasn¡¯t a name that Kanrel could recall; this wasn¡¯t the fault of the girl standing by the door but his own, as he had not given any thought to the other novices before.

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    "So you¡¯ve awakened." He said this and gestured for the girl to enter, which she did.

    "I heard that you were the first one to awaken." The girl said after navigating her way to him, "I was surprised, I think."

    "And were there others who had awakened? I must confess that I¡¯ve been preoccupied and not paid any attention to that."

    "A few¡­ You don¡¯t remember my name, do you?" She asked suddenly.

    Kanrel thought for a moment. He really tried to remember her name; he did remember the first time he saw her on his first day in the academy, but he couldn¡¯t for the life of him remember her name, so he shook his head.

    "My name is Yvie Sondrar," she said, offering her hand to him.

    Kanrel looked at her hand and wondered if she would have offered it to him before the awakening of their powers; he then took it, and they shook their hands and said, "Kanrel Iduldian, a pleasure, or something like that."

    After that, she didn¡¯t excuse herself; instead, she spent a considerable amount of time observing Kanrel, who now returned to his original reason for being here: lifting a chair while skipping a step.

    She must have had many questions about Kanrel¡¯s physical appearance, like why his clothes were kind of wet and burned, why the floor was wet, and why there was so much ash around. Why was there a chair in the middle, and why was he staring at it so intently?

    He chose to ignore her and instead focused on the chair. He already knew enough about the chair, but now he wanted to approach the lifting of it in a different way, of course using that which he had learned through trial and error while trying to move air to burn an innocent piece of paper.

    Gravity is the reason why the chair is where it is and not somewhere else, like floating near the ceiling or slightly above the floor. With the air, he had created a slight wind toward the piece of paper; for this, he had to block certain areas from the wind to have the desired route for the wind.

    Perhaps he could form an area of gravity above the chair so that it would be attracted to it, like a magnet to metal. But to his mind, this didn¡¯t seem like the most efficient way of doing things.

    Instead, there were the properties of the chair. A chair is quite heavy; is this not the reason why it stays where it is, as an unmoving object? So he began to create a code so that he could alter the weight of the object that he wanted to lift.

    It would become a weightless object; this wouldn¡¯t lift it, so he could then simply lift it with air.

    In a way, he made something more complicated than it needed to be, but it did have the desired effect.

    Kanrel managed to alter the weight of the object; he then pushed air under the chair so that it pushed against the bottom of it, causing the chair to lift at ease. It had become much easier than it had been before.

    Now the chair was suspended above the floor by ten or so centimeters. The air no longer pushed it upward, but he let the altered property of the chair remain.

    He wondered how long it would last until the chair fell. He returned to his notebook and wrote down his observations and the code he had used; he also wrote down the idea he had about creating a zone of gravitation.

    "This is what you¡¯ve been doing the past few days?" Yviev asked suddenly; there was no wonder in her voice, as this would have been one of the

    moments where it would naturally be in anyone''s voice.

    "Yes, I¡¯ve been trying to figure out the best way for me to use magic, the best way to think of magic, and the best way to code the things I want to achieve with magic. Another priest advised me to try magic in practice as, in her words, it would help me figure things out."

    "And there really wasn¡¯t anything better to do, and I would have to wait for others to awaken for lectures to resume."

    "And how does it feel?" She then asked another question.

    Kanrel set his pencil down and turned toward the girl, saying, "Like shit. It all feels disgusting, worse than the feeling of first waking up or the feeling of first encountering this whole complex and its magical energy."

    "Try it, and you will know what I mean." Kanrel picked up his notebook and quickly wrote down the first code he had successfully used to lift the chair. He ripped out the page and gave it to her.

    Yviev took the offered page and read it through a couple of times. In the meantime, Kanrel gave the chair its original weight back; it hit the floor with a loud sound but was fine. Poor chair. He then crossed his arms and observed the girl for the first time.

    She was quite pretty, or so he had thought of her before; her hair was short and dark, her eyes bright and blue, and she used to smile a lot. That was what made her so beautiful before. Now she looked wrong; she looked like something had been taken from her. It was as if her soul was no longer there. But Kanrel figured that most would still find her beautiful; perhaps she was more daunting now, and fewer would approach her with a specific intent in mind.

    This made Kanrel wonder what he himself looked like now. Then again, he never really was one to smile, so maybe there isn¡¯t much of a difference.

    After a while, Yviev focused on the chair. He could see first the focus on her face, then the disgust, and soon after the moment when she couldn¡¯t help but release vomit on the ground. The chair had not even budged; instead, it stood its ground, as if taunting the girl to try again.

    "Don¡¯t worry, apparently that is quite common and something that you¡¯ll get used to," Kanrel said. Finally, he got to use his code for setting things on fire on the first thing he wanted to set on fire. Even this moment had become valuable for his studies, so he set the vomit on fire, took notes on his observations, and came up with an improved code that could be specifically used for vomit, just in time for Yviev¡¯s second try to lift a chair.

 Chapter Four: An Overtly Expensive Plate of Ash

    It was good to observe others in their efforts. Not for fun or to mock the failures of another. But to see if the way someone else does the same thing that you do would be a more optimal way of doing things.

    Yviev had his code, so of course he ought to see how she manages to use it; maybe she would be more successful with it than he was, maybe less so, maybe she would improve it some way, and through this, Kanrel would learn something new and useful.

    After many failures and a considerable cleaning effort from Kanrel, Yviev finally managed to lift the chair for a mere centimeter for just the tiniest of moments; it was more like the piece of furniture had a slight spasm for no particular reason.

    The will of the chair was strong; it would not be commanded by amateurs so easily.

    "What am I doing wrong?" She asked while staring at the defiant chair, the inanimate object that refused to bend to her will.

    "I suppose the code is wrong, or rather, not suited for you. Perhaps you¡¯re just doing it wrong, but that I doubt; the code is too simple for that to happen." Kanrel pondered out loud.

    "You might want to start from the beginning and try to come up with your own code through trial and error." He then added.

    Yviev shifted her stare from the chair to him and asked, "Are you mocking me?" She asked flatly.

    "Not intentionally."

    "What about unintentionally?"

    "Perhaps."

    Yviev conjured the most unnatural smile to her face, and she then said, "I forgive you, but only if you buy me dinner; I¡¯ve heard that your mother is quite wealthy."

    "Perhaps ¡®perhaps¡¯ might¡¯ve been the incorrect choice as a reply; but sure, I¡¯ll humor you." Without waiting for her, he took his notebook and left the hall and her behind. She soon followed suit, still holding that unnatural smile on her face.

    On the eastern side of the campus, Yviev took the lead, and she led them up to the upper levels, where there would be the most high-end, most lavish, and most pretentious restaurants, which were visited only by the most rich, spoiled, and pretentious.

    Kanrel prepared himself for a miserable experience: food that would have a taste, but the taste would be one that he wouldn¡¯t be able to enjoy. The loss of money, which he did have but really didn¡¯t want to part ways with. Having money would not bring him happiness, but having less of it would make anyone feel like shit.

    Kanrel should¡¯ve known that her demand would be a trap; she looked petty, her smile was even more petty, her words were petty, and she smelled petty.

    Or... she was just out of touch, one of those spoiled nobles that only ate at the nicest restaurants.

    It was too early for him to make a correct assessment of her former personality and emotional framework, which would have formed her habits and dictated the choices she would make.

    He couldn¡¯t wait to find out.

    The restaurant Yviev chose wasn¡¯t just lavish; it looked like every inch of its interior cost more money to craft and furnish than what an average family makes in this kingdom in a year. So it was probably beautiful. And he might¡¯ve enjoyed dining here if it weren¡¯t for certain changes that had happened to him.

    A tall waiter led them to a table for two; there he even helped them sit down.

    It was quite surprising that they were even allowed in, considering the ashy clothes and the possible smell that they might¡¯ve been emitting. All in all, they looked quite poor, especially Kanrel, who had spent a lot of time rolling in a puddle of water.

    But then again, they were in an academy that seldom let outsiders in; it was also an academy "for the privileged", and not to mention they wore the school uniforms of novice priests. So why even bother arguing about their wealth, or lack thereof?

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    The waiter then brought them a complimentary bottle of wine, the menu, which held such wonderous cuisines as snails, and another bottle of even more expensive wine.

    "What does one order in a place like this?" Kanrel asked his company, who was studying her own menu.

    "I¡¯ve no idea, but steak sounds good."

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but stare at her for a moment longer than he usually would have.

    "I would like to change my answers: unintentionally into intentionally, and perhaps into certainly."

    Yviev conjured another fake smile on her face. She then looked for the waiter, who just so happened to be walking toward their table. In his hands, he had a waiter''s notepad and a pencil.

    "We are ready to order," Yviev announced, keeping her smile up. She then began reciting her order: "We would like two stakes and two bottles of the most expensive wine that you might have in this fine establishment."

    The waiter rapidly wrote down the given order and asked, "Anything for you, sir?"

    Kanrel just stared blankly at the creature that sat across him and said, "That is quite enough; she ordered for me as well." The waiter then excused himself while Kanrel began to furiously look for the prices of the things that Yviev had just ordered. His heart sank as he added their prices together.

    Indeed, money wouldn¡¯t make him happier, but losing so much at once sure made him feel like shit.

    "You really couldn¡¯t just accept my apology?"

    "I did accept it, and I would¡¯ve been fine with any restaurant. You, for some unknown reason, chose not to pick one, so I picked one for us¡ªone that I thought would be most suitable for your taste, ¡®o great son of the herald."

    Kanrel kept staring at her, and he found no words. All this for just a few words. Life kept being unfair for no good reason.

    "Relax, I¡¯ll pay." Yviev said, "I am just trying to enjoy something I used to enjoy before, to no avail."

    "I see. So I assume that you used to enjoy teasing others?"

    "Well, yes. But I also enjoyed lying to others; now that is fun. Well, it was fun." Yviev, for the first time, looked visibly distressed¡ªsad even. Before, she had looked like something was missing; now one could see that she knew that something was missing¡ªsomething was taken.

    "What about food?" Kanrel asked.

    "I used to love food¡ªwell, not the food one can eat in these fancy restaurants; of them, I¡¯ve no recollection. Now the cafeteria downstairs has top-notch food, the best food I¡¯ve ever had the pleasure of eating."

    "Sadly, the previous time I ate there, it was less than desirable. Do you happen to know what ash tastes like?" She asked.

    "Funny you should ask that; recently I¡¯ve been in contact with lots of ash, and by accident, I¡¯ve had a taste here and there. Not my favorite, but it didn¡¯t much differ from the food I¡¯ve eaten at the cafeteria as of late."

    Yviev let out a long sigh. "I think I would¡¯ve loved to talk to you before. You, at times, say things that some might consider slightly amusing."

    "Why thank you, but I doubt I would¡¯ve loved talking with you."

    "That is almost insulting," Yviev said, faking outrage. "Care to elaborate? No, wait. I already know the answer. Is it something to do with being a geek who refuses to talk with others, who refuses to even acknowledge others, who refuses to even say ¡®hi¡¯ to a fellow novice in the hallway?"

    "Exactly. It would seem that you know more about me than I know about you."

    In that moment, the food and wine arrived: two stakes and two bottles of the most expensive wine that were served in this fine establishment. Now that Kanrel had eyed the stake, he realized how dumb their order had been; there really wasn¡¯t much to eat¡ªjust a steak. Sure, it looked juicy; it looked like something anyone would love to eat.

    "Can you really afford this?" Kanrel asked, just in case.

    "Perhaps," Yviev answered with a fake smile on her face and began devouring the poor stake before her.

    After a long sigh, Kanrel joined her, hoping in the back of his mind that he would not have to be the one to pay for their dinner. He even poured a glass of wine for himself; it was his first time with anything that contained even the slightest amount of alcohol in it.

    At the cafeteria, something like that was never offered.

    He did wonder how it would affect him, what it would taste like, and if he would be able to get drunk in the future.

    After a disappointing first sip, Kanrel decided not to bother and stuck to drinking water; at least there was no afterburn.

    They ate in silence, and when it came to paying for the bill, Yviev kept her word and paid for everything. They then left the restaurant, and soon they found themselves in the library on the first floor.

    There, Kanrel suggested numerous books that might help Yviev in her quest to lift a chair¡ªbooks about coding and magic in general. He even decided to share some of his own thoughts about coding and the visualization of magic.

    He also borrowed a few books for himself to study later on.

    They parted ways at the door to his room, as hers was two doors down from his. He carefully locked his door, put his things aside, and opened the book, whose last words were, "Now there is nothing but thirst, which will never be quenched."

    He turned another page and wrote down all the information that he had learned about Yviev: her name, her height, what she looked like, how she spoke, everything that he could recall.

    Then he wrote as follows:

    It might be that I never experienced what it feels like to have a friend, and it is most definitely true that I will never experience such a feeling, but I might as well try to make a friend. The fact that it is impossible for me to enjoy things doesn''t mean that I wouldn''t be able to learn to care about people.

    Perhaps I might form a rational sense of enjoyment; I might not truly feel it, but I might make an educational guess on whether I would have enjoyed something or another.

    It might be that all I feel is despair, but at least I''d have something to do while in despair.

 Chapter Five: A Challenge of Creativity

    There was this familiar feeling Kanrel got while sitting in a lecture hall for the first time in a week or so. It had been decided that the lectures would resume for all novices within the academy, as most had already awakened from the Ritual.

    Some were yet to awake, and some might have their eyes shut without ever seeing the light again. He thought that he would feel more bad about it, but it would seem that this was not the case. Why did he not feel bad? He asked himself, but the answer was obvious: he didn¡¯t know them, so why would he care?

    Kanrel sat in his usual position, at the front, so that he could see everything in detail; no one would want to sit next to him. They all knew who he was, and they all knew he was the first to awake; no one really knew what that meant. Was he just the first to take the leap of faith, or rather, the choice in despair, which is to kill oneself?

    Was his lack of resolve to be applauded? Had he known something others did not? His mother was, after all, the Herald.

    The others could think what they wanted about him. He was too immersed in the pages of another book that he had borrowed, this one about coding and the use of magic in medicine. It was far more complicated and far more prone to fatal errors, as he would need another person to practice most of these things.

    The human body was so complicated, and they knew far less about it than was ideal. Kanrel would have to find more literature about the subject; perhaps from those books, he could find a common understanding.

    He heard someone sit next to him; he could smell this other person. It was the fragrance of pettiness.

    "Must you pester me even here? Am I not safe anywhere?" Kanrel mumbled.

    "Come now, are we not friends? Wait, don¡¯t answer. We aren¡¯t." Yvive replied in her naturally erratic manner.

    Kanrel let out a long sigh. He had spent too much time with her in the past few days. They would eat together, they would practice coding and magic together, they would discuss such things, and what was worse, they would even talk to each other.

    He hoped that he could describe it as fun, or any other equivalent word. Instead, it was just the same, and he couldn¡¯t really tell if he suffered more or less while spending time with her. It was so hard to discern the amount of emotional fluctuation within or notice if there was any at all.

    But at least she had been of great value; she provided a different point of view from his, and through her, he could test his codes and theories. She would, of course, benefit equally, so their relationship was mostly equally beneficial to both parties.

    Yviev spread her notebooks and books she had been reading as of late on the table. This mess took a considerable amount of space away from Kanrel, but he didn¡¯t mind that too much. He didn¡¯t need that much space for himself.

    In the middle of turning another page, a loud bang erupted as a door was violently closed.

    Everyone peered at the bald woman who had entered the lecture hall, Ewen Oidus, a talented priest who was most definitely insane, or at least ready to cross the border of insanity. Her studies and research were explosive, no less; they were also very interesting, but indeed explosive.

    Twice now, Kanrel had been in the same room when she decided to cause a minor accident in the laboratory. It wasn¡¯t a big deal, but he was obliged to help her clean up her own mess. She was his senior after all, and it would¡¯ve been impolite of him not to help, as she had pointed out.

    Ewen took her place in front of everyone there and let her gaze study the faces of her new pupils. She then began her speech: "I do think that this is a considerable waste of my time, but it is also an obligation that I have to abide by.¡±

    ¡°If I didn¡¯t waste my time here teaching you something as simple as coding, I would not be allowed to continue my research.¡±

    ¡°Thus, I will make sure that each of you, my little priestlings, will learn all that there is to learn about coding, so that I might return to much more important matters; anything else, just not this."

    "I am your professor for this course on Advanced Coding and the Use of Magical Energy In Practice."

    "You may call me Professor Oidus or High Priest Oidus; both are fine as they give due respect to my name... Now, let us begin.

    The first hour or so Professor Oidus spent quickly going over the things that they all should know by now. Such simple questions as: What is magic? What about coding and the logic behind it? And so forth.

    And then it was time for things to get much more complicated.

    "Recently, I¡¯ve been observing a couple of novices in their early stages of coding in practice. And what I found out is that lifting a chair can be quite challenging, especially if you overcomplicate it."

    ¡°She made a slight glance at Kanrel and Yviev and said, "But it did prove beneficial in their ability to approach the idea of lifting a chair through numerous, and sometimes quite creative, ways.

    ¡°So my first assignment for you all is to produce a code that you will use to lift a chair. Consider this a test: a test of the knowledge that you have thus far, a test of how you might use that knowledge and a test of how you might seek more knowledge. This is also a test of your creativity.¡±

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    ¡°Sure, one can make an easy code to lift a chair."

    She then looked at a chair that was on the side of the lecture hall. With her magic, she first moved it near her, then lifted it easily.

    "To achieve the goal of lifting this specific chair, I¡¯ve used the most simple one that I could think of. But what if we got more creative? What if, for example, we did this?"

    The chair suddenly disappeared, then appeared again a meter higher.

    "This we call Instant Material Portation; it is quite useful, but it does require a much longer and more complicated code to achieve. Also, technically, I am not lifting it; I am just switching the positions of two physical entities with each other.¡±

    ¡°The location of the chair with the location that does not have a chair."

    She then allowed the chair to drop on the floor, causing another loud bang to echo through the lecture hall.

    "I want you all to create a code that is as creative as possible and then showcase your code before the class; you have until the end of the week. Oh, and the requirement for success is to lift the chair for at least a centimeter. I am dismissed, and so are all of you."

    Oidus said her words and then just left the lecture hall. Kanrel could easily guess where she might go.

    He had gotten used to her fickle nature already, so he got his stuff and left the silent lecture hall with Yviev right behind his back. He couldn¡¯t wait to see the codes that the others might come up with, but he also had to develop one. A word came to his mind: gravity.

    His idea might fail, but he could always come up with a new plan just in case. Four days just wasn¡¯t a lot of time to mess around, so his feet would take him to the same place where Oidus would find herself. The Laboratory For the Study of Magical Energy.

    Of course, he wouldn¡¯t want Oidus to know about his ideas before the evaluation of their creativity, so he booked another hall for him and Yviev to use. A room where he would spend more time in the coming days than anywhere else.

    However the very first question Kanrel would have to tackle and consider was already something complicated: what is gravity, and what are its properties? How does it work?

    From the library, he found countless books about this matter, so he did the only thing that he could do other than give up: he began consuming such books as quickly as he could. Truthfully, this didn¡¯t help as much as he would¡¯ve liked, but it did give him some general ideas, which he would have to test.

    How the hell does one create a point of gravitational energy? With magic, of course, but how?

    A day went by with him just pondering this idea, sometimes throwing his pencil in the air and observing how it fell to the ground. Of course, the ground had the most gravitational pull, and it is known that all objects have such a pull.

    In the case of a pencil falling to the floor, it is because the gravitational pull of the ground outweighs that of the pencil. This is, at least, how he understood it.

    Wouldn¡¯t he then need an object that had a higher gravitational pull than the very ground beneath it? How much does the world even weigh? And wouldn¡¯t conjuring a point like that cause some serious issues? Like collapsing the room around it into one specific location, like a ball of clutter.

    That wasn¡¯t something he wanted to do. And it didn¡¯t matter that he would change the weight of a chair to almost zero if the ground would still have a higher amount of gravitational pull than any smaller gravitational pool that he¡¯d make.

    So he had to discard his initial idea, not because he wouldn¡¯t be able to achieve it by making a location that had some gravitational pull to it, but because making one too large would have some unwanted effects, and he doubted that he could make a location that had a far greater pull than the ground below.

    So, what about magnets? What if he made a location above the chair magnetic, and then he changed the properties of the chair to become magnetic as well? Wouldn¡¯t these two locations then attract each other? He could make the location in the air unmoving so that these "objects" would always meet at the same location, or height.

    Another day went by as he tried this very idea of his. He had created a highly magnetic area suspended above the air. He managed to change the properties of a given chair to be of the opposite polarity in magnetics.

    He observed with a pencil in his hands as the two "objects" met each other; he had succeeded. The chair was now above the floor by a good meter or so. In his mind, this is how his first theory would¡¯ve worked as well. But the problem with gravity is that it pulls all objects toward itself, not just things that have a magnetic pull.

    Again, there was no joy as he wrote down his observations. All he had found out and all he thought about were now written down in his notebook. He had a day and a half to spare, so he spent the rest of this day perfecting the code that he had created, making it as streamlined as possible while still having the desired effect.

    The last day he spent reviewing his writings, he pondered his thoughts about the possibility of using gravity the way he had first proposed. For this, he devised a code with less gravitational pull, just that which is equal to the strength of the magnetic pull that he had devised.

    He then tried it out, but the chair remained unmoving. He then threw a coin into the pool of gravity, and he observed as its course was slightly altered by this other force. That day, he threw many things at the pool of gravity and wrote down his findings.

    Maybe this will be useful to him in the future.

 Chapter Six: A Warm Handshake

    Four days really wasn¡¯t a lot of time to prepare anything extravagant for a thing like lifting a chair while using the most creative way possible, especially when that lifting had to be done with magic. And most of the people participating wouldn¡¯t have the slightest clue on how to really use magic or how to code without causing some sort of catastrophe.

    In hindsight, the assignment wasn¡¯t a good idea at all. But then again, is there a better way of teaching than letting your pupils truly test their limits? Yes, doing the same but in a safe environment where no one can get hurt. Though that is beside the point, he was fine, and that was all that mattered. At least to Kanrel.

    Each night when Kanrel returned to his room during those four days, he could easily see and smell that there had been almost a hundred novice priests testing their limits. Thankfully, no one had died yet, and the damage done by vomit was quickly repaired out of the pockets of those involved.

    He felt so thankful for the fact that he had used the laboratory during those days, but then again, he had missed liters of vomit and a stink that would not leave a man even after a hundred showers.

    Now that they were all waiting for their highly motivated professor to arrive, Kanrel could see the lack of sleep on the faces of many. He could see that some felt disgusted, even now. Oh, how he couldn¡¯t wait to see the things these people would conjure, for each creation would tell a story; each success a story of suffering, of failing continually until you managed to move a chair for a mere centimeter.

    Some might¡¯ve stopped trying when they managed to do that, but some would push through even further, forming codes more suitable for themselves; those were the ones that he was most excited to see.

    And so was the woman who again shut the lecture hall door violently, causing a loud bang that, with its echo, touched each of them.

    "Wonderful, you all look chirpy as ever. We are all chirpy because someone had to clean, and I quote, ¡®the mess that they had caused¡¯."

    "How wonderful it is to think that you might get to spend four days with your own research, but instead you are forced to burn vomit and recuperate dim-witted students. And not to mention the random graffiti I had to clean here and there; something about faked passages in the Book of the Heralds."

    "So not only am I dealing with dim-witted students but also a moron or a group of morons. Marvelous."

    "Alas, I am here again, with you, my dear priestlings. But enough babble; starting from the back, you may come to me and show all of us your little codes and don¡¯t worry, I have plenty of critique to give."

    Oidus placed a chair in the front, and she herself sat on the floor in anticipation. Then the first brave individual came down to showcase their creativity and progress.

    During the next many quite normal and unimaginative showcases of lifting a chair, Oidus spent it giving simple words of criticism and encouragement, like "boring", "useless", "pathetic", "waste of my time", "waste of air", and so forth.

    Most would just do the same thing that Kanrel had done on his first try, though there obviously were some differences in the formatting of the codes; Kanrel could distinguish the talented from the untalented quite easily: there were those that, in their code, managed to do multiple things at the same time, making the process of lifting a chair much quicker, and then there were those that were awfully slow and were actually just "wasting time" or "wasting air".

    Then there were the special few who thought it would be funny to use their hands to lift the chair. Oidus would just laugh emotionlessly at their poor attempt at a joke in a room filled with people who wouldn¡¯t be able to find things funny.

    They of course had to then showcase some magic, or Oidus would "rip their heads off, even if that meant that she could no longer indulge herself in her research and would have to spend the rest of her life being slowly eaten to death by maggots the size of a fruit fly."

    At last, it was Kanrel¡¯s turn; he then showcased his magnetic way of lifting a chair and even explained the code outloud, the things he did, and how he came to those conclusions. The chair was lifted and suspended in the air.

    And with a simple word of criticism: "Magnetic." He was dismissed and allowed to sit back down.

    And her criticism made a lot of sense; if the room they were in was filled with metallic objects, his showcase could¡¯ve easily become a deadly dodgeball game with rapidly moving metallic objects. Of course, that would only happen if the magnetic pool was way too powerful in its pull.

    Yviev, on the other hand, had a totally different idea: What if the chair could bounce?

    So she had created a code that would change the properties of the chair into something more suitable for bouncing, like rubber; then she hit the floor with a lot of force with another part of the code, which then prompted the chair to shoot up toward the ceiling in an accelerated manner; soon enough, they all could observe how the chair was rather quickly bouncing back and forth from the floor to the ceiling.

    This lasted for a while until she made it stop.

    "Loud."

    Yviev then returned to her seat with a well-practiced smile that told the world that she was satisfied with her magic.

    Then came a few more basic liftings of the chair; the second-to-last even vomited a little, causing Oidus to blurt out things that really shouldn¡¯t be said about anyone''s mother. She then burned the vomit away and shouted another profanity at her dear pupil.

    The last novice got up from his seat, an impressive-looking individual; he didn¡¯t really look like his age would suggest, and many would say that his talents were wasted in their line of work. Kanrel remembered him for obvious reasons; who could so easily forget someone as handsome as him?

    His name, though, was a mystery, at least to Kanrel.

    But soon he would be able to rectify this, as he had since the beginning of the showcase begun taking notes of the other novices, mostly about the code that they showcased in front of them all, but also their names, as they would announce themselves first.

    "Yirn." He announced himself with a simple name, and there was no last name given. That was one of the things Kanrel remembered about him¡ªhe was another Nameless, but someone far less frowned upon for some very visual and physical reasons.

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    He was built like a soldier, designed to take battle on the frontlines of war; no one would want to fuck around and find out how far he could wedge his fist into someone''s skull.

    For some reason, Kanrel had a feeling about him; he wasn¡¯t sure what that feeling was, but it was there, somewhere within.

    Yirn began as all eyes were on him; nothing happened for a while, but soon they all noticed how multiple chairs started to walk toward the chair he was supposed to lift; the chairs would group around it, and then they would lift it above themselves. They had formed a pyramid of chairs, and then, just to make a point, Yirn made the pyramid of chairs float and slowly rotate.

    The novice waited for Oidus to dish out her carefully selected words of criticism. And after a while, she delivered, "Creative."

    Yirn casually smiled; for some reason, it looked far more genuine than any other smile from a priest. As if he had smiled like that all his life. He then returned to his seat, but only after giving Kanrel a quick look.

    There really was a feeling about him that Kanrel could not put into words; maybe there was innate talent in this young man, and he could just tell. He would need to talk to him later and find out the code that he had used; he would be a great addition to people he considered friends, or at least mutually each other benefiting individuals.

    Oidus got up from the floor and said, "Now that took far longer than I had thought... And I still have to give a lecture. No wonder the life of a priest is so sad and so depressing.

    "Today we will delve into how to improve the way we code. Some of you, I won¡¯t name any names, not because I don¡¯t want to humiliate those who are dumber than the average donkey, but because I can¡¯t for the life of me remember most of your names."

    "So, let us start from the beginning again."

    And so their lecture went by; Oidus gave detailed explanations on things that were actually quite useful to Kanrel, as she would often demonstrate and then elaborate on the things she was teaching. Oidus was an awfully talented priest, and how quickly she was able to first produce a piece of code and then find its faults, just to improve them in mere moments, was impressive.

    She would use the codes that the students had used to lift the chair, and then she would explain how they could be improved, all this following the initial logic that the creator of the code had had. In a way, it was like she was giving them answers to future homework, but she explained them in such a way that it would be impossible for the novices to not grasp them and improve considerably¡ªunless there was someone who was actually dumber than the average donkey.

    She then gave them some reading recommendations, which were more like a list of books they would have to read or be out of loop for the next lecture; she also commanded everyone to practice coding and weaving magic every day, staying away from things that would "cause a minor disaster, like an explosion, for example".

    They were then dismissed while she was already walking out of the door.

    Kanrel instantly collected his things and left the lecture hall behind. He had a lot on his mind, and there were many things that he would have to review in his notes. The day had been highly educational, even if their professor seemed unmotivated and didn¡¯t want to be there.

    "Kanrel!" A deep voice shouted after him. He stopped and turned around to see who had called for him. Soon his eyes met a handsome man who was gracefully approaching him; Yirn even moved like a soldier. No, he moved like a master swordsman.

    Soon the much taller man stopped before him and asked, "I am really sorry to bother you, but could we go and have a talk somewhere?" The way he spoke was so natural; it wasn¡¯t the words he chose, but the way he said them outloud.

    Kanrel cleared his throat and said, "Of course, follow me." Without daring to keep his eyes on the man for a moment longer, he returned to his course and expected him to follow.

    This feeling inside of him was so strong that it made him wonder if someone was trying to hex him, but he soon accepted the discomforting feeling, and after walking for a while in the middle of the campus, in the middle of students who were enjoying the sun and the company of each other, did he finally understand what that feeling was.

    He was jealous. The man at whom he dared not lay his eyes was everything that he had hoped to be. Even as someone who was nameless, he was respected, and he went unbothered by eyes that would do harm to him. And he so naturally held himself; even as a priest, his smile was inviting and his speech captivating.

    Only when they arrived at the laboratory and the hall that Kanrel had booked for him and Yviev did he finally look to see if the man had, in fact, followed him. And to his surprise, he had. He was already casually exploring the things in the hall, but he did not touch or attempt to read the notes that Yviev had scattered around.

    "What is that you wanted to talk about?" Kanrel asked, observing the man. Yirn¡¯s dark eyes soon found Kanrel and their eyes met; he smiled so naturally that it made Kanrel wonder if the man had practiced every night in front of the mirror to smile like that.

    Before, he would¡¯ve found that smile so beautiful, and now he felt regretful that he hadn¡¯t paid any attention before; he might¡¯ve now had the memory of that smile, and he would truly be able to know if it really was so beautiful.

    "I would like to join you and Yviev in your study group; the way you two code makes me wonder about all the things that we could achieve together. I think we might have a very beneficial relationship in the future." He said, his voice soft, almost shy.

    "I¡¯ve actually always wanted to talk with you, you know... Another nameless like me, but to be honest, you¡¯re a bit intimidating to approach; at least you were before, and honestly, you probably still are, but for some reason, I find it much easier to approach you now."

    "And I really don¡¯t mean to offend; I know you technically have a name, as your mother is the Herald of the Gods; I just meant that you were born nameless, like me." Yirn suddenly started babbling, and Kanrel found that maybe the man before him wasn¡¯t as perfect as he was in his head.

    This didn¡¯t make the discomfort go away, as he realized that many would most likely find the man¡¯s awkward nature to be very cute.

    He almost couldn¡¯t help but sigh, but he managed to control himself and instead extended his hand to the man. He then said, "I am looking forward to working with you." He then tried to smile as naturally as he could.

    Yirn looked at him strangely for a moment and then took the offered hand. "Likewise. Also, not to offend or anything, but your smile does need a bit of practice."

    Yirn¡¯s hand was warm in his, and the warmth lingered for a while after their hands separated.

    "How bad is it?" Kanrel asked and conjured another fake smile.

    Yirn grimaced. "You look really scary, like you¡¯re ready to rip my arm off or something.

    "I see, I guess I have to buy a mirror."

 Chapter Seven: A Duel With Magic

    Combat is an important skill that all priests ought to learn¡ªthe necessary skills for self-defense and the skills one might need to defend others in the face of danger.

    The theory was quite simple but useful for coding and the use of magic overall. Because in combat, everything has to be done quickly and precisely, without failure. In combat, one has to be creative in the ways one might use their surroundings; for example, they could freeze the ground, thus making it slippery to stand on.

    Preparation was also emphasized. If one knows beforehand that there might be a possibility of a physical or otherwise violent encounter, being prepared for such a possibility can save lives¡ªnot just the lives of others but your own.

    One might think that magical combat is all about two or more people throwing fireballs at each other, but in actuality, it is much more mobile and quick, and a lot of fights are decided in close quarters.

    A priest has to be in constant motion, as there might at any moment be a spell that makes the place where you just were a place where you¡¯ll be buried.

    Combat against non-priests is a lot simpler; for that, preparation, awareness, and reaction are keys. A volley of arrows is easily turned around with a strong gust of wind; a sword strike can be countered by making the sword itself suddenly too heavy or adjusting its properties; what if a sword was suddenly soft?

    Before, this had been the part of their curriculum that worried Kanrel the most. He wasn¡¯t very athletic, and he didn¡¯t much like the idea of getting beat up by the hands of the other novices.

    Now he could probably win against most; that made Yirn his most difficult competition. During the past week, they had had many conversations; they would share things like their thoughts about coding and magic in general and the reason why they had originally chosen to become priests.

    For Kanrel, it had been a duty for knowledge, but Yirn had a dream of becoming an inquisitor. A fierce warrior priest whose primary job would be law enforcement and hunting loose priests.

    So he had spent much of his time working out his body, which one could easily see, and reading books from inquisitors to inquisitors; these books often held information and thoughts about combat, strategy, and what kind of things one could quickly and easily interact within their own surroundings¡ªall this in preparation.

    He had also shown Kanrel one of the codes that he learned recently: he conjured multiple small balls of fire, and then he¡¯d rapidly shoot them forward. It was within the basics of magical combat, but Kanrel found it impressive anyway.

    And now they were in a hall designed for practice duels. All of the novices were, and with them was a visiting inquisitor known as Sirius, whose intention was to force all of them to fight each other until they collapsed and could not move any longer.

    He showcased elaborate weaving as he would, in mere seconds, summon balls of fire that would explode on impact, and with that, he would conjure a blinding flash of light directed at the imagined enemy that he was fiercely attacking.

    He then, with the help of Oidus, made the novices go into pairs so that they would be able to have a practice duel.

    Now Yirn stood across from Kanrel, and they eyed each other, waiting for the command to start. It was certain that both of them had already begun coming up with different codes to alter the environment, maybe even form an attacking spell.

    "Begin!" Was loudly yelled, and in an instant, Yirn began running at him; at the same time, he threw exploding balls of fire at Kanrel, who had to alter all his own plans and block the coming attacks. Powerful gusts of wind made the balls of fire useless; he then tried to stop Yirn by freezing square meters of ground around him.

    Then Kanrel began retreating, but something was off. He turned around and could do nothing; the floor trembled in anticipation of the forthcoming strike; Kanrel¡¯s heart was beating. Was it because of fear? Excitement? Or was he just so caught up in the fight that his heart had to keep up with his mind?

    An icy whip, in a glittering arch beneath the light of the hall, baptized the floor with a streak of blood. Kanrel fell to his knees, his face bleeding and half of it missing, but he would survive.

    So this was magical combat in practice.

    Even this wound would serve as a valuable moment to learn; he remembered the books he had read about magic in medicine and began forming a code based on that information. He would first stop the bleeding and then regenerate the missing side of his face.

    He did this all while terrible pain ran through his face over and over again; he still got up as his newly formed code was still working on his face.

    Yirn had stopped for a moment in shock; he had not expected what had happened, even when he had been the cause of it.

    Kanrel then used this shock to his own advantage and began forming multiple spikes of ice in the air around him, all aimed at Yirn. The young man then woke up from his shock, just in time to dodge the coming spikes. He then slipped on the icy ground and had to roll out of it as quickly as he could.

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    "Stop!" A loud voice demanded; the duel was over, and all the just conjured spells were made void, except the one fixing Kanrel¡¯s face.

    "Well done. You two will make fantastic inquisitors in the future. You''ve got the right attitude for training¡ªactually attacking using all the things that you know how to use, and not just standing still when attacked or when half of your face is missing." The male inquisitor said it with an even intonation.

    "These are exactly the things that I look for in an inquisitor while training."

    "You, Yirn, was it? Next time, don¡¯t get shocked by the sight of blood, and go for the kill. And you, don¡¯t ever turn your back to the enemy; you deserved to lose half of your face for that."

    "Next!"

    And so the practice duels continued; everyone got a chance to impress the visiting inquisitor, but not many of them got any compliments. This went on for hours, and those who had showcased their prowess in combat got to continue practicing against target dummies.

    Yirn sheepishly apologized; he had thought that Kanrel would be able to dodge the coming strike, as he himself could¡¯ve done so. Kanrel, on the other hand, thanked Yirn for the valuable lesson in medicine.

    Soon the first lecture in combat was over, and Kanrel agreed to meet up with Yirn and Yviev at the laboratory in an hour.

    The combat arenas were in the northern part of the academy, behind the laboratory. It was an area of the campus that was most frequently restored, for obvious reasons. Oidus apparently had, as a novice herself, blown half of it into smithereens. And funnily enough, that moment had also been the moment she became obsessed with explosions.

    While walking in the corridor, Kanrel saw something on the wall. In bright white and red, there were words written: The Herald is heretical; death to the heretics!

    And on the other side of the corridor, there was another phrase: The new passages are forgeries; death to the Herald!

    He stood there for a long time before another person went by; they also stopped near the graffiti. She then commented, "The coming of the Otherkind does seem a bit absurd, but I wouldn¡¯t go as far as to call the Herald heretical. Maybe daft instead." She said this with a smile on her face, which froze after she recognized who she was talking to.

    The girl quickly apologized and ran off before Kanrel could rebuke her.

    Otherkind. Heretics. The Herald. New passages and forgeries? Kanrel did not know what to think; there was just this urge to figure out the truth. He would have to first visit the cathedral, as every temple and cathedral would always have an updated copy of the Book of the Heralds. He had not read it for a while now, so many new passages might have been shared.

    He formed a code and removed the graffiti; such doubt shouldn¡¯t be installed in the heads of priests.

    The cathedral was as empty as ever, and to be fair, it was only full during certain days of the year and during the ritual. By now, all had opened their eyes and were taking part in the lectures. Those who had taken longer to awaken were somehow more used to their new-found emotional state, and they seemed far more apathetic in Kanrel¡¯s eyes.

    When he walked once again into the grand hall of the cathedral, he was reminded of how small and insignificant he was to the world around him. How he meant nothing before the eyes of the Angel, who would emotionlessly judge all those that found themselves within.

    They all looked down upon us. All of the angels, small and large; on the columns, the paintings, the carvings, and the mosaics. All of them. Each time Kanrel took a step, he felt his skin crawl. They followed him; those eyes... filled with judgment.

    Within the cathedral, there is a library in the south-eastern wing of the building. Hundreds of tall bookshelves filled the whole room; this was the place where most of the religious texts were held. And even more literature about magic. But not even a single erotica novel was in sight; no wonder the library was far less visited than the one across the cafeteria.

    In the very middle of the library, there was a pedestal on top of which there was a large tome; its dimensions were 30 centimeters in width and 35 centimeters in height, and there were thousands of pages, half of which were filled with small scripture.

    This had been the first time he saw the Book of the Herald after his awakening, and by the Angels, it felt so very different now. Seeing this very tome was the first time since a few weeks ago that he felt anything other than different shades of despair.

    He felt touched, and he felt so blessed, and oh, how he wanted to cry from this feeling that something as usual as seeing a book gave him. But this wasn¡¯t like any other book; there are only ten or so of this type of book in the world.

    Magically connected tomes that all updated when a new passage was written on the original one. The one that his mother had.

    He swallowed his tears and went closer. He carefully found the page that held the last passage that he had read; he didn¡¯t need to be careful, as the book would survive any damage done to it. The pages couldn¡¯t be ripped or burned; moisture wouldn¡¯t ruin them. Nothing would.

    There had been three new passages since he had last visited. They read as follows:

    Locked; imprisoned those you know as the other. Waiting for the lock to open; waiting for their ascension; to breach the surface; to usurp those above.

    Punished for betrayal; conquered and then enslaved by the shadows; by those within, around, and above.

    Bloodshed; famine; death. An ending from and for below.

    Kanrel read the words again and again. What did it mean? The end of humanity? To the "other"? Or to the Angels? Whose betrayal? What shadows? What lock? Whose ascension?

    He took out his notebook and copied the new passages; he would have to read back on the other things that his mother had written, and then he would have to go even further back in time to find out what had been said about the Otherkind before.

    With a lot on his mind and all these new passages of shadows within, around, and above, and the coming bloodshed, famine, and more, he then decided to finally go meet up with the others at the laboratory. But tonight, there will be a lot to read about.

    Kanrel arrived at the laboratory an hour late; he only saw Yviev there.

    "I am sorry for being so late; I had to finish the thing that I was reading." Kanrel apologized.

    "At least this is just your first time; as you can see, Yirn is not here either, and he is late every time; he probably has to finish the set of pushups he is doing."

    "Push-ups?"

    "Well, what else would he be doing?"

    Kanrel thought for a moment: "Point taken." He then began sharing the observations that he had made during the combat lecture; he also shared the code that he had used to fix his face.

    Yviev also helped him figure out if his face was the same as it had been before. "You¡¯re as ugly as ever, so don¡¯t you worry."

    "And if there is any actual difference, you can always get the other side chopped off as well; just ask Yirn, and he¡¯d be happy to help you."

 Chapter Eight: An Imploring Letter

    A month went by quickly while the novices attended lectures, and combat training was frequent, perhaps not because it really needed to be but more for Oidus''s benefit. She could easily leave the novices to their own devices with Sirius while she sneaked out to her laboratory, which wasn¡¯t far away.

    But who knows how much time she really had with her research since the frequency of "morons" writing graffiti on the walls had increased considerably? No one knew if it was a person or a group of people, and catching them was nigh impossible since the graffiti would just appear at the oddest times of the day.

    And during the night, the number of patrolling guards had increased, but even they hadn¡¯t noticed anything off other than how often the other students of the academy went on dates or swam naked in the moonlight.

    Kanrel, for one, was disappointed that he never knew about such a thing and would never be able to partake. Both Yviev and Yirn had their own stories about partaking in the entertainment of the commonfolk.

    And now that Kanrel thought about it, a common plotline, or a clich¨¦, in some of the erotic novels that he had read, for research purposes only, involved naked swimming in the moonlight.

    He instead spent his nights reading the Book of the Heralds, finding every mention of the Otherkind from before the times of her mother as the Herald of the Gods and her contributions as well. The only issue was that it was all written word for word the way the Angels would¡¯ve supposedly said them, so the writing was cryptic.

    This prompted him to make several visits to different libraries within the campus, and oh, there were plenty. It''s too bad that most, if not all, of it is just speculation. Sure, there are some more substantive books he read; for example, there are some mentions of old artifacts and ruins. But it would be difficult to say if those were just things made by humans centuries ago.

    The very existence of the Otherkind is only supported by the mentions from the Angels, or rather, the alleged mentions from the Angels.

    What of the Wildkind, then? There is substantial evidence and literature with detailed descriptions of them, their ways, and what they did. Of course, these accounts are from nearly a thousand years ago, but the evidence exists, and not only in the words of one Herald of the Gods. As far as Kanrel could tell, only her mother had written of the Otherkind. There is not even one single mention of them before her time.

    Is it something the Angels just didn¡¯t mention before or something entirely made up? For what reason would she ever make such things up? The only reason he could think of was that the Angels had abandoned her, or worse, all of them.

    Another possibility that has been theorized in the past few years is that the Otherkind are the same as the Wildkind, but again, there is no proof for that. The reasons for the demise of the Wilkind are different than those of the Otherkind.

    As far as we know, the Wildkind were exterminated, and the Otherkind either betrayed something or were betrayed by something.

    After the lecture, Kanrel sat in the laboratory, staring at the wall before him, just processing all the thoughts and doubts that he had. What could he do?

    "Are you alright?" Yirn had finally arrived, late as per usual, but there nonetheless.

    He just gave a nod as a reply and kept staring at nothing but the thoughts he had.

    "Is it about the graffiti and rumors going around about your mother?"

    Kanrel now shifted his gaze to the young man, who stood not too far away. Yirn smiled and said, "Hah! I got your attention!"

    Kanrel rolled his eyes, which made the young man smile even more, and then he got serious very quickly: "I don¡¯t think you should worry too much about that; people will think what they want, and that is that. They¡¯ll be caught sooner or later.

    And hey, if you really doubt the Herald of the Gods, you can always ask her in a letter; she is your mother after all."

    Kanrel sat in silence for a while, pondering this possibility: he really could send a letter; he knew that she would read it and that she would reply to it, but would she give an honest answer? Or would she even give an answer?

    He then smiled; practice had paid off, and his fake smile was slightly less creepy than before. Yirn still frowned at the sight of it.

    "I think I''ve got an invitation to write in the form of a demand," Kanrel announced his departure and left the laboratory, leaving a bemused Yirn behind.

    "What¡¯s his problem?" Yviev asked as she stepped into the laboratory, "I just saw Kanrel running in the corridor; he never runs; I didn¡¯t even know that he could run!"

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    "I guess he has mommy issues," Yirn said and shrugged his head.

    "Yirn, my dear friend, never say that again."

    "Why? Am I not using the correct phrase?"

    "Technically yes, but it can mean another thing; I suppose you haven¡¯t read many novels of the erotic kind that are available in the library across the cafeteria? Oh, the stories those books could tell if they could see and speak! I¡¯ve many fond memories with those little books." Yviev explained.

    "I see; I¡¯ll be much more mindful in the future. Also, I could have lived just fine without you telling me about those fond memories.

    "Your lack of sophistication and knowledge of the finer culture is seeping through; my summer child, go and read one of those books; I believe that you too could have such fond memories. You can ask me or Kanrel for recommendations. Heck, ask him; he might¡¯ve read more of them than I did."

    "Right."

    Kanrel sat down at his table. He then spread a page of parchment, baptized his quill in ink, and began to write a simple request to his powerful mother:

    Dear mother,

    My last year of study is going well. I was the first to awaken from the Ritual, and I¡¯ve quickly began to grasp how to use magic in practice and how to code.

    I¡¯ve also made some friends or partnerships that are beneficial to me and them equally. I would appreciate it if you could meet them someday.

    Recently, there have been rumors and slight vandalism that involve the Herald of the Gods on campus, including graffiti calling you a heretic and demanding your death.

    These writings critique your passages in the Book of the Heralds, calling them forgeries.

    I did some research and found out that there isn¡¯t much of anything that supports your passages; before your time, there was no mention of the Otherkind, and the books I¡¯ve found and read have no substantial evidence of their existence. Thus, I doubt.

    I would like to put this doubt aside, so I implore you to give me a truthful answer. I wish to put my own doubts and the claims of others to rest.

    Kanrel.

    He then waited for the ink to dry, then folded the piece of parchment before inserting it into an envelope. He poured some blue sealing wax on the envelope to seal it shut with the seal of his family, the Iduldian seal matrix. It was made out of bronze, and its elaborate carvings formed the arms of the family.

    Iduldian wasn¡¯t a distinguished family before, so they didn¡¯t have a seal of their own or a coat of arms before, but as one of their own was named the Herald of the Gods, this changed.

    A seal was produced. In it, there are the wings of an angel on either side, depicting the faith of the family, and in the middle, the face of a blinded woman, signifying the Herald of the Gods.

    The Iduldian coat of arms was similar, but with the house motto added: Officium ad scientia; duty to knowledge. All this on a gray shield.

    He then wrote on the envelope itself the address of his mother''s house¡ªtheir house. It would be in the capital city, Lo'' Gran, which was located a few hundred kilometers to the south on the coast of the Middle Sea.

    He then had to walk to the gates of the academy, where there was a postal office. All he had to do was take the letter there and pay for the transportation of it, though he never had to pay for it since so many knew whose seal was on the letter.

    The family of the Herald of the Gods had always had more sway than was necessary. This had in the past led to some foolish decisions, like how the brother of a Herald hundreds of years ago proclaimed himself the king and usurped the crown with the help of the faithful. This only lasted for a week, though, as the Herald at the time herself demanded he abdicate. Apparently, they weren¡¯t fond of each other when they were children, and less so when they were adults.

    Kanrel dropped his letter and would have to wait for weeks to get a reply.

    He then returned to the laboratory, even though it was quite late; there he saw his two friends reading books. It did not take long for him to recognize what they were reading. Oh, the memories he had with those little books! Long, lonely nights.

    Knocked on the door frame, "I am sorry to bother you with your research, which seems to be of great importance, but..." Kanrel began his sentence.

    "Kanrel! Why did you not share this great literature with me before? All of this is outrageously brilliant! The way they describe things in the most unlikely way possible¡ªif I could still find any enjoyment in anything, I¡¯d like to think that I would have found a book like this very amusing." Yirn explained with a wide smile on his face.

    "¡­ I would like to talk about today''s lectures with you." Kanrel finished his sentence.

    Yviev snorted, "Why would we do something like that when we can educate ourselves in concepts like ¡®mommy issues¡¯ and other great things?"

    Kanrel let out a long sigh. He was quite disappointed with his friends; the stuff they read just wasn¡¯t good at all. Not enough swimming naked in the moonlight. Either way, he took a book from a pile of them and began to read.

    It was one that he had read before, but the impact wasn¡¯t the same at all. He hadn¡¯t been fifteen for years now, and there were a lot more grammatical mistakes than he had remembered.

    After a good fifteen minutes, he gave up on reading it and just keenly observed Yviev and Yirn; he again felt regretful. This too he hadn¡¯t done with anyone before; he had not laughed with a friend or made fun of a friend. He never had a friend; even now, he couldn''t say that he had experienced such a thing.

    He didn¡¯t feel much different about the two of them than a hundred other people he saw daily; the only difference might¡¯ve been the perceived usefulness that he had of the two. But if he talked with even one of those hundred nameless faces, he would find useful people either way.

    Someone being useful didn¡¯t mean that he valued them as more than just someone he could exploit to further his own studies. Sure, he really had tried to form a sense of rational compassion toward the people who he perceived as "friends".

    Even his rational enjoyment was useless. All he felt was regret for lacking true experience.

    Perhaps this sense of regret was the outcome of trying to create rational enjoyment and rational compassion. Perhaps regret is all he could ever have.

    Kanrel snapped himself out of this line of thought; he didn¡¯t have time to delve too much into his own regrets, as there would be many of them. Too many to count.

    He needed something to cage his mind into, something that would keep him from looking too much in.

 Chapter Nine: Medical Magic, Part One

    A month had passed since they first started their combat training with magic. Every day they would practice, duel, and then practice some more, all this under the supervision of Sirius, who kept pushing the novices near their breaking points.

    He would, if he had to, punch the teachings he had to offer into every single one of them. Sirius would do it without questions asked; he would do it because it was his duty to do so, and he took his job seriously.

    No slacking, no missing lectures, for he would himself go and find those that tried to skip even a single lecture; he would drag them by their necks and force them to practice even if they were ill, even if they had just woken up. He didn¡¯t care about such things as sickness or being tired.

    They would have time for that later; this last month of rigorous training is what would save the lives of many; this was so that they could proudly do as the Angels asked them to do. To carry the burden of the weak and defend them.

    And on the last day of that month, Sirius held his last lecture in the Dueling Halls, as he always did. With his eyes, he measured every single one of them and would simply nod and then say, "This will do."

    They were dismissed; their studies of combat with magic were now done. However, he demanded to have a word with Kanrel and Yirn and urged them to enlist as inquisitors after their graduation.

    Sirius batted their shoulders roughly and dismissed them as well; it was his time to return to the capital, where the House of Truths was located, the very building that served as the headquarters of the Inquisition.

    To Kanrel, it was amusing that at the same time the inquisitor left, there was a sudden disappearance of three students, one of whom was a novice like them. Rumors circulated among the students that they had run away because of the stress caused by expectations put on them by their parents and the system.

    Some even suggested that they had fallen victim to rouge Priests or that the novice had accidentally teleported them into another dimension. None of those rumors made any sense, but Kanrel had his own theory: Soon after their departure, there were no longer cases of graffiti calling his mother a heretic, so the inquisitor must have done his job and gotten rid of those that would spout such things.

    And through sheer accident, Kanrel found out why Yirn was often so late; one day he came looking for him and knocked on his door, and the young man had opened the door, shirtless and covered in sweat; his muscles were glittering in the light because of it.

    "What were you up to?"

    Yirn was breathing heavily and then flashed that dashing smile of his.

    "Lifting." He then opened his door so that Kanrel could see what he had in his room. There were heavyweights, dumbbells, and such; Kanrel could hardly name half of the things present in his room.

    "Yviev was right..."

    "What?"

    "Nothing, nothing at all. You do your thing; I¡¯ll wait for you at the laboratory."

    "You sure? I could teach you some advanced lifting techniques; start training with me, and then you could easily carry people around or chairs." Yirn said, and then flexed his muscles. But Kanrel was already running off.

    "You can change your mind anytime!" He heard Yirn yell after him.

    Sure, one could say that lifting was something Kanrel practiced quite often, but lifting for Yirn meant a very different thing than the lifting Kanrel practiced.

    The next day they already had a new professor to teach them; this time it was a professor of advanced medical magic. Lena Forsvarn was her name, and she practiced her medicine in the Academic Hospital of the Academy of the Heavenly.

    Her research into medical magic had been groundbreaking, and thus she was stationed at the academy by the Priesthood. There she would spend her time further honing her craft and advancing her research with constant patients and simulations that were possible because of the magic that she had developed.

    Her understanding of the human body was astonishing, but it was no wonder, for she used to actively work in the busiest hospital in the kingdom, the Royal University Hospital located in Lo'' Gran.

    It was also rumored that she did something that many would never do: on the dead, she would perform something called an "autopsy." This way, she could theorize the reasons why the person had died, and she could also poke around the body to figure out what was inside.

    And now this legendary woman stood before them, a frail-looking woman in her late fifties.

    "The practice of medicine is a greatly misunderstood craft; it has not been about hexes and unknown alchemical mixtures for a long time now; yet even among you there is a fool or two who still believe in the ways of long ago."

    "I am here to fix that misunderstanding, and I am going to fix it in a way that will leave you more tired than a battle or running a marathon."

    "Medicine is about the scientific way of diagnosing the patient so that we can figure out a scientific answer to their problem, be it a disease or an injury. To make such decisions, I will try to teach you something one should study for years before becoming even remotely proficient at it."

    "In three months, a sergeant can teach the king¡¯s soldiers enough so that they aren¡¯t completely useless on a battlefield. In three months, I can teach you to at least be cognizant of your own lack of knowledge."

    "Even then, we have to put theory into practice after just a month of lectures."

    "I require absolute obedience and for you all to listen and soak in the information that I will teach you. If you fail to do so, you might cause more deaths than is necessary in the last two months of this course."

    "Sure, it might be that in the past six years, you¡¯ve had many lectures about medicine, but that is just the surface of one of the least understood things in the world: the human body."

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    "The books you studied are possibly all wrong, and the professors that taught you have no idea about magic the way I do."

    "If any one of you wants to argue with that, you can do so after these next few months; until then, shut your mouths and listen to those who know better than you do."

    "Now, let us begin... As I said, the human body is one of the least understood things about this world...¡±

    These were the very lectures that Kanrel had most anticipated; this was the thing he felt he needed to learn the most. Through understanding medical magic and the human body, he could then delve deeper into the hypothesis he had about body transformation.

    Because when he had to reconstruct his face, he soon had a thought: if regenerating muscle, flesh, and skin didn¡¯t take as much effort as he had thought, couldn¡¯t he then be more liberal with how he regenerated a body part? Couldn¡¯t he then grow, let¡¯s say, a third arm?

    The possibility of this intrigued him greatly, but if he wanted to move his hypothesis any further, he would have to understand something he didn¡¯t know enough about. The human body.

    During those four weeks, he completely immersed himself in medical magic and studied it; he read up-to-date books about the topic and carefully listened to every word that Professor Forsvarn had to offer; of those, he wrote exact notes, and unlike himself, he often asked questions about the things that she taught them. Like the many bones and muscles of the human body and the thing she had called the "nervous system".

    Of course, she would patiently answer his questions when they were relevant to the current lecture.

    In his free time, Kanrel would seek out the professor to ask even further questions, usually those he did not get answers to during the lectures, and then she would answer those questions, usually while hurrying toward the Academic Hospital.

    Sadly, there wasn¡¯t a way for him to practice unless he decided to do self-harm, but causing oneself pain wasn¡¯t something he was ready to do just to figure out how to close a wound a bit quicker. So he instead spent his time reviewing his notes and conversing about the things that they had learned with Yirn and Yviev.

    They weren¡¯t as excited about the lectures or the contents of them, especially Yirn, who would¡¯ve much rather continued under the guidance of inquisitor Sirius. Alas, medical magic was part of their curriculum and something they had to get some sort of understanding of.

    After those four weeks, Kanrel felt that he had scratched just the surface of it, and he would need to dig deeper than just that surface to find out the answers he needed. And as if as a blessing, that opportunity was given to all of them: a period of intense work at the Academic Hospital that would last for two months. They¡¯d get to practice the things they learned in theory with constant simulations until they learned the basics, like how to stop bleeding, how to close a wound, and how to fix a broken bone.

    For this, they would be divided into groups of five because of the lack of simulation chambers. And of course, they would mostly practice using these simulations that would give them realistic medical issues that they would have to diagnose and then try to solve, but according to the professor herself, if and only if your group did well, they might be allowed to practice on an actual patient.

    And that was something Kanrel wanted. A simulation could never offer as much as the real thing.

    On the last day of theory, they were set with their first mission: form groups of five members, then register your study group and all the members of it at the Academic Hospital. The next morning, they would have to announce themselves at the hospital at exactly four in the morning.

    Every day, they would have to stay awake for twenty hours and sleep for just four hours. This was to make sure that the novices got a realistic experience and understanding of how a real hospital works.

    This schedule would be the reason why many would much rather do almost anything else than practice medicine. The pay was poor, and the patients and their families were often not that understanding of the stress that a doctor or a nurse had to go through in their day.

    At least the normal doctors and nurses could think of themselves as heroes, as they might¡¯ve saved another man from certain death. Those who practiced medical magic, on the other hand, wouldn¡¯t get to celebrate; for them, there was no such thing as "heroism". For them, it was all about duty and the vows they had taken. And of course, the possibility of research that could contribute more to saving lives than performing thousands of life-saving surgeries in one''s lifetime.

    Kanrel himself doubted that he would go down that path; he just needed enough information and practice to try his hypothesis out. This was all for his own duty for knowledge.

    Now at the Academic Hospital with a team of new and old acquaintances, they registered their team and the members of it. Kanrel, Yirn, and, of course, Yviev, but also two people he hadn¡¯t ever talked to before. Yviev apparently knew the two of them somewhat well. Wen Kaiw and Uanna Wektet, two female priests, who held themselves with such pride that it was difficult to tell if they had truly gone through with the Ritual.

    But it was quickly made clear where such an aura of pride came from; they were both nobility, and that had rubbed off on the very way they were even now.

    Now that they at least knew the names of each other, Kanrel offered them information and codes about medical issues that they most likely would encounter within the next two months.

    To the surprise of Kanrel, they accepted his offer in an instant, thanking him profusely and calling him ¡°the Son of the Herald".

    Kanrel lay on his bed once again, going through his notes. There was so much he had to remember, so much he had to think of, and so much more that he didn¡¯t know of. There weren¡¯t many hours left until he would have to wake up, so at last he put down his notebook.

    Tomorrow morning he would be tired, and there was nothing he really could do about that; it was better to get used to it. Because along with his despair would come another feeling, exhaustion, and it would last through the coming months and maybe even a longer time. But he was ready to sacrifice, if just for a little more information that could be useful to him.

 Chapter Ten: Medical Magic, Part Two, the Hospital

    It is 3:45 a.m. Tired novices walk through the corridors of the southern building of the campus; their way goes through a park that is only lit up with streetlights and the bright white moon above them. Late night skinny dippers in the fairly large pond could see the novices walking slowly past them; they peer in silence as the zombielike priests soon disappear into the darkness again.

    Some of those walking like they had a goal had only slept maybe an hour, maybe two if lucky.

    Kanrel was one of the unlucky; he barely got any sleep, as even when he had put his notes to rest, they were still awake in his mind, and he couldn¡¯t help but go through them over and over again in his own head.

    Now he had to pay for his mistakes and hope that repeatedly going through the same thing over and over again would be useful within the first day. But he could guess that reality would only be constructed from these two possibilities: One, the problems to solve, also known as patients, that the simulation would create for them would be so easy that Kanrel would want to leave the hospital and go back to sleep.

    Two, the problems would be so complicated that he would be so out of his depth that he would blame himself for sleeping an hour when he could have given up from the beginning and just slept a good six or so hours.

    Reality would be a mixture of these two things; either way, he would blame himself for his own foolish choices.

    Would, even then, it all be worth it? Probably not, but yes, either way. It had to be just in the name of the duty that was so important to him.

    The novitiate gathered in a large flock at the large doors of the magnificent building that was the Academic Hospital. If only it were bright enough for them to appreciate it, even if only symbolically. If only they could leave work much earlier than 8 p.m., then they could at least do that for the sake of the supposedly impressive beauty of the architecture of the building.

    As the doors finally opened, it was 4 a.m. sharp. And the flock poured into the building, giving no regard for the expensive craftsmanship that adorned the interior of the hospital. They had reached the reception area where Professor Forsvarn was waiting for them; she didn¡¯t look too happy as she had her hands crossed on her chest.

    "You¡¯re all late." She accused them loudly.

    A deafening silence answered her accusation; sure, saying such a thing seemed unfair, but arguing with her was something no one could enjoy or win, if there even was such a thing as winning in an argument.

    Then she suddenly burst into this weird laughter that was without any joy.

    "I am only kidding, of course. Go into your groups and follow suit."

    So Kanrel found Yirn, Yviev, Uanna, and Wen, then they followed the other groups that had formed; their professor was quick with her steps, so they often had to run to keep up with her.

    They went first up a flight of stairs, then through a corridor that had several rooms on both sides. Then they went up another flight of stairs to reach an area that overlooked a large room. This room was filled with hospital beds; between them there were no walls, just cloth that was used as dividers.

    "This, the room that you can all now see below us, is where most patients are first brought. Here they will all be diagnosed and treated if possible; depending on the diagnoses, they can be moved to different wings of the hospital.

    Each wing has its own job; for example, one wing deals with disease, another with broken bones and fractures."

    "Here, we won¡¯t spend another minute, unless one of you happens to find themselves in one of those beds; then you might pray to the Angels that I might have mercy upon you."

    She then continued on her way, and the novices followed; they went past the large room and descended multiple flights of stairs until they must¡¯ve been underground. They went through a door, and on the other side of it there was another large room, but there were just about a hundred chairs, and all sides except one had eight doors; only the side from which they came had one door.

    "And this is our simulation complex." She explained after reaching almost the center of the room.

    "Behind all of those doors, there is a simple-looking bed on which one of you will lie at a time; after using the correct code on the bed, there will be some changes happening in the person that is lying on the bed.

    They will get a random wound, a disease, a fracture, or any other possible issue. The rest of you shall, in turns or together, diagnose the patient; after that, you may put your diagnoses to the test and try healing the issue the patient might or might not have."

    "All patients will only feel the symptoms of their given issue; they may not speak; in fact, when they try to speak, their words will be formed into screams. Screams will, of course, remain as screams."

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    "This isn¡¯t life-threatening, as far as we know, but I would still advise caution since each time a used healing method either fails or is just simply incorrect, the patient will feel pain."

    "Depending on the medical issue of the patient, you might also have a time limit before the simulation just ends and the patient will be able to get up from the bed."

    "Of course, you might want to beware of the vengeance of the patient, as they will in the end have their own turn and could easily cause an equal amount of pain back at you."

    "Also, the code, which will be written on a booklet with instructions on how to use it properly, will also collect data on all the things that are said within the room; so I would advise the one doing the diagnosing and healing to explain what they are doing and why. Failing to do so will be noted, and my colleagues supervising the simulations will be notified; they will then notify me, and I don¡¯t like being bothered."

    She then peered at her students and faked a smile. "I¡¯ve always thought that this invention of mine would¡¯ve better suited those who work at the House of Truths; they love complicated torture devices!"

    She then left them behind while she herself went on to diagnose actual patients.

    Just moments after she left, the room of many chairs burst into an ensemble of many voices, from lots of whining and questioning of their professor to even calling her names. But soon the groups chose their own simulation rooms and entered.

    The room was small; there were a few chairs and a bed; a desk that had a booklet on it; a pile of empty pages; and ten or so pens and ink readily available. There was also a light that came from the ceiling; it worked with electricity. Known as a complicated game of trying not to shock oneself to death.

    Kanrel took the booklet and read the code. It was by far the most complicated code he had ever read; there were so many parts to it that it was unlikely for a novice like himself to cast it alone. So he passed it around to the others; they would have to cast it together.

    Kanrel studied the bed; he wondered if it had more of a function than just being an object that was easy to use in coding. He found nothing that would indicate otherwise.

    "Who wants to go first?" Kanrel asked, turning around to look at them again; the others had already taken a seat for each of them as they studied the piece of code.

    Kanrel let out a long sigh and muttered to himself, "This is just great."

    Without much more hesitation, he lay on the bed and waited patiently for the four of them to cast their magic on him and the bed. The bed was probably considerably more comfortable than the bed in his own room, but that was difficult for him to confirm or deny.

    But if they took long enough, he might actually fall asleep on this bed, which could become his last resting place. What a blessing!

    After a quarter of an hour, the others were finally ready to use the code; the four of them had to cooperate in weaving it together, as none of them was quite skilled enough to use it on their own. In the back of his head, Kanrel wondered if he would ever become skilled enough.

    They finished weaving their spell, but nothing happened for a while. It made Kanrel wonder if they had failed and if he could get up from the bed. So he tried to get up from the bed, but for some reason, he couldn¡¯t move even an inch. He could only blink his eyes in surprise. The code had worked.

    "Oh, the mighty Son of the Herald is now under our command; what secrets might he tell us to regain control of his body and to make the pain go away?" Yviev said that, while taking a step forward, it was clear that she would be the first to try.

    "Yviev, don¡¯t say such things; that is heretical!" Uanna hissed quickly; she sounded a bit upset for some reason.

    Then it dawned on him: she was one of those zealots who believed the Herald of the Gods to be almost as divine as the Angels, and for people like that, their fervor often extended to related individuals of the herald, in this case, Kanrel.

    Them calling him "the Son of the Herald" made a lot of sense now, and it also seemed that they didn¡¯t know that he was adopted. But then again, that might not matter to them. In their eyes, he was chosen by the Herald of the Gods to be her son.

    Yviev scoffed in what seemed to be a mockery of her friend''s remarks, as if the thing that Uanna had said had been a joke. She then began concentrating on Kanrel. "He isn¡¯t screaming in pain yet... Did we somehow fuck up the code?" She asked and looked at Yirn, who was basically reading about how to torture for the sake of learning medicine.

    "It says here that you¡¯ve touched the forehead of the patient for the simulation to begin."

    Yviev grimaced. "So I have to touch such a creep?" Yviev spoke as if disgusted, or perhaps she actually was disgusted. Kanrel couldn¡¯t really tell.

    "Yviev! Stop saying such things!" Uanna hissed at Yviev. Kanrel could see as Yviev imitated her while making faces.

    He just blinked at the sight and came to another realization: this beginning of a woman, this face-making individual, would be basically torturing him, starting from the moment that she touched his forehead.

    No, the torture had already begun, for he couldn¡¯t even let out a sigh to protest this unjust turn of events.

    Yviev approached him; she then placed her delicate hand on his forehead, and in an instant, he started to tremble, and soon he screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to yell, "STOP! STOP! STOP!" Over and over again, but all that came out were just his screams.

    The trembling stopped, but the pain remained. Yviev had rapidly taken her hand away from his forehead.

    Kanrel could tell exactly what was wrong with him, and oh the Angels it hurt like the hells. He knew that not a word would come from his mouth and that he couldn¡¯t move or really do anything other than just stare and witness as she tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

    All were now in her hands.

 Chapter Eleven: Medical Magic, Part Three, a Sense of Camaraderie

    Have you ever felt pain so potent that you would rather die than try to keep up with it?

    Kanrel felt it pulsing from his stomach, as if getting repeatedly punched in the stomach had enough strength to make you gasp for air. Every second, this stab of pain came from somewhere around his stomach and pulsed through his body, making him scream in agony.

    "Oh, shut up! I¡¯m trying to focus here." Yviev hissed and got to work. She tried to find any external cause for the pain; at first, she didn¡¯t seem to find anything, but slowly, around Kanrel¡¯s stomach, there was an area much darker in color. Without hesitation, she lifted his robe enough so that she could peek under it.

    "It would seem that there is a wound of sorts in your stomach; I¡¯ll need to cut off a part of the patient''s robes to be able to access the cause of his pain more easily.

    I¡¯ll be using a code that has the sole purpose of cutting his robes." She then quickly formed her code, and the others could soon see Kanrel¡¯s naked stomach. Thankfully, he was wearing pants, so no one had to see more than they had bargained for.

    "In the middle of the patient''s stomach, there is a gaping wound that is oozing blood out."

    "I will begin with stopping the bleeding and then reconstructing the organs, the flesh, the muscles, and then the skin of the victim; for this, I¡¯ll be using multiple codes, but I will go one step at a time to avoid making mistakes."

    She then began. Soon blood wasn¡¯t oozing out anymore, and she removed the blood that was blocking her view to see in, all while Kanrel was shaking in agony, trying not to scream.

    "There doesn¡¯t seem to be that much damage to his organs." She narrated and then began healing the organs that had taken damage. All those around could see Kanrel¡¯s stomach rapidly start regenerating, and soon enough there was no more wound.

    Kanrel was still in pain, but this was just the aftereffect of what he had just gone through.

    Kanrel was covered by white light, yellow light, and at last green light for one second each; Yvieve had succeeded in healing him.

    Kanrel was finally allowed to move, so he got off the bed while holding his stomach in pain; he fell to the floor and crawled to a chair to sit down.

    "You¡¯re indecent," Yviev said, and he threw him the rest of his robes. Kanrel began forming codes to fix his robes for him. It would take a while before the pain would completely subside.

    Uanna and Wen eyed him with something like worry on their faces, though it was difficult to say if they truly worried about him at all.

    Yirn patted Yviev on the back to congratulate her and then got on the bed himself. "We haven¡¯t got all day, so let¡¯s keep this up for as long as we can; after everyone has had a go, we can take a break." He suggested. On the bed, he took his shirt and pants off. He lay down, and they could all see his highly defined body.

    It was Wen¡¯s turn, so together they used the code and began the simulation. Yirn was a different beast altogether. Though it was sure that pain ran through him, he refused to scream; he just gritted his teeth as his eyes bulged almost out of their sockets.

    He trembled as his right hand disintegrated almost completely, leaving a roughly cut limb that Wen had to fix. She calmly started reciting her thought process and then began spewing out the codes she would use to fix his arm.

    They all had a go, with so far only different types of injuries: a stab wound in the stomach, a missing hand, and a fractured femur that was sticking out of Yviev¡¯s leg as Yirn did his best while trying to fix it.

    On Wen¡¯s turn on the bed, her chest and face were covered with burn marks, and she was in much more pain than any one of them had been thus far. Uanna seemed a little panicked at first but managed to make Wen¡¯s pain go away, and then she managed to fix her skin to its former glory.

    And then, at last, it was Kanrel¡¯s turn to operate. Uanna lay on the bed; she seemed to be quite scared. "Be gentle with me." She begged no one in particular.

    They again used the code, and then Kanrel placed his hand on Uanna¡¯s forehead. Soon it began. She trembled for a while, but she didn¡¯t scream out of agony. Though she did let out a slight moan of pain.

    He then began looking for external injuries: "The patient doesn¡¯t seem to be in much pain, and there doesn¡¯t seem to be much external injury as far as I can tell; I will have to remove the patient''s robes to be able to observe more closely."

    He then formed a code that would cut Uanna¡¯s robes from the side so that he could just lift them out of the way and lift them back later on. On her body, there didn¡¯t seem to be any injuries, not even bruises; he then covered her body again with the robes.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    "There are no externally visible injuries, which means that there is the possibility of a hair fracture, but the lack of pain suggests that this is not the case."

    "Firstly, I will lift the patient''s arms and legs while slightly pressing down on them to find the source of the slight pain."

    He did so, but there was no reaction to him doing that other than the intense gaze with which Uanna observed what he was doing.

    "Secondly, I will open the patient''s mouth and see if the source of pain is there." He gently put his arm under her neck, and with the other hand, he slowly opened her mouth. There he found what he figured to be the cause of her pain: a tooth that had started rotting; the gums around it were red in color, which seemed to be caused by inflammation.

    He then described what he had found out and began explaining the codes that he would use to first remove the rotting tooth, heal the inflammation, and then form a new tooth.

    He slowly began doing so; at first, Uanna let out slight moans of pain but then began to giggle while he treated her inflammation; this too ended as he began to form her new tooth. And soon enough, he was done with it.

    The bed shone in white, then yellow, and lastly in green; while this was going on, he had already begun to use a code to fix the cut he had made to Uanna¡¯s robes. She, on the other hand, got up and thanked the Angels for not making her suffer through any greater pain.

    While standing up from the bed, she leaned closer to Kanrel.

    "Thank you, Son of the Herald." She whispered in his ear before they got separated. He stood still for a moment and slightly touched the ear that she had whispered into. A year ago, he would¡¯ve gone red and had many fantasies about Uanna and her beauty; now he wasn¡¯t sure how he felt.

    He cleared his throat and said, "So now a break, as Yirn had suggested?" The whole thing had taken them a little more than three hours, as in between each simulation they shared notes and their thoughts behind the choices that they had made.

    "Great idea; we can further discuss our observations, codes, and more while having something to eat," Uanna said, while slightly gazing at Kanrel, she had a glitter in her eyes, and it wasn¡¯t difficult to decipher the meaning behind it.

    In the hospital, there was a cafeteria, as it was inconvenient for patients and their families to travel far away to get something to eat; it would be the same for the doctors and the nurses who worked at the hospital.

    They got their tray of food and found themselves at an empty table; the food was, of course, nothing special as none of them could really enjoy it, but they ate either way. One gets quickly used to eating just for sustenance.

    They then discussed Kanrel¡¯s simulation and what his thought process was while first diagnosing and then treating Uanna.

    "You know, I would accuse you of being a pervert if you weren¡¯t wearing the same robes as I am." Yviev said, "Just removing the robes of a beautiful woman, then squeezing her body all around, all this without asking for consent."

    Kanrel blinked his eyes. "You do have a point; one should never remove the clothes of another or touch another without permission, not the same way I did or the same way you did."

    Yviev grinned her well-practiced grin and said, "If it had been Uanna touching you, you wouldn¡¯t accuse her of such things."

    Kanrel was silent for a moment, then said with a pondering tone, "Perhaps."

    Yviev rolled her eyes. "Another one of your ¡®perhapses¡¯." She then got closer to him and whispered to him, "Such words might get you more than you bargained for." She then eyed Uanna, who was writing something in her notes.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but swallow and then instantly began questioning himself. Why would he swallow? What was the reason behind that seemingly harmless action? He had no idea.

    They then spent another hour or so discussing the different codes that they had used. Kanrel shared some ideas for improvement that he had figured out; he even wrote some of them down so that the others could copy them for their own purposes later.

    Five hours had gone by, and they had been fruitful; another thirteen hours were left, so they returned to the simulation complex. And so began another round of simulations. They had decided to mix things up so that they would have someone else operate on them and someone else they operated on. This way, they figured there¡¯d be more variety and no instances where someone would torture another repeatedly.

    For this, Kanrel was most pleased; he really didn¡¯t want to experience another round quite yet under the talented and torturous hands of a certain Miss Yviev.

    The day went by, and it was more or less the same: Kanrel got to experience burn marks himself and got to heal another person''s fractured arm. He figured that there would be a progression in difficulty and that things would get more complicated with each day of simulations.

    They had dinner together and discussed some more, after which they went for the final round of simulations for the day. Which was just more of the same; they already knew what to expect, and even for Uanna, there was less nervousness whilst operating on her next simulation partner, who happened to be Yirn.

    And then the day came to an end. Professor Forsvarn graced them with her presence. On her clothes, there was some blood, but she didn¡¯t seem to mind it too much. She excused them and announced that tomorrow would be the same, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after the tomorrow of tomorrow; it all would be spent here, in those small simulation rooms, constantly performing more and more simulations.

    This would go on for a week before she would have time to hold a lecture. A week from now, the lecture will be held within the simulation complex.

    Kanrel was spent, and so were the other students. All of them had gone through considerable pain and agony throughout the day, not to mention the stress caused by the quick actions they had to take to "save" their patients.

    After the first rounds of simulations, no one wanted their fellow novices to feel the same way that they had felt, so everyone tried their best to ease their pain during the simulation and quickly resolve the cause of it.

    The simulations began to form a sense of camaraderie among the novices, as they all had to go through the same pain themselves.

    It had been dark when they first arrived that day at the Academic Hospital, and it was dark when they left.

    It was 9:15 p.m., and the regular students in the park could see as waves of tired novices walked past them without giving them much regard; their way made toward the southernmost building, where they would disappear out of sight.

    Kanrel walked among them with just one thing in mind: a bed that would not bring him agony.

 Chapter Twelve: Medical Magic, Part Four, Nightmares

    Again, he saw it¡ªthe same dream he had seen since the first day of the simulations. He was tied to a bed, and faceless men surrounded him. He tries to move but cannot; he tries to yell for help, but only screams come out. He pleads for mercy, but there is none to be had.

    One of them approaches with a rapier and then slowly inserts it into Kanrel¡¯s stomach; he screams in agony and his body trembles. The man pulls the sword away, and the others come flocking closer, inspecting the blood pouring out of the gaping wound.

    They touch it; they put their fingers inside as he screams in agony; then again he is stabbed, and all happens over again.

    Then he would wake up, his body drenched in sweat, panting, and gasping for air. Fear made his whole body tremble as he got up to walk around the room to try to forget the things he just saw again. When will these nightmares end?

    The past week has been hell for all of them. Lack of sleep made them all make more mistakes, and when Kanrel would see another novice like him, he could see the exhaustion on their faces. One could probably smell their desolation.

    When would they wholly break? Or would stubbornness take them through the pain and make them live through these days of agony? Kanrel wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d make it¡ªnot another day, nor another week.

    Twenty-one times, he had laid on the bed in the simulation room. Most of those times, he had gone through pain that would leave him in shock for a while afterward. And seeing the others go through the same thing didn¡¯t comfort him, as he could so easily see himself in them. Even Yirn had begun to break; even he screamed in pain now.

    But now they had survived the first week, and it was time for the lecture that Professor Forsvarn had promised to give them.

    Yet every early morning would be the same; at four in the morning, they were at the doors of the hospital, ready to get in. Then the doors would open, and the professor would welcome them back. Her face showed no tiredness¡ªnone of the things or feelings that the novices went through.

    This made Kanrel wonder if she was more broken than all of them combined; he couldn¡¯t imagine just how many times she had herself been on the bed or how many times she had performed on someone else.

    In the simulation complex, the chairs were organized in such a manner that they¡¯d face one direction¡ªthe door, which they all used to enter. Forsvarn would stay by the door and look as the novices took a seat; she then closed the door and began her lecture:

    "I am most pleased that I¡¯ve not had to experience even a scenario of being bothered by my colleagues. For this, I thank you. But¡­¡±

    ¡°Given the data that I¡¯ve received, I¡¯ve noticed a common theme among you all: Most of you would work on the patients alone, even when the patient had, let¡¯s say, a sword wound in their stomach."

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but place his hand on his stomach. He felt a little sick remembering the pain he had gone through, and he wasn¡¯t the only one who subconsciously placed their hand on their own stomach. The vast majority of them did so.

    "Sure, in most cases you¡¯ve managed to deal with this wound; but we have to remember that in a real situation, you wouldn''t have that much time to deal with the wound a real human patient might have.¡±

    ¡°So I would advise you all to work in teams instead of working alone. Sure, you may choose one of you to perform the ¡®surgery'', but the rest of you should also have a job to do during the surgery."

    "In a real situation, there would be someone who would keep their attention on the patient and how he or she is doing; then this person would inform the others if there is a change in the patient¡¯s well-being.¡±

    ¡°There would also be someone who would make sure that there was visibility inside and around the wound¡ªone who would keep the blood at bay and shine light at the wound. One who would help the ¡®main surgeon¡¯ with the surgery, perhaps working on minor things and then assisting when help is needed.¡±

    ¡°And lastly, someone who records everything down; during a real surgery, there is no magical bed to record everything that goes down, nor would there be my colleagues who would go through the data.¡±

    ¡°The collection of the data is something that, during a real surgery, you ought to have someone do.

    We are priests after all, and even in a setting where we might perform life-saving surgeries, our primary job is still the collection of data."

    She spoke as the novices wrote down notes on the things she had just said. She then conjured another one of their slightly diabolic smiles.

    "This is just beginning. The last week was just the easy part; now begins the difficult one. The wounds, injuries, and diseases that you just had to deal with were mostly minor ones and more or less easy for a competent priest to deal with.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you what you might find in your simulations at this moment; at the end of the month, during the review of your time here, I will elaborate on what you might¡¯ve found.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to say that I am sorry in advance, but I really am not."

    She peered at her students, basking in the little changes in facial expressions she might see on their faces.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation."Now, who of you might want to share with me how to fix a broken arm?"

    The rest of the lecture they spent with her asking them questions about the different kinds of things they ran into during their simulations; she would ask them for the codes they might¡¯ve used. Then she would give them ideas on how to improve those codes.

    Then she moved one of the simulation beds into the room and commanded one of the patients to lay down on it. Alone, she cast the code, which then allowed her to begin the simulation. The novices came closer to observe as she placed her hand on the patient¡¯s forehead.

    A simulation had begun; it was a scenario where the patient had many of their bones fractured. Screams of agony filled the room, and then she began to work as she explained the things that she did.

    With efficient and quick codes, she stopped bleeding in multiple places at once, then moved on to the fractures, fixing them as well, and then fixed the things that were left. Like scratched skin.

    All this took only a few minutes, but she spent almost an hour reviewing her actions, codes, and decisions.

    Most of the day was spent like this, and at the end of the lecture, she decided to show them mercy and allowed them to go rest. Even though Professor Forsvarn seemed callous toward her students and her patients, she was still fair and very professional.

    Kanrel chose to spend the rest of the day locked in his own room, going through the things that he had learned just today, for they seemed far more substantial than the things they had learned in the past week.

    Of course, the hands-on experience itself was important for the novices to quickly realize how they should treat their patients, as they would, in the end, have their lives in their hands.

    It was, as Forsvarn had put it, just the beginning. And even then, he felt out of his depth. And if things were to get even more complicated with even more painful experiences, he didn¡¯t know if he could handle any of it.

    If he¡¯d be able to even understand the things that he might learn; if he would be able to learn anything at all.

    He chose to go to sleep much earlier. And the next morning would start the same way the previous one had: with a nightmare.

    Getting more sleep didn¡¯t really help as much as one would think. In fact, Kanrel felt more tired than the previous morning. Yet he again found himself at the simulation complex, sharing one of the rooms with his team.

    Another grueling day of simulations would begin, and at the start of the first one, they could all see a noticeable difference in difficulty. They tried to work as a team, but it ended in failure, so they tried again with another patient, and even that ended in failure. The bed would first flash white, then yellow, then green, and in the end, it would flash red.

    A whole day of failures with not much improvement, though one day they managed to get yellow, meaning that after a couple of failures during the simulation they had managed to succeed during their last try.

    There was a lot they had to figure out, so they spent a considerable amount of time finding out the things that had gone wrong during the different simulations, and the most lacking thing was their teamwork, not to mention their knowledge about how to treat some of the more complicated injuries and wounds.

    The notes taken during each simulation became essential for their improvement, and the next day there was already a significant improvement. More simulations ended in yellow, but most of the tries still ended in red.

    On the fourth day, most were yellow, and they had a few greens. And a week after that, about half were yellow and half were green, not a single red one.

    Their teamwork had improved a lot, and all of them knew more or less what to do in each role; of course, the patient would always suffer. And the pain from each simulation was greater than before.

    Yirn had started screaming as loudly as everyone else while on the bed, and he no longer flashed his smile that often. Instead, he was as apathetic as everyone else; even he talked about the nightmares that he saw.

    Uanna seemed the most tired; even when she would pray to the Angels for their mercy before each simulation, the pain they went through was the same; she would at times stare at Kanrel with hurt in her eyes as if she were accusing him of abandoning her.

    Yvive no longer made crude jokes about the situation that they had found themselves in; her callousness during surgeries was gone, and she tried her best to not make any mistakes so that the patients wouldn¡¯t have to go through much pain.

    Wei had grown silent; she only spoke when they¡¯d discuss the surgeries, though Kanrel would sometimes hear her mumbling to herself while fiddling with a necklace that she was always carrying.

    For the two nobles, the pride was no longer there; it had been tortured out of them, but they were brave, as were the others. Kanrel hoped that they would persevere. They had to; if one of them broke, he thought that they all would break.

    Perhaps this was compassion. Not a rational one, but one carved into each and every single one of them through pain and agony. Why would any one of them want to cause another the pain that they had just experienced? And would soon experience themselves...

    When most of their simulations were successful, things got hard again. Their hope turned into ash again and again; they would have to learn what went wrong, think of better codes, and be even better at teamwork.

    Just to realize that there was no more improvement. Or that the improvement was so slow that it was almost useless to discuss their failures and find things to improve upon.

    Professor Forsvarn was successful in the things she wanted to teach them; now they were all cognizant of how little knowledge they really had. And she had succeeded in just two months.

    This is how the rest of the month went by; now there was just one last month left. Would they survive or just break like the useless humans they were? Novices that didn¡¯t know any better, that didn¡¯t know enough, that didn¡¯t know how little they truly knew. Would some of them learn to know even a little, or break before anything like that could happen¡­

 Chapter Thirteen: Medical Magic, Part Five, Lies

    Why did the simulations get so difficult so quickly? To point out how little the novices knew about anything and how difficult it is for even the greatest of experts to peer into the human body and find something called a tumor. A cancerous thing that, without removal, would lead to the painful death of the patient.

    Often even its removal was useless, as the cancer would spread to different parts of the body. Sure, they could, with considerable effort, remove said cancer, but in the end, it could still lead to the aforementioned death.

    It was sad, as they really didn¡¯t know enough about it to heal such an issue, and it wasn¡¯t even the only thing they couldn¡¯t heal. Professor Forsvarn explained in their next lecture that recently they had noticed that some patients who had started to lose their memories and skills had something happen to their brains.

    A slow degeneration of the organ that was apparently in command of the whole body.

    Not to mention a disease that, for some unknown reason, made people more prone to most, if not all, diseases; a disease that broke the immune system of the patient.

    These three unsolvable diseases, as she so well put it, were two of the most miserable ones for not only the patients but also their close ones. One could only witness as their loved one slowly withered away, be it their body or their mind, either way leaving behind a soulless husk and hopelessness.

    It wasn¡¯t just unfair; it was disgustingly unfair that that would be how they would leave this world.

    It was a profound experience to see it happen so many times in such a short time. Especially the one Forsvarn called cancer, how much it could hurt at its worst, how helpless not only you but those around you feel.

    They were just simulations¡ªnothing in comparison to the real thing. It could take months for the cancer to reach that point without anyone knowing or realizing what is going on at first. And you would only know when it was too late, and already you might be in a hospital bed, praying to the Angels for the last time as others watched you close your eyes for the final time.

    As far as Forsvarn knew, there wasn¡¯t a single such patient in the Academic Hospital but it was also impossible to know for sure.

    The professor was pleased with their performance, as it was apparent that they all now understood how useless they were and would be able to heal at least the easiest of injuries. So her time wasn¡¯t wasted.

    "In the next few weeks, there are a few possible things that each of you might do: either you keep practicing here with the simulations, study the books oor whatever, or happen to be one of the four teams that did considerably better than the others.¡±

    ¡°Those four groups, without question, will be following me and the other medical professionals here. To watch as we diagnose the patients and heal them; use this time to learn as much as you can from us."

    "In the last week, those who are lucky will be able to practice their skills on real patients under the supervision of me and my colleagues. Do well, and you might someday have a spot for yourself here among the best of the best."

    She then named the groups and the students in those groups that were the ¡°lucky¡±. Kanrel and his group had their names mentioned, and he really wasn¡¯t sure if that was a good thing or not.

    Again, they were allowed to have the rest of the day for themselves, to perhaps get some time to think about what each of them wanted to do, though the "lucky" four groups didn¡¯t seem to have much choice in the matter.

    Instead of going to their own rooms, Kanrel found himself again in the company of those whom he had spent the past month with. Another group in disarray, who now shared a few benches in the park, loitered, perhaps trying to heal their minds from the things they¡¯d gone through.

    "If you think about it, we only have another month left." Yviev pointed out that there wasn¡¯t even a hint of her usual tone in her voice.

    An apparent silence answered what she had said; only the sounds of the park around them filled the air. Birds singing and chirping in their joyous manner; people walking around conversing about who knows what.

    The midday sun was shining at them from above, though they were beneath the shadows of large oak trees that were older than the academy itself.

    What was the point of indulging Yviev¡¯s words? Even if this was the last month under such grueling conditions, it had already left a lasting impression on all of them; they¡¯d be unable to forget the things they¡¯d gone through.

    It was always so with the most traumatic experiences; you always think that after the event itself is over that it will all be fine, but it was never so; the nightmares would still persist, and the image of a bed was now perverted into a torture device.

    And when one thought of healing an injury or a wound, all they¡¯d be able to think about was the pain the patient was going through¡ªwhat they had gone through.

    "Yes, and we won¡¯t need to lay on that torture device anymore. Now we get to see others in pain, not just each other." Uanna said her voice was solemn and vulnerable. "You know, I can¡¯t even sleep on the bed anymore."

    Another silence ensued, and Kanrel couldn''t help but look at Uanna with pity; he remembered her from long before, not just how he knew her now but before the Ritual. She had been so bright with how she treated others; even as a prideful noble, she had treated others with respect. Even him.

    Why was she here? Kanrel couldn''t help but wonder. Why would a noble want to become a priest, even if she was as religious as she was?

    "We have just a few months until graduation and the vows; what are your plans after this?" Kanrel asked, looking to move away from the uncomfortable topic of discussion. Doing so didn¡¯t much help, as the feeling of discomfort remained.

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    "To the Inquisition, there I belong." Yirn answered first, "Not here; I really don¡¯t belong here." He muttered.

    Wen seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "A temple or a cathedral, perhaps even a monastery. I want to teach the people the words of the Angels."

    "I will do anything the Priesthood wishes of me; my duty is to follow," Uanna said, and for a moment, the despair was gone from her face, only to return soon after.

    "I¡¯ll remain here, at the hospital." Yviev said, to everyone''s shock, "I don¡¯t want to remain a novice who knows nothing."

    They all peered at Yviev, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth or not and if, for a moment, she was her usual self. But she looked serious, and there was determination on her face; she would not be broken. She refused to break.

    "How about you?" Uanna asked; in her voice, there was shyness, perhaps a memory of how she had been before. She was fiddling with the side of her robes.

    "Me?" Kanrel asked after a while when they all had moved their gazes on him, "I want to collect information and to learn; I want to see the world and figure out its secrets. But where I¡¯ll go, I don¡¯t know. But I have a feeling I¡¯ll know soon enough."

    Yirn scoffed. "Have you then gotten word from your mother?"

    "Not yet, but I suppose there won¡¯t be long until her reply arrives."

    Yirn, for the first time in a while, smiled like he had smiled before, saying, "Good to hear." He then patted Kanrel on the shoulder as if it were natural for him to do in that moment. And perhaps it was; Kanrel wasn¡¯t so sure what was natural, normal, or even usual.

    They sat in silence for a while before Yirn chose to get up, "I¡¯ve got some lifting to attend to." He said and stared at Kanrel for a while before adding, "You sure you don¡¯t want to learn a new set of skills? Do you not want to become more alluring?" He had that smile on his face again.

    Kanrel let out a long sigh. "Maybe next time..."

    Yirn walked away while laughing warmly; even now, it was at times difficult to believe that he had gone through the Ritual. But it was easy to guess why he seemed so normal with his laughter¡ªit was all a lie.

    Kanrel wasn¡¯t certain about it, but he believed that there was a reason for him to have learned to laugh and smile like that. His life probably hadn¡¯t been the easiest of experiences, and it was much easier to laugh and smile it off than let oneself drown in sadness.

    The life of a nameless was never easy in these lands. Discrimination and bullying were normal, and no one would really bat an eye at that. Not many would come in between when a nameless was bullied, beat, or sometimes even lynched.

    The nameless were considered lesser, barely humans, often subhuman. They didn¡¯t look different; they really weren¡¯t different at all. It was all just because of what had happened before and what those who didn¡¯t have a name were likened to.

    A few hundred years ago, there had been a revolt against the crown and the Priesthood. It started with restlessness but soon turned into a war¡ªa rebel movement. Those who were against the tyranny of the crown and didn¡¯t much believe in the teachings of the Priesthood. In their eyes, they were heretics, and they did not represent the teachings of the Angels as they should have.

    A decade of war, which was mostly fought in guerrilla warfare and attacking the innocent bystanders. Something that started with blood had to also end in blood.

    The rebels were all found; they were put into camps, and all the adults were killed; only the children remained. To wash away the sins of their fathers and mothers, they would have no names, and thus they became nameless.

    Discrimination that had begun so long ago was still prevalent in society, even when there had been considerable reform in how the Priesthood and the crown treated them.

    And most of the nameless today weren¡¯t even related to those that had been hundreds of years ago. They were just normal orphans who had been born to parents who weren¡¯t there for one reason or another.

    Were the children truly to blame for something like that? Even back then? Were the sins of the fathers truly so great?

    The day went by with them mostly spending time together, having dinner, and discussing the past months and the coming days. They even went shopping for things; they all needed more notebooks and ink because of the amount of writing they had to do. Not to mention the amount of writing that was still to come.

    They visited many stores that were available in the southeast corner of the campus. Thanks to the city around them, there were many things that those shops could offer and one of the shops that Kanrel had them visit was that of a carpenters.

    There he found a couch that he bought as a gift for Uanna. He didn¡¯t want her to force herself to sleep on the floor when she couldn¡¯t sleep on the bed. He then helped her carry it to her room, which was at the end of the corridor where all of the rooms of the novices were located.

    She allowed him to enter, and there he saw on the floor blankets and pillows¡ªa place where she had slept for a while now. They placed her new couch so that she wouldn¡¯t have to sleep while looking at the bed.

    Then he couldn¡¯t help but look around the room. It wasn¡¯t quite how he had expected it to be; in his mind, there would be many lavish things that she had enjoyed as a noble, but it was even more frugal than his own room.

    There was also a lot more religious scripture, and it looked like she studied it quite often.

    "Kanrel¡­" She said as he was about to leave. Kanrel turned around to look at her and listen to what she had to say. "You know before... I really wanted to... To know you... before the Ritual."

    "But you were so, unapproachable. So distant from everyone. Why were you so distant back then?" At first, she looked deeply into his eyes; her eyes were begging for an answer, and then she quickly looked down in shame.

    Kanrel looked at her for a moment longer before answering, "I don¡¯t know, but I¡¯ve learned to regret how I was before." He answered and gently raised her head so that they could directly look at each other: "Uanna, you¡¯ll be fine; just don¡¯t give up, and everything will be fine." He said, now for the first time, smiling in a way that felt normal to look at.

    He then left her room and returned to his own. He sat on the floor against his own door and buried his face in his hands. Was it wrong of him to lie to her?

 Chapter Fourteen: Medical Magic, Part Six, Rose Petals On a Bed

    The amount of walking a medical practitioner has to do in a day is a lot more than the number of steps novices have had to take in any other subject. Walking from patient to patient, writing down things their "guide" had said, then answering their questions just to walk to the next patient and do the same.

    Sometimes their Priest guide might have to heal the patient; this he¡¯d do while explaining the things that they were doing and why. Explaining each point of the code that they had just used. Communication was much more important than Kanrel had at first thought while doing such work.

    The explanation wasn¡¯t just for the sake of the novices but also for the sake of the patients, who might be scared and unaware of what the priest might do. Talking to them helped them at least understand that they were there to help heal any injury or wound that they might have.

    Three whole weeks went by, and it was a lot less stressful than they had thought. Sure, some patients might be in danger of death, but most of them would survive because of the magic the priests would use on them. Not once did they see any of the diseases Forsvarn had warned them about.

    Instead, they dealt with things they had dealt with in the first week of simulations.

    And when the last week came, they got their chance to show all that they had learned to their respective guides.

    Every day they would diagnose and treat multiple patients, and it was mostly about how lucky or unlucky you were with your patients. Kanrel was very lucky; there were no complicated cases, and he remained calm in all situations. Explaining to the patient and the person observing him the things that he did and why he chose to do them.

    His guide Doctor Genrel was probably happy with how Kanrel was doing; he seldom had to intervene, and he even less often gave any criticism or tips after each patient. Though they did talk about other things, like how Kanrel had liked his time so far, what he felt was the most important thing he had learned within the past month.

    Genrel seemed like a very nice man, completely different from Professor Forsvarn. Meeting a priest like him was very rare, but it might¡¯ve been because of his upbringing and the tasks the Priesthood had commanded him to do.

    Apparently, he was used to working with ordinary people, so his demeanor was always approachable and pleasant. It had become a habit of his because of years of traveling the edges of the kingdom, meeting people who were very different, and coming early on to the conclusion that things went much more smoothly if the person talking to him could think of him as a normal human who happened to be a priest.

    He was basically acting, but it all had a reason: making people around him feel comfortable with him.

    During the last week, Kanrel saw the others only in passing. Once in a while, during lunch or dinner, they¡¯d have the possibility of talking with each other, but they mainly talked about work and how it was going.

    Mostly everything was going just fine; there were a few mistakes here and there, but none of them had caused accidental deaths or failed to save their patients. However, some of their guides have had to give tips during diagnoses so that such things wouldn¡¯t happen.

    He would also see the flock of other novices entering at the same time they did; they were all tired, and he could imagine the things they had to go through daily. And at the end of the day, he¡¯d see proof of this; suffering in their eyes could be seen so easily.

    He felt bad for them, but there was a sense of relief within¡ªan emotion he hadn¡¯t felt in such a long time. He wouldn¡¯t have to go through such pain; it was all behind him now, though it would still visit him in his dreams. In a cold sweat, he would wake in the mornings.

    Things could only get better from here.

    On the evening of the second-to-last day at the hospital, Kanrel finally received what he had been waiting for. A letter from his mother. Even though he was tired and really needed to sleep, he still opened the letter and read it:

    Kanrel,

    I am glad to hear from you. I¡¯ve waited for you to write to me for months now.

    I am pleased that things have been well for you, and I am even more pleased that you finally tried to make contact with those around you, your fellow novices.

    We¡¯ll talk of the rest later, for I¡¯ve managed to make time for a visit there. Though this visit will only happen during the last week of your studies, I will hold a special lecture and a speech on the day of your graduation, and I will be the one to accept your vows.

    We will see then, and I hope that such thoughts of doubt will be allayed when we get to talk.

    Her writing was elegant, and her style was as direct as ever. He was slightly disappointed, as he had wanted to know of those things now rather than later, but the rumors were not minimal, and there wasn¡¯t even a single case of vandalism in the past few months.

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    Though this might be because of how little time Kanrel had for walking around the campus, these things might still happen frequently.

    The last day he was as tired as during the other days, but now he had something different to wait for, something that wasn¡¯t too far away. He wasn¡¯t excited; instead, he had expectations. Questions that needed to be answered.

    The last day was the final lecture that Professor Forsvarn would give to them and only to them. They got the honor of entering her office, which was mostly a mess; there were pieces of paper all over the place as well as books left open. They didn¡¯t get any chairs, and only she sat behind her desk, facing them.

    She didn¡¯t welcome them in or give any real orientation to her lecture; she just began:

    "Relief is probably what all of you feel in this moment. Ah, it is finally over; no more do I have to see this bitch of a woman, nor longer shall I suffer on one of those horrid simulation beds.

    Congratulations! Soon, you''ll all be free. For now."

    "What you¡¯re about to hear you might think that I am saying out of malice, but I assure you that is mostly not correct. Although I do take great pleasure in saying what I am about to say,¡±

    "You¡¯re all aware that the Priesthood is the one that chooses where you¡¯re all appointed; but are you aware that here, in this academy, we, your teachers and professors, have a lot of sway in where you might find yourselves?"

    "As in, we get to recommend a potion for each of our students, and I¡¯ve just finished and set multiple letters of recommendation as well as the results of your past months in my care.

    To some of those recommendations, I¡¯ve written a plea for you to be sent back here or to other hospitals around the kingdom."

    There was absolute silence as she spoke, and a level of nervousness had risen among the novices present. Each of them could, in a way, guess if they were recommended or not just based on the conversations they had with their guide.

    "Now, do not fret, and instead take this as a sincere compliment from me. I am in a way proud of your performances, how you dealt with your patients, and how you managed to improve and solve the different situations given to you by the simulations."

    "There is a lot of aptitude among you. And for that, you all should be rewarded in one way or another."

    "So, those letters of recommendation are that reward; they don¡¯t only hold my wish for you to all work under me, but also about your abilities in magical medicine, your coding skills, and perhaps most importantly, your problem-solving skills and the will that you all seem to have."

    "Such a reward can of course be a curse instead, a condemnation to a life you might not want to live, so let me at least give you this as well: the rest of this day you¡¯re free to do as you will."

    "You are novices, after all, barely adults, so go and do things students do in their free time: swim naked in the lake or whatever I¡¯ve seen some of you do before."

    They were dismissed, and again Kanrel found himself in the park with his group, sitting on the same benches they had sat on before. The day was less bright and less warm as autumn was slowly coming; the leaves of the great oak trees were starting to shift in color, and soon enough the ground would be covered with golden leaves.

    "I know for sure that I am safe." Yirn blurted out suddenly, "There is no way I¡¯ll find myself working in one of those hospitals; I¡¯ll make sure of it."

    Yviev scoffed, "You¡¯ll come by as a patient; I am sure of it. Then I¡¯ll be waiting there for you to use one of Kanrel¡¯s favorite tricks!"

    "And what is that? No, let me guess!" Yirn said with a smile on his face, "Has it something to do with removing my robes and squeezing here and there?"

    Yviev grinned while eyeing Kanrel and Uanna. "Yes! I might even squeeze a little too hard so that when you do that, you¡¯ll know to moan in excitement!"

    Uanna suddenly looked at her with such murder in her eyes that Yviev just made a face at her and then let the topic drop.

    Kanrel chose to ignore the jokes of his friends: "I finally got a reply from my mother; she will be visiting during the last month of our studies, and she will apparently hold some lectures and even a speech during our graduation day."

    "Some good news at least; I can¡¯t wait to meet her." Yirn said with a smile on his face, I''ve got some questions of my own for her as well, you know."

    "Like what?"

    "It¡¯s a secret," Yirn whispered loudly, then smiled mysteriously.

    Then Uanna got up and pulled Wen with her: "I think we¡¯ll go for a long bath; days of not having time to do so have been perhaps worse than anything else." She announced then, with a sudden smile, "Kanrel, you can of course join us; would there be a better way of truly understanding the human body, and this time you¡¯ll have my permission as well?¡±

    Her invitation was left in the air, and she laughed brightly as she left, pulling Wen with her.

    Kanrel was baffled and didn¡¯t know what to do or how to react. So all he did was sit in silence and look at how the two girls disappeared into the distance.

    "Well now¡­ Did you do more than carry a couch to her room?" Yviev asked; she was as confused as he was.

    Kanrel shook his head. "I only offered a few words of consolation and a smile."

    Yirn took Kanrel into a headlock and said, "You fox, that is sometimes all one needs." He had a sweet smile on his face. "You¡¯ve grown so much, and I am proud of you and all, but can we go somewhere else? It is kind of cold out here."

    So they left the park in its blooming autumn beauty and went somewhere they hadn¡¯t visited in what felt like an eternity. The Laboratory for the Study of Magical Energy; there they could look for Oidus and perhaps ask about the coming classes, so they visited her laboratory, but there was no one there.

    Just more notes scattered around the floor and a lot more notebooks than there were before; Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but read one of the pages on the floor: ...they had disappeared before the lectures on magical medicine, and soon after the amount of graffiti found was more than halved...

    She seemed to be investigating or theorizing about the disappearance of the three students; maybe Kanrel¡¯s own theories had been incorrect?

    They waited for a couple of hours in the hall, trying different codes they hadn¡¯t had much time to practice with, like lifting a chair in overly elaborate ways. Poor chair.

    They soon left the laboratory behind, as it was getting too late. At the northern building, they ran into Oidus, but she seemed to be in a hurry and ignored them when they tried to ask her questions. Maybe she had suddenly gotten another brilliant idea that would lead to a failed experiment and then an explosion that would cause her laboratory to be remodeled... again.

    Kanrel got to his door and opened it. His day had been uneventful, but that was always good. No unnecessary pain or surprises like the past few months.

    He entered his room and immediately noticed something off. There were rose petals on the floor and lit candles all around; on the bed, someone was laying down. He didn¡¯t close the door behind himself; instead, he approached the bed and soon saw her, naked, lying on the bed with pedals covering her most private parts.

    Her eyes were open, and she looked at the ceiling. She was beautifully positioned on the bed as if she had been a piece of art.

    She did not breathe. She did not blink her eyes. She was dead.

    He backed out of his room and back to the corridor. What was going on?

 Chapter Fifteen: Murders at the Academy, Part One, Interrogation

    Why was she there? Why in his room? Why now?

    He stood in the corridor; his door was still open, and the body lay on his bed. He heard a high-pitched scream from a few doors down; he went to investigate and found Yviv standing in the corridor. She was pointing toward her room, toward something.

    "What is wrong?" Kanrel asked her and had a peek in her room.

    Another body, this time a young man, was suspended in the air with all of his limbs pierced by long stakes. There was no blood anywhere; instead, red rose petals covered the floor.

    The sight was cruel, yet there was an artistic vision even in this showcase of brutality.

    Yviev was more shocked than one might think of her being; she was slightly fiddling with a necklace. "Why?" She whispered, "Why now?"

    Kanrel glanced at the girl and was about to ask something when he heard a loud sound from where Yirn¡¯s room was located. This sound was followed by loud cursing and him storming out of his room. He stood in the corridor and looked for anyone with his eyes. He soon saw Kanrel and Yviev in the corridor. "There is a fucking body in my room!"

    What is happening? Kanrel quickly closed the door to Yviev¡¯s room; he left the stunned girl staring toward the location where the man¡¯s eyes met hers.

    He walked to his own door and closed it as well. Yirn looked at him with a puzzled look on his face, and then his eyes went wide. Kanrel walked to him, and Yirn pulled him into his room and closed the door behind him.

    "In your room as well?" Yirn asked; he was almost whispering. The young man had become fully serious, perhaps for the first time that they had ever met.

    Kanrel nodded. "And in Yviev¡¯s room as well."

    Yirn cursed slightly under his breath and then pulled Kanrel to see what he had seen: Another dead girl. This one had no eyes, as her own fingers were stuck inside the sockets. She was positioned on the ground, her legs crossed, as she looked downward with her eyeless gaze.

    Again, not even a drop of blood was sprinkled around the body¡ªjust rose petals on the floor.

    "Do you have any clue as to why this has happened?" Yirn asked, and he studied Kanrel¡¯s face carefully.

    "I don¡¯t know; I don¡¯t know what to think."

    "They will blame us for this; I know they will¡­" Yirn mumbled and began to leave the room.

    "Wait! Where are you going?"

    "We have to tell someone!" Yirn yelled as he walked out of his room.

    Kanrel stood still for a while and stared at the other dead girl. He tried to remember if he had ever seen her, but he hadn¡¯t. But he could guess that the three bodies that were found were those of the three missing students.

    Things were already messy, but soon enough they¡¯d get even more messy.

    There are hundreds of questions that one could ask, but it is unlikely that those questions will have any answers. What was, if there even was, the right question to ask? What question could yield anyone any information to figure out the "why" for such things being done?

    There probably was a reason, but that reason escaped Kanrel''s understanding; he had no idea. The things he could guess were things related to his mother, but he was not his mother, so how could doing something like this touch the Herald in any way?

    Was it to instill fear in them? Was it to teach them a lesson they didn¡¯t know they needed to learn?

    Murders. Not just one or two, but three. Why them? Why not anyone else? He didn¡¯t know them. They didn¡¯t know them. Or did they? Did he?

    And that is how the questioning began when they were first detained. In separate rooms at the same time, three different interrogations were happening:

    There were two people inside the small room with him: a man and a woman. The woman wore the robes of a priest and the man the clothes of an officer; it was clear that the woman was an inquisitor and the man a police officer. They worked for the city police.

    The man peered at him under his brows while he read notes that were on the table; the notes were about him, his studies and achievements in the academy, as well as who he was related to. Then there were notes that were about the murders, but he wasn¡¯t able to read them.

    "Kanrel, is it?" The officer asked and smiled a little; to this, Kanrel gave a nod.

    "It seems that you¡¯re quite the student; great grades in academics and your priest training alike."

    "A promising novice, wouldn¡¯t you say?" The officer suddenly asked and looked at the woman who was sitting next to him; she was taking notes as he questioned him.

    As an answer, he got just the slightest nod.

    "Look, even she agrees! Oh, and don¡¯t mind her; she is here just to take notes." The officer assured him.

    "But not only are you an impressive student and a promising priest to be, but you¡¯re also the son of the Herald. Now that is quite shocking! Would there really be such a bad apple so close to the Herald? No one would think that! But¡­"

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    "A body of another novice in your room? It does make one wonder if you are the one behind such a thing. But then two more bodies, not in your room but in the rooms of your closest friends¡­"

    "They are your friends, right? It is really difficult to tell with you lot; I¡¯ve been wondering about this Inquisitor to the left of me; is she really my friend or is she just pretending?" Again, the officer looked at the woman at his side; this time she shook her head.

    With a slight smile, he stared at Kanrel and asked, "Friends or foes?"

    Kanrel tilted his head ever so slightly. "I¡¯d say friends; they¡¯re quite useful."

    The officer leaned back suddenly and said, "Quite useful, you say? Like useful in trying to frame them for murder or useful as in¡­What?"

    "Useful as in I study with them; I learn from them and they learn from me; it is a win-win situation."

    The officer nodded and leaned forward again. "Win-win indeed; you get a body, he gets a body, and she gets a body; you all win!"

    Kanrel blinked his eyes for a while. "Are you going to ask me any relevant questions or provide any damning evidence against me?"

    The officer scoffed, "Are all of you just a bunch of smartasses?" He asked and then stared at the woman by his side again; this time she nodded.

    "Well fuck; I guess I¡¯ll get into business then."

    "So, the thing is that it is unlikely, based on our initial investigation, that any of you would have been even remotely near the rooms in which the bodies were found.¡±

    ¡°There is enough data to prove that you were not around the whole day, as the bodies weren¡¯t there before you left your rooms early in the morning."

    "But there is a connection between you and the victim."

    Kanrel just stared at the man; he couldn¡¯t quite understand at first, then a sudden panic ran through him: Was it Uanna? Or perhaps Wen? Was either of them dead?

    "Interesting¡­ You¡¯re the first priest I know to have shown any emotion when questioned."

    "Did you perhaps not look clearly at the girl''s face?"

    He thought that he did and tried to summon back the memory of her face, but could remember nothing. He didn¡¯t know her?

    Graffiti and an offensive remark, but no rebuke from him; it was the girl who had commented something about his mother when he had seen one of the graffiti at the laboratory.

    Apparently, the fact that he remembered showed on his face as the officer said, "Indeed."

    "This is why there is a motive for murder; it is just the other things that do not quite add up. So you either confess to your crimes and be executed for them, or you claim to be innocent."

    "Which is it, Kanrel?"

    "Innocence. I¡¯ve met her barely once, and her comments offered me only something to figure out. She basically gave me a reason to message my mother."

    The officer nodded as if he were convinced: "Just casually calling her your mother? Very creepy."

    "Well then, if this is what you proclaim, then it is for us to dig through your possessions in your room, not to mention your statements today, and find all the possible clues that there might be; we¡¯ve of course already done so once, but another time doesn¡¯t harm anyone."

    "You¡¯ll be under supervision for the next 72 hours, after which you may continue your studies normally until you¡¯re either called back in or arrested. You may not leave the campus area until you¡¯re fully cleared; if you step into the city before this, then you¡¯re to be executed on sight, even if you¡¯re the son of the great Herald. Is this clear?"

    Kanrel nodded; there really wasn¡¯t anything else that he could do. And 72 hours of time off didn¡¯t seem too bad now that he thought about it. He had a theory that had started forming in his head, so he would have more than enough time to manifest it.

    "Could I have a notebook and a pencil? Just to pass the time."

    The officer first looked at him, then stared at the woman for a while; the woman made a slight nod again. The officer¡¯s face brightened up. "Well, of course; just don¡¯t stab anyone with the pencil or try to make any, I don''t know, rope with the paper."

    The unlikely work partners got up, and the inquisitor left behind a pencil and an empty notebook that she carried with herself as a spare. Kanrel tried to thank her, but she left without giving him the chance.

    Kanrel began to think. Wasn¡¯t the motive for the murders obvious now? They were done as a means to frame him as a murderer; this could have some political implications and might put her mother in a bad spot; her dedication and faith would be brought into question. And she might be pressed about things like adopting one of the nameless...

    So the person behind all of these things would most likely be the one behind the graffiti and rumors. The only reason those had stopped was because the now-dead girl had found herself in an unlucky situation. Her death was just a tool to make him look like a murderer.

    But the person or people who had entered his room could¡¯ve easily planted not just the body but other evidence as well. There were the rose petals and the positions in which the bodies were: one was lying on the bed, another was suspended in the air with stakes pierced through him, and the last one sat down with her eye sockets empty and with her fingers pointing into those eyes; she also gazed somewhere down.

    The last body had been the most interesting in how it had been treated; missing eyes often represent blindness to something. Blindness to something below? The cellar?

    He would have to study the other two bodies himself to find more clues; maybe there were similar things, more body parts missing, or anything at all that could give him any strays to grasp.

    72 hours more in this small room in which he had already spent almost ten hours; he wondered how the others were fairing but also what the other students of the academy had heard... There would surely be more insane rumors going around. But that didn¡¯t matter; he would get out of this room sooner or later and life would go on as it usually did, now just with a little more murder accusations thrown around, but it could be worse.

 Chapter Sixteen: Murders at the Academy, Part Two, Motives

    Sure, free time was nice, but if you¡¯re stuck in one room without much to really do, then it is just boring. Imagine: You are to spend more than 72 hours in the same room; sometimes you might sit down and think about boredom; sometimes you could stand up and continue thinking about boredom. Of course, you could sleep as well, but even then, in your dreams, you would be just thinking about boredom.

    There is nothing to do; thoughts and your own imagination can entertain you only for so long.

    The best moments were when food was brought to him and he could see another human, an older man with gray hair and a stubble beard. He always had a pleasant smile on his face. He must have loved his job.

    They would never really have a conversation; just the usual pleasantries such as "Good, insert the current time of the day!" and "Are you ready to confess anything?" or "It must be awfully boring in there; getting out isn¡¯t that hard, really!"

    To some, the suffering of others might be the greatest entertainment that they might get during their lives.

    Kanrel didn¡¯t mind; even if he was bored, it didn¡¯t much differ from the reality that he was subject to. For him, more or less, each day had the same gray flavor to it: ash.

    When at last 72 hours had passed since his little talk with the investigators, the man who usually brought him food opened the locks of the door to let Kanrel out: "I guess you¡¯re free to go; I hope you come back to visit me."

    Kanrel gave a nod as an answer and walked out. He found himself in a corridor with at least ten or so doors. Most likely, they were other holding cells like his, with criminals or none. At the end of the corridor, there was an open door, so he walked through.

    As far as Kanrel knew, the holding cells and campus law enforcement were just across the street from the postal office, so he at least knew where he was. The lobby of the building served as a waiting room for those who had other business with the officers who worked there.

    There he saw Yirn, Yviev, Uanna, and Wen waiting for him; they got up from their chairs as they saw him enter the lobby.

    "Are you alright?" Uanna asked when she got to him, "I¡¯ve heard that terrible things happen to people in prison." She said that and seemed to look for any signs of mistreatment.

    "Funny; she didn¡¯t have such a reaction when we got out." Yviev said dryly, "You really must''ve done much more than installing a couch.

    "I am just fine; I haven¡¯t had this much free time in a while. I would not recommend it to even my worst enemy." Kanrel said, then studied the faces of Yirn and Yviev, "I guess we three have lots to talk about."

    "Yes, and some of those things are best spoken about privately." Yirn pointed out and looked at Uanna and Wen; Kanrel could tell that the young man didn¡¯t seem to have much trust in the two nobles.

    So they parted ways with Uanna and Wen, much to Uanna¡¯s displeasure. They first went back to their dorms, but the doors were barred, and three guards stood next to those doors. They were then informed that no one was to enter the rooms during the investigation, and three rooms were prepared for them on the upper floors.

    While walking in the corridors, Kanrel could easily tell that when they went past anyone, they would be stared at, hear whispers here and there, and feel fear in the eyes of some. Some of the other students would wonder if it was right to allow a murderer to live in their midst.

    But that was mostly the normal students at the academy; the novices didn¡¯t seem to care too much, not because they trusted them not to be murderers but because there were better things to be afraid of, like any and all beds.

    On the third floor of the northern building were their new rooms for the period of the investigation; it was impossible to tell for how long the investigation would take, so they might as well assume that these rooms would be theirs for the rest of their time here.

    Three separate rooms were given to them at the end of a corridor; there were other rooms, but most of them were empty; these rooms were here just for cases like this. The other people who would live here would be a few Inquisitors, for the time being.

    The Inquisitors would serve as guards; they would make sure that all students would be safe. No one would dare to even try to come to their rooms during the night, and they wouldn¡¯t dare to leave their own rooms during the night to go murdering any more people.

    They were all murder suspects, but they were also possible targets of the real murderer.

    They chose to enter Yirn¡¯s room, as it seemed to be in between Yviev¡¯s and Kanrel¡¯s rooms.

    His room was more or less empty. Sure, there was a bed and most of the books that used to be in Yirn¡¯s room, but there was no equipment for working out. Yirn sat on his new bed and said, "Take a chair or something."

    There was just one chair. Kanrel gave out a long sigh as he saw Yviev running to it and sitting down on it, so he sat on the floor as gracefully as he could.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.Silence was all that was between them for a while. Until Yirn chose to break it: "What questions did they ask you both?" He looked at both of them in turn; he seemed ready to react if one of them did anything suspicious.

    Yviev giggled slightly; the whole situation seemed absurd. "Relax, Yirn; I never took you for someone who¡¯d be scared too easily; it is after all what the murderer wants..."

    "I agree; what other motive could the murderer have?" Kanrel added that he could then see Yirn relax; he wasn¡¯t ready to jump into action anymore, and his face seemed much more like how he usually was.

    "I can¡¯t help it; it feels like I can¡¯t trust anyone." Yirn said solemnly, "The officer who spoke with me said something about us all having a connection to the murders."

    Kanrel stared at him. "To me, he only mentioned that I had a connection to one of the victims; apparently the girl found in my room was someone I had met briefly."

    "They didn¡¯t really elaborate on that statement even when I asked, though they did offer a theory on why I might¡¯ve been the person behind the murders," Yirn said.

    Yviev raised her brows and said, "They said the same to me. The man found in my room was someone I knew; or rather, he was someone connected to my family."

    "How did you know him?" Kanrel asked.

    Yviev let out a long sigh. "Well... I was to be wed to him after graduation."

    There was another long silence. Yirn and Kanrel both just stared at Yviev in surprise.

    "Why didn¡¯t you say anything before? When he first disappeared?" Yirn asked, and doubt could be heard in his voice again.

    "I didn¡¯t know that he was the one missing; the rumors weren¡¯t really something that I much cared about. And just to add, I didn¡¯t mind marrying him; he was a nice guy." She said, and hurt could be heard in her voice; she cast her gaze downward.

    Yirn¡¯s facial expression softened. "I¡¯m such a dick; sorry."

    Yviev shook her head and said, "How could you know? I never told anyone."

    "How about you? What was their theory about you?" Kanrel asked Yirn, shifting away from another awkward silence.

    "The fact that I''m nameless and the girl that was found in my room was a noble who used to ruthlessly bully me before I enrolled at the academy," Yirn said, with not much emotion on his face, "Did they use the same theory about you or something?"

    Kanrel shook his head. "They claimed that it was my way of dealing with the rumors about my mother. The girl I found in my room was someone who said a couple of words to me when I had seen one of those graffiti; she just said something about my mother being daft or something."

    They all spent a couple of minutes pondering the things that they had just learned. There were three theories given to them by the investigators, but it was likely that none of them was the real reason. At least, so Yirn seemed to believe.

    "I think we should investigate the murders ourselves." He suddenly said, getting up from his bed, "It won¡¯t take long until they decide that we worked together on the murders, planning everything from the beginning."

    He looked down at Kanrel and said, "The only thing that makes sense is that this is a personal vendetta toward one of us."

    Kanrel got up from the ground and said, "The graffiti, the rumors; they only stopped when the three students disappeared. It all must be connected."

    Kanrel then shared the theory that he had come up with while under arrest; Yirn and Yviev listened closely.

    "Then what do you suggest?" Yviev asked; she remained seated and kept looking at Yirn and Yviev in turn.

    "I agree with Yirn; we should investigate this by ourselves."

    Yirn nodded. "The truth is most likely closer than we think. And besides, if we figure this out together, I might get some extra points, making it more likely that I get to become an inquisitor." On his face, there was now a wide grin; he almost looked scary.

    Yviev laughed, saying, "Not even accusations of murder could change you."

    "If you two want to investigate, then I see no reason not to join you; let¡¯s figure this thing out; besides, I want to find out what bastard got to my husband-to-be. Who knows, I might do to that person the same thing they did to him." Her amused expression quickly transformed into one that had such bloodthirst in it.

    Yirn shivered visibly. "Remind me not to fuck with you."

    They spent the next couple of hours going through all that they might remember about the graffiti, as it was their first clue to investigate, not to mention the novice that had been found dead in Kanrel¡¯s room.

    Her name was Tarin Burani, and she wasn¡¯t really anything special as a novice; she was as talented as any of the other novices. She did just fine during their classes, as far as any of them could remember. To put it simply, she didn¡¯t stand out that much from the rest of the flock.

    It really did feel like it had been just a coincidence that she had been the person to comment on whatever she did to Kanrel on that day. It could¡¯ve been anyone, really.

    Either way, they would have to investigate the possibility that she might¡¯ve been the person or one of the people behind the graffiti in the first place. The same thing they would have to figure out about the rest of those who had been murdered

    They had to dig as deep as they could until there was nothing more to find out. Graffiti and the dead were the first few clues: the way they had died and the positions in which they were left in their rooms.

    Maybe they could ask around the hospital to figure out the cause of their deaths; that would give them at least some information regarding whether the murderer had been capable of magic or not. This would considerably limit the pool of people that could be behind the murders.

    When they had new information, they could shift to another motive, but for now, they had a simple, unified goal that they would reach no matter what.

 Chapter Seventeen: Private Investigations, Part One

    Classes continued normally. Oidus was once again their primary teacher, and they mainly focused on honing their understanding of Advanced Magic and Coding. During class, the fact that they were under investigation was never mentioned; it really wasn¡¯t the time or place for it. Everyone had better things to do, especially Oidus, who almost couldn¡¯t be asked to be there.

    Their own investigations into the murderous deeds weren¡¯t very fruitful at first. They only knew that the graffiti was mostly located on the north side of the campus, and there were only a couple of times when it had been found on the southern side. But the ones on the southern side had apparently been different in how they looked and even how they were created.

    Since the graffiti that they were investigating was most likely created with magic, this at least gave them some direction: they were dealing with someone very talented with magic, so just based on that, it was unlikely that Tarin, the very dead girl found in Kanrel''s room, had anything to do with their creation. Unless she had worked with someone.

    Mostly the people that she used to spend her time with were other novices, so they interviewed them but didn¡¯t get much information about her. Apparently, she really liked cats and tea; she was from a rich merchant family, and that was about it.

    She never talked to anyone about her beliefs about the graffiti; she didn¡¯t seem to be different from anyone else. Tarin was just another boring novice at the academy. There was nothing special about her, just the fact that she had once spoken to Kanrel and, of course, the fact that she was very much dead.

    A week went by with no new information, so they started to investigate the other people who had died. Yviev gave as much information about her now-dead husband-to-be as she knew. His name was Jeso Lewnrer, a member of a very rich noble family that had a great relationship with the Sondrar family. Something about their businesses being beneficial to each other.

    Based on the information given, he seemed like another rich noble that Kanrel would have hated before the Ritual. Had the Ritual made him more understanding? Or just more tolerant? He wondered as they investigated the man in question.

    At first, not many were willing to part ways with the knowledge that they had; rumors had spread well and far. Apparently, most of the upper circles of society were already aware of the things that had happened at the academy.

    The Herald¡¯s authority was brought into question, as were her ways of raising a child. The Lewnrer family blamed not only Kanrel but also Yviev and her family for what had happened. Beneficial friendships can sink so easily.

    After about a week of questioning people who were somehow related to Jeso Lewnrer, they in the end found nothing of use. There were more rumors about why he had been killed. One of the more popular ones was that Yviev wanted her husband-to-be dead so that she could get married to Kanrel, thus forming a much more beneficial partnership for her family.

    Other rumors were more or less equally outlandish.

    Another week felt like it had been wasted, so they went on to investigate the second dead girl, the one found in Yirn¡¯s room. Another noble, this time of the Ushien family, was named Henan Ushien, and based on the tales that Yirn told about her, she seemed like an outright terrible person.

    Calling the things that she had done "brutal" might¡¯ve been an understatement on Yirn¡¯s behalf. Apparently, Yirn, since a very young age, used to work as an in-house servant to her, but the way he used to serve her was very particular; his job was to get beaten in her stead whenever she did something wrong.

    And she did something wrong quite often. Sure, that was just his job, but she had made it very clear to Yirn that she did so intentionally. Apparently, she didn¡¯t want a "nameless mutt" to "stand anywhere near her shadow, let alone the proximity of her sheer existence."

    Yirn only escaped such treatment when he used all the pay that he had received to fund his education at the academy. "It was well worth it, and I¡¯d do it again," Yirn added. Apparently, the Ushien family paid handsomely for his services.

    But after just a few days of questioning her close friends, they only found more rumors, this time about Yirn: how he had either taken revenge on her or they had been lovers and she had cheated on him, which then angered him to the point that he had ended up killing her... Which made as much sense as the other rumors and "theories" the other students had about the murders.

    Thus, there was only one thing that could actually give them useful information and clues that they could follow: the bodies themselves.

    They would have to politely ask Professor Forsvarn to either share with them her findings or let them investigate themselves.

    "Absolutely not; I will not aid anyone of you, nor will I let anyone of you even near the bodies."

    "This is what I¡¯ve been instructed to tell you, and I plan to abide by the instructions given. This, of course, doesn¡¯t take away the possibility of you breaking into the morgue and studying the bodies yourself later this night¡ªyou know, when the place is closed for visitors and such."

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    It was always difficult to tell with her if she was trying to be nice or if she was trying to trap them in some way. She was truly seldom nice, and she did love to trap her students in ways that would cause them significant amounts of suffering later on.

    It was possible that she was going to use this as ammunition to make all of them come work under her after their graduation. No one would put that past her; she was more than capable of doing something like that. Not to mention, she probably wouldn¡¯t even care if they had been behind the murders; she cared only for the future of medicine.

    So, how does one break into the morgue of a hospital? Of course, it would be difficult, and a lot more difficult if they had to first break into the hospital itself, but again, Forsvarn helped them in her ever-so-subtle way; she offered them a room to sleep in during the night and then gave instructions on how to get to the morgue, just to add that they really shouldn¡¯t go down there¡­

    So they spent the night at the hospital. They loitered for hours in the room that they had been given, waiting for the lights to go out. And when they did, the trio navigated their way in the silence of the hospital, going down one flight of stairs that was near the entrance that would lead into the city surrounding the academy.

    There in the dark, they searched for the door that was conveniently marked as "The Morgue".

    No one of them had ever visited one, not to mention during the night, in the middle of absolute darkness. Who would really want to visit a place filled with bodies? Like ever? It didn''t matter if it was dark; even during the day, one would have to be a special kind of individual to visit a morgue.

    Sure, they had their reasons for it, those that were investigative in nature, but even in their perceived lack of empathy, it felt very wrong to do, almost disrespectful. But they did it anyway.

    They lit the lights in the morgue and, one by one, opened wooden cabinets that had caskets within them. For all of those bodies, there were only two possible places where they could end up: the cemetery or an incendiary.

    They had to open most of the cabinets and caskets to find the bodies they were looking for.

    Tarin was a rather tall woman; her facial features were those of a beauty queen; her hair was long and blonde; and her very dead eyes were blue. And it seemed that all of her body parts were where they were supposed to be.

    Jeso was a handsome young man, or he would¡¯ve been if his ears weren''t missing. He was tall, and sadly, there were clear wounds on his limbs on the spots where he had been pierced with stakes.

    Henan, on the other hand, seemed like she had gotten the worst treatment out of the three; not only were her eyes missing, but if one studied her back, one could clearly see signs of torture. When the body was first found, they weren¡¯t able to see that.

    Only one of those bodies wasn¡¯t missing a thing, so Kanrel did what any other man would do; he went ahead and opened Tarin¡¯s mouth, just to find the tongue gone. Somewhere inside, he felt a little bad about all this and quickly returned her body to her eternal rest.

    Before leaving, they put everything back where it belonged, turned the lights off, and returned to their shared room up the stairs. They had much to discuss.

    They had all written down some things that they had noticed and thought of during their investigation of the bodies, so they first shared their observations.

    "It is almost certain that they all were killed by magical means; in this world, there is no way to cut someone''s tongue or ears so cleanly without the help of magic." Yviev began with her findings: "Maybe only the marks on Henan¡¯s back could have been caused by physical means. Either way, I believe that the murder suspect is someone very proficient with magic and coding."

    "Remembering the states in which the bodies were found, the lack of blood further proves this point, as does the fact that the murderer would have to be able to place the bodies into our rooms, which is no easy task." Yvive further pointed this out.

    Kanrel nodded. "I keep thinking about how Hennan was positioned in Yirn¡¯s room; her eyeless gaze was downwards... So I can¡¯t help but wonder if the murderer is trying to tell us something by the artistic way they have positioned the bodies."

    "Gazing down? Well, there are the cellars; it wouldn¡¯t do much harm to check them out." Yviev said.

    "What about the other bodies? I never really saw how they were positioned." Yirn asked.

    Kanrel then recounted how the bodies had been positioned: the girl on the bed had looked up at the ceiling, and the man had looked at anyone who might walk into the room, thus making him gaze northward.

    And how they were actually positioned wasn¡¯t much help; they just seemed like interesting or horrific ways to showcase someone dead. Just twisted ways of making murder into "art".

    There was, of course, the theme of bloodlessness and the rose petals that were there instead of the blood. So they at least knew that the suspect that they were looking for either grew the roses themselves, bought them, or stole them.

    This was something that they could investigate, but this person might have gotten the roses outside the academy, so somewhere in the city, and they weren¡¯t, for now, allowed to leave the campus.

    So the only clues that they could follow were directions: down, up, and north. So they¡¯d investigate in that order when they had the chance to do so.

    Because of certain difficulties in leaving the hospital, they ended up spending the night there; it just wasn¡¯t very comfortable to share one bed with three people, so none of them got much sleep. The next morning, they all had to attend the classes normally.

    Later that day, when they went back to their respective rooms, they were questioned by the suddenly very curious and talkative Inquisitors about where they had spent the previous night. But a common activity among the students was enough to sway them from questioning any further.

    Skinny dipping in the moonlight didn¡¯t seem to be a new tradition at the academy, even in the late fall.

 Chapter Eighteen: Private Investigations, Part Two, the Cellars

    The next day, right after their classes, they followed the uncertain clue that they had; it was just a straw that they were trying to grasp at this point. But they had nothing else to follow, so they went into the cellars.

    The cellars were cold and kind of damp, and the air that they breathed in had this strange smell to it¡ªthe smell of old and the smell of a cellar. To get to the cellars, they had to enter a small stairway with steep steps going down; all this to find themselves in a maze of narrow corridors and cramped rooms.

    Everywhere they went, it felt like the ceiling was going to collapse on them. To call it claustrophobic would be an understatement.

    Sure, they had a direction, but to figure out where was north when taking turns in corridors, which felt like they just brought them to similar rooms that were either empty or filled with things of the past, books that had seen better days, their pages crumbling because of the damage caused by alternating temperatures and the dampness.

    It was difficult to figure out if anyone had entered some parts of the cellars in years, perhaps in decades, so all they could do was see if they could find any less-than-obvious clues, like, was there less dust than here? Could that be a footprint?

    Noticing such things might mean nothing, and after about an hour of aimless wandering in the narrow corridors, they were ready to give up. They found themselves in yet another small room; this one was filled with bookshelves. On the bookshelves, there were jars of different sizes; each of them had some strange substance inside.

    Within, there could be jam, but that was just unlikely.

    At the back of the room was an old chair in front of a fragile-looking table. Kanrel sat down on the chair and took out his notebook. "I think we ought to somehow map our way down here. I never could have expected it to be such a maze down here."

    In the notebook, he wrote all the directions that he could remember that they had taken to reach this room.

    In the meantime, Yirn seemed to investigate the many different jars on the shelves, saying, "I think they are potions gone bad. There are labels on some of them, like this one that reads, ¡®Male Dysfunction''."

    "I suppose these are from way before Forsvarn¡¯s time." He chuckled to himself. He then picked up one of the jars to peer into it from different angles. The stuff inside was very murky, and it was difficult to say what it contained. He then went to put the jar back in its place, only to stop midway.

    "Kanrel, you read a wide variety of different topics just for fun, right?" He asked while still looking at the jar in his hands.

    "Sure, that is what I used to do; why?"

    "Well, how often do you think they used to use eyes in potions back in the day?"

    "Let me think... There are some cases with certain potions, like those dealing with eyesight. Why do you ask?"

    Yirn set the jar on the table in front of Kanrel and asked, "How often do potions about ¡®male dysfunction¡¯ have eyes in them?"

    Kanrel looked at the jar; at first, he didn¡¯t see much of anything, but when Yirn gave it a little shake, soon enough, two eyes could be seen for but a moment in the strange mixture. He stood up from the chair and looked for any container he could use; a bucket, he soon found, would be just fine, so he went ahead and poured the contents of the jar into the bucket.

    He separated the eyes from the rest of the liquid and, with magic, cleaned the eyes from it. Kanrel placed the "cleaned" eyes on top of the table.

    The trio looked at the eyes for a while. "This could mean just about anything. We can¡¯t even be sure whose eyes these are," Yviev said abruptly.

    Yirn let out a long sigh. "It almost feels like the world is making fun of us." He went back to the shelves and took another jar to empty inside the bucket that they had found. There they found yet another pair of eyes.

    "Well, that was a waste of finding then," Yirn concluded and threw the jar toward a wall, shattering it into millions of tiny pieces of glass. "Sorry about that."

    Kanrel observed the two pairs of eyes that were on the table and said, "These are animal eyes, probably dog eyes." With magic, he lifted the two pairs of eyes and submerged them into the bucket, saying, "Let''s continue."

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    He wasn¡¯t just going to give up now that they were down there. They spent the rest of the day going back to the beginning of the cellar and mapping out their way from there to the room that had the jars in it.

    Exploring the cellars wouldn¡¯t be a mission done in just a day, so they would return the next day and for many days to come. It could take weeks, but as it was their only clue, they would continue until they had something or were certain that they would get nothing out of the cellars.

    Late autumn ruled the world above, and not many leaves adorned the tall oak trees outside. The number of daily skinny dippers would soon reach zero, especially when the cold winter would sweep the land, burying most of it under a veil of snow.

    The winters near the campus were fairly unforgiving, as they weren¡¯t perhaps that high up north, but the nearby mountain ranges would often allow their cold winds to freeze the grounds around them.

    Most would be outside, enjoying the last they¡¯d have of the most depressing part of the year, but every day for a week now, they had spent mapping as much of the cellars as they could. Later, they could use their map and the approximate surface area to figure out which buildings were above them at all times.

    At the tail end of one of their days in the narrow corridors of the cellars, they finally found something of use. Withered rose petals that covered one of the rooms were purposely placed on the ground to form a shape: a circle of petals with two opposite quarters of the circle filled.

    It was unknown what this shape meant, but they all copied it into their notebooks. They would have to research what it meant later.

    Yirn walked into the middle of the shape and looked around him, then he went ahead and kicked some of the petals out of his way so that he could see what was beneath. In the middle, where the two quarters met like an hourglass, were words engraved on the ground, which read as follows: "Verum Infra."

    "The truth lies beneath..." Kanrel soon muttered; he formed a code to blow the petals out of their way. In almost an explosive manner, the hundreds of petals rose with the conjured wind from the ground and blew in a majestic wave to the sides of the room.

    Under those petals seemed to be elaborate engravings, circular shapes, and lines that seemed to almost cut the floor in half. It was a door. But how to open it? They had no idea.

    They could read no other carvings, not a single hint or a simple word that could help them figure out this puzzle. Just the carvings that were, the words, and the sixteen circular sockets that were empty.

    They took notes and went ahead; they would have to return to the room to figure out what the solution to this puzzle was; perhaps the local library had some old books that might give answers to their many questions.

    By far, the day had been their most productive day down in the cellars.

    Kanrel took it upon himself to figure out how to open the door, so he first went through the library across the cafeteria to find any books about the history of the academy. He would have a long night ahead of him as he meticulously read as much as he could during the night. Only to find nothing and have to stay awake the entirety of the next day.

    He pushed through the tiredness and headache that had formed by the end of the day, and they ended up skipping one day of exploring the cellars. Instead, they all went around the campus looking for any books that could help them with their quest.

    Soon the lack of sleep got to Kanrel, and he fell asleep while reading. The next morning, he woke up feeling like shit and wanted to sleep even more, but he had to continue with his studies and with their investigation normally. Otherwise, he would miss information that would be useful to him in the future, not to mention information that could very well clear his reputation.

    A couple of days went by with them mostly reading history until Yirn got a daft idea: what if they used the eyes that they had found in the jars? Why would the eyes be there otherwise? He had pointed it out. He had desperation in his eyes; their graduation was only a couple of months away, and if their names weren¡¯t cleared by then, it was unlikely that they¡¯d get to graduate normally.

    There had to be some sort of conclusion to the murders. The three rich families involved would not be satisfied with just letting possible suspects live their lives as they usually did.

    So they navigated their way into the room with the jars, and one by one they opened each jar, hoping that there¡¯d be more eyes and not just the two pairs that they had found at first. After emptying the contents of the jars, they found eight pairs¡ªno more, no less.

    They carried the eyes in a container to the room with the carvings. And placed an eye on each socket, praying to the Angels that there might be something, anything, that would happen. The eyes seemed to fit perfectly, so there was hope yet.

    As Kanrel placed the last eye in its respective socket, they all waited in silence for something to happen.

    Yirn cursed out loud, "Verum Infra, my ass!" He yelled and soon lost his balance as the ground began to shake under them. The floor with its carvings slowly opened up, forming a stairway that would lead even further down.

    Kanrel and Yviev both stared at Yirn, and she said, "I guess we needed a password for the door to open."

    "And I am not quite sure if it was the first pair of words or the second one." Yviev chuckled and helped Yirn up from the floor.

    The young man seemed genuinely embarrassed. "I shall refrain from cursing at doors from now on."

    "No, no, keep at it; maybe you¡¯ll open the next one for us as well!"

    Kanrel ignored their banter and was already observing the new stairway that had opened up. It was a very complicated mechanism, with lots of magic involved in its creation. There was no other way that stones would just move around without the help of any physical mechanisms.

    Maybe he could reverse-engineer it? Maybe not now, but far into the future, when he had the required skills and understanding of magic.

    "Shall we descend?" Kanrel asked while peering into the darkness. He had this itch to explore¡ªan itch to find out what was down there. It didn¡¯t have to have anything to do with their investigation of the murders, but just the fact that the door might¡¯ve been something that had not been opened for a very long time made him want to be the first to see what secrets could be found.

    Yirn pushed him slightly forward and said, "You can do the honors."

    "What if there are traps down there?" Yviev asked when Kanrel took the first step down; her words made him freeze.

    "Which is exactly why he should go first!" With a wide grin on his face, he gave another push to Kanrel, who was then forced to take another step.

    What was with the priests and stairs? Kanrel wondered. It hadn¡¯t been the first time he had descended a stairway into the darkness. And for some reason, he was sure that it wouldn¡¯t be the last time either.

 Chapter Nineteen: Private Investigations, Part Three, Secret Chambers

    Silence followed each step he took, and the darkness around surrounded him even more. Soon, he had only the light that came from above. Shivers ran through his body, and the ever-so-rational mind of his wanted him to run back up as fast as he could.

    Soon he stopped and dared not take another step, for the light that came from above no longer reached further. The darkness was absolute, and this was its domain. So Kanrel had to conquer it for himself.

    With a quick code, he conjured a ball of almost blinding light that, in an instant, showed him his surroundings. Rooms beneath that were much older than those above, as if all that was above was built on top of the things that he now saw.

    Surprisingly pristine and clean was that which he expected to be covered with webs, dust, and decay. A simple corridor that would perhaps lead him northward. All of its walls were adorned with carvings, this time of things that made sense to him.

    It was a history that was very familiar to most: the history of how the Angels blessed humanity with magic and how they were saved by that magic. A testament to just how much they owed those heavenly creatures.

    There was just one thing that bothered Kanrel: the story was told from the end. The carvings depicted on the walls nearest to the entrance to its abode showcased the moment humanity defeated the Wildkin.

    If he went deeper, would he find the beginning of the story he already knew or something alien and different?

    "Are you alright?" He heard a yell from the entrance. He looked back and saw Yirn peeking in with a slight worry on his face.

    "Stop staring and come done with me!" Kanrel yelled back at him and returned his gaze to the walls around him. Soon enough, he could hear Yirn, followed by Yviev, come down the stairs formed by magic and see what he saw.

    Kanrel was personally not in a rush, so as they went further, he took it slowly and kept eyeing the carvings, seeing just how far they would go. How much would he know of it?

    By the end of the corridor, it was certain that whoever had carved them knew much more than most of the people alive today, or even what was written in the books or even the Book of the Heralds.

    But then again, if this told the story from the beginning of the war with Wildkin until the blessing of the Angels, then it was before the first Herald began writing her book.

    There was so much intricate detail: how the Wildkin looked, how their massive armies sieged human settlements, from where they came, and even how they first got there. Just not answering the question: where did they come from?

    At the end of the corridor, there was a door, and on that door, there were even more carvings, but in a language he wasn¡¯t able to read. The door was black in color, and it seemed to be made out of stone.

    Yirn tried again to say the words they had found above ground, but there was no effect, so they figured that they¡¯d use some less intricate ways to make their way in.

    Together, they created a code that would gradually push an object forward; they just had to be very careful that they didn¡¯t accidentally blow the thing wide open or blow it up into thousands of little stone pebbles.

    Pushing such a heavy thing took considerable effort, even with the use of magic, and it would open very slowly for them to see what was on the other side.

    First just the darkness, then things shown by the light that Kanrel controlled. Engravings filled with red liquid on the floor; a round room with three doors that they could see. They too were made of stone and seemed adequately heavy to push open.

    "Just what is this place?" Yirn asked, and with his gaze, he seemed to be analyzing every inch of the room before them, soaking in every detail so that he could remember them later.

    Kanrel shook his head and said, "Something never seen before. Perhaps only the murderer had known of this place before us."

    The liquid was most likely the blood of the victims. For some reason, the killer had either brought that blood here or performed their act of killing in this room. Perhaps this room was where they had lured those poor souls¡ªto torture and then kill.

    The walls in the chamber were once again covered with carvings, but the things they depicted were things no one had ever even heard about. An empire of such grandeur that it was impossible to think it would be something built by human hands, or even by the savage Wildkin that had almost wiped out all of humanity.

    An empire that towered even over some of the mountains of the world, an empire that had brought the whole world under its rule. An empire that was no more. An empire that might have never even existed.

    Was this perhaps a utopia that some humans had thought of long ago? Or something that had once been but was then wiped out and forgotten? Perhaps the Otherkind? A fantasy at best, it was all that it could be.

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    Kanrel wasn¡¯t proud of what he was about to do. With a code, he collected all of the blood spilled on the floor, then boiled it until the water in it would evaporate, leaving behind just a dark dust and a strange smell. The dust he left outside the chamber was in a neat pile that he would surely clean later.

    The engravings uncovered on the floor were similar to those that had been at the entrance to the secret underground corridor, suggesting that they at least had the same origin. If that origin was older or newer than that of those on the walls, it was difficult to figure out.

    There were words on the ground: "To all directions; enter all at once."

    "And what is that supposed to mean? After we open the stone doors, or what?" Yirn asked and blankly stared at the door directly opposite him. "I call dibs on that one," he said, pointing at it.

    Kanrel shook his head in bemusement and picked the door on the right; Yviev was left with the door in the middle.

    "Now what?" Yviev asked while studying the door in front of her. It had the same characteristics that the other stone door had.

    "We all enter at once," Kanrel said. "So we take a leap of faith, and at worst nothing happens."

    "So we are supposed to walk through a solid object?" Yirn asked and kicked the door; they all could hear his foot hitting the stone door as it caused a loud thumb that echoed in the chamber.

    "On three?"

    "Sure, why not?"

    "One,"

    "Two,"

    "Three!"

    Kanrel counted down, and on three, they all took a step forward. He could feel that as his body went through something that was meant to be solid, a feeling of extreme nausea went through him, and he was sure that he would end up puking.

    But when he got through, he was in another corridor with Yirn and Yviev.

    Yviev fell to the ground, gasping for air. "I almost suffocated."

    "How lovely, I just got punched in the head a good thousand times or so," Yirn said while holding his head; even still, there was a grin on his face. "I never thought that I¡¯d one day walk through solid stone."

    Kanrel sat down for a minute. "Let''s not do that ever again," he said while holding his stomach.

    Yirn shrugged. "You can blame only yourself; it was your plan, and you happened to pick the wrong door."

    Kanrel scoffed, "Then if there is a next time, let''s switch doors."

    Yirn looked at the door that they had all come out of. "Well, there is just one door. Unless there are more to come," he added, shifting his gaze forward.

    Before them, the corridor seemed to continue endlessly; the carvings on the walls now told a different story¡ªthe story of an empire at its peak¡ªbut as they went forward, the story progressed. The empire first shrank, then attacked by creatures with wings, and soon it was demolished. And only rubble was left behind. Before they got to the next door, the engravings became sparse, and soon there were none. Just pristine walls with a story that was left unfinished.

    This door was another stone door, and again they had to force it open with their combined efforts in magic. The light breached the chamber, showing them walls that had nothing on them and a floor that was as plain as the walls were. But this time, there was furniture.

    A table and a chair, to be certain. On the table were a note and a jar. Kanrel read out loud the words written on the notes:

    The truth shall set you free, and this is the truth that is known. The magic we have is not the purest form of it; it is just a perversion of true magic, as you might guess from the elaborate magic that this complex of chambers and corridors showcases.

    It is not known who has created them, but it is known that the Priesthood is not to be trusted, for they would try to alter and hide this truth that I have found. The Heralds and their lies are all the same, just constructed by the Priesthood to keep their hold on the people.

    The Angels have left us long ago.

    The nameless shall rise again, and the truth shall set us all free.

    The note was left unsigned, but the contents of the jar were sufficient as a signature: a pair of human eyes with a blue iris. Yirn had already confirmed that Henan¡¯s eyes had been blue before they were removed from their sockets.

    "That is some... crazy stuff," Yirn muttered to himself. "I think whoever wrote such things must be insane; there is no other explanation."

    Kanrel didn¡¯t answer him; he just went over the note again and again. He even studied the table and the chair thoroughly; they were located in the center of the round chamber, and they were just a normal table and a normal chair. Both were in good condition, so they most likely were from the current decade. Not something old and almost decomposing like the tables and chairs that they had found in the cellars.

    "Perhaps," Kanrel ended up saying, as he himself didn¡¯t know what the truth was. The things that he had seen just today, the magic that was more complicated than all the magic that he had seen thus far, not to mention the lack of a disgusting feeling if one doesn¡¯t count the feeling of going through the stone door.

    He would need to learn more about everything related to the chambers, the corridors, and their carvings.

    Of course, he was disturbed by the things that he had just read about, as they suggested outright heretical things, not to mention that they attacked the very job and existence of his own mother. So it was hard to remain unbiased toward the "truth" that the writings offered.

    The only other point of interest in the chamber was another stone door; this one was open, and behind it was a long stairway of steep steps that would take them up. Perhaps back to the cellars, perhaps to another corridor with even more carvings.

    They decided against taking the eye or the note with them since they could be, for now, used as evidence against them in the investigation if they were found on their personnel.

    So they ascended the steep stairway until they came to a halt. Kanrel went ahead and touched the stoned surface that was in their way, but it seemed to be an illusion, so he stuck his hand through it, and soon enough, his whole body. On the other side, they came out of a large wardrobe into a small room that seemed to be a storage room of some sort.

    They didn¡¯t have the slightest idea where they were now. And when they tried the door, it seemed to be locked from the outside. It would be smart to just go through the door, as the person behind the murders could be on the other side.

    Based on their knowledge of the murderer thus far, they were dealing with an individual who had a much better understanding of magic and coding than they did, so it was unlikely for them to survive an encounter with that person.

    Now all they could do was go back to the way that they had used to enter the chambers in the first place. Along the way, they made some calculations of the width, height, and overall dimensions of the chambers and corridors that they had gone through. They could use this information to figure out from above where the other side of the locked door was that they dared not enter.

    Soon, indeed, the truth would set them free.

 Chapter Twenty: Private Investigations, Part Four, the Tongue of a Traitor

    The next week they spent mapping out the rest of the cellars and figuring out their dimensions; also, finding all the entrances into the cellars helped a lot with this. The cellars connected all of the buildings together, and some areas were much more used than others. For example, the areas to the north and east had stuff in them that was much more recent.

    Then, based on their calculations, they figured out where everything below was located relative to things above them. Most likely, the locked door was somewhere within the laboratory, on the eastern side of that building.

    After their classes of the day, they went on to visit the laboratory, as it was the only way for them to find out what they needed to find out. The park in the middle had turned into a silent place where not many would spend their time.

    The weather was already getting so cold that no one in their right mind would spend more time outside than was needed. Not a single skinny dipper had been seen for the past week or so. Maybe during the winter, they¡¯d return to make holes on the surface of the pond to get the shock that one can get from diving into ice-cold water.

    Kanrel wasn¡¯t very fond of such an idea; he¡¯d much rather spend his time in front of a warm fireplace. The cold wasn¡¯t something he liked; he was so much more used to the more tame winters in the south.

    Even now, he kept shivering at times, even though he was already wearing a winter robe. Yirn didn¡¯t seem to mind; the city around the academy was, after all, his hometown. Cold autumns and winters were just another thing he didn¡¯t often notice. Both seasons were perfect for working out anyway.

    As they reached the laboratory, they saw a large gathering of novices and other students. They all stared at a wall for some reason. The trio got closer, shoving their way through the people gathered there until they could see what the fuss was about.

    Large graffiti in red was written on the wall: Usurp the false kings, usurp the false Heralds, usurp the Priesthood. See the tongue of a traitor: the truth set her free.

    A red thing was nailed to the wall. A tongue. Now they at least knew where Tarin¡¯s tongue was.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the gathering to see Kanrel, and soon after, whispers could be heard, mostly about him and his mother. Not only was he a murder suspect, but these graffiti might be there because of him; they were there to target him. As if showing all those who knew nothing that at least there was one person who knew the truth.

    Kanrel gritted his teeth and was about to begin removing the graffiti from the wall. But before he could even take a step, Oidus had walked in front and begun removing the graffiti; on her face was a smile. A smile Kanrel didn¡¯t know how to interpret.

    He gritted his teeth even more; his hands were just fists now as he tried to control himself. He wanted to wipe that smile from her; he wanted to accuse her of everything. He wanted to scream; he wanted to know that none of those around him had been there to witness the graffiti.

    Kanrel felt a hand on his shoulder, a warm hand, and then a familiar voice whispered to him, "Let¡¯s get out of here." The hand pulled him away from the crowd, away from this gathering, and away from the smile that Oidus had on her face.

    Yirn pulled him out of the crowd, pulled him to the park, and sat him on a bench. He then sat next to him and said, "I remembered something, so I must ask you: do you remember who we saw before we found the bodies?" he asked.

    Yviev joined them as he said what he had to say; she sat on the other side of Kanrel so that he was in between them.

    Kanrel went through his memories. This was something that happened weeks ago. He remembered how they had sat on the same bench on that day and how Uanna and Wen had left before them. It couldn¡¯t be them; it didn¡¯t make any sense.

    He went through the whole day, but soon he saw just one face in his mind: Oidus. She was walking away from the dorms in a rush, not paying them any attention as she walked past them, even when they called for her name.

    Why would she? Then he remembered her smile as she was removing the graffiti. She was the one who had gone around removing most of them; she could as easily set up codes that would form those graffiti almost on their own. She was someone capable and extremely talented at coding and magic. She understood it perhaps better than most in this academy.

    The laboratory was where they had figured the locked door would be located.

    But what would she have to do with the nameless?

    "But why would she?" He asked and looked at Yirn, who had a solemn expression on his face.

    Yirn shook his head. "I guess it is for us to figure out." He stood up from the bench and stretched. "We just have to investigate her. Who knows, maybe we are just wrong, and that is the only thing we¡¯ll find out."

    Yviev and Kanrel sat in silence, just staring at the young man who was standing before them; his gaze was fixed on the laboratory. "I hope it is all just a coincidence," he said suddenly.

    Late autumn, with its melancholy, ruled the world; the days were short and the nights were long. Light would only shine in this part of the world for a couple of hours a day. Blessing them with the grace of warmth, but even then it was cold.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Kanrel, Yirn, and Yviev now sat in Yirn¡¯s room, which they used as a meeting place whenever they had things to discuss and plans to make.

    Now they had one of those plans to make: how should they investigate Oidus?

    Since the locked door was most likely located on the eastern side of the Laboratory for the Research of Magical Energies, that would mean that it would be connected to Oidus¡¯s bedroom.

    They had to form a distraction to make sure that she would not be anywhere near her room. They had to pick a time of day when she would most likely be in her laboratory, researching her beloved explosions.

    Yviev volunteered to keep her distracted for as long as possible under the guise of asking Oidus about her research, pointing out that she herself was very interested in explosions as well. In the meantime, Kanrel and Yirn would enter Oidus¡¯s room and search for any and all clues that they might find.

    And if they found nothing, then they would drop some of their suspicion toward their professor.

    The rest of the day was spent practicing on how to open a locked door without destroying anything. He tested multiple codes until he found one that would suit their needs.

    The next day, after their classes, they put their plan into motion. Right after class, Yviev went to Oidus to ask about her research. Kanrel and Yirn basically ran ahead of them to the laboratory and navigated their way through well-decorated corridors until they found Oidus¡¯s room on the east side of the laboratory.

    Yirn¡¯s job was simple through all this: he would signal to Kanrel if anyone was coming as Kanrel worked on the lock. Thankfully, the locks that were all around the campus were mostly similar, and there had rarely been situations where anyone would dare even try breaking into a professor''s room.

    Soon Kanrel heard a satisfying click from the door, and he could then open the door. He and Yirn quickly entered the room.

    The room was fairly large, and there were things one could expect from any room: there was a bed, though slightly bigger than the ones that the students got; a couple of tables and shelves; a wardrobe; and some cabinets. Then there was another door, positioned on the east wall of the room.

    Kanrel stood still for a while, in shock. Without a word, he went for the other door and opened it as well, and on the other side was the familiar room they had both seen before. He even went to check the wardrobe and the fake wall inside it. It was the room that they had been searching for; there was no doubt about it.

    Yirn had already gone through Oidus¡¯s things, and Kanrel joined him. The notes were mainly about her research with explosions, but there were things about "implosions" and her research about "gravity and magic". Such things were interesting to read about, but he couldn¡¯t focus on them because he didn¡¯t have time.

    His body was trembling with anxiety as he started searching one of the cabinets; his hands shook as he opened its door, and his hands shook even more as he pulled out a jar from the cabinet. He slowly turned it around in his hands, searching for anything.

    The trembling stopped as he saw what he saw: a pair of ears suspended in the murky liquid of the jar. "Yirn," he whispered. Kanrel wanted to say more, but words failed him. He felt betrayed. And the images of Oidus with her smile filled his mind.

    Yirn came to him to see the jar, and soon after the ears, he let out a long sigh and took the jar from Kanrel¡¯s hands, and placed it back inside the cabinet. He closed the door of the cabinet, pulled Kanrel from the ground, and whispered bitterly, "The truth shall set us free."

    Before leaving and locking the doors that Kanrel had opened, they made sure that everything was as it was before they searched the room. In silence, they left the room, not looking back and not wanting to think about what they had just found.

    They went to Oidus¡¯s laboratory, where she was explaining things to Yviev about her research. She had spread hundreds of notes on the floor, which they had studied together. Kanrel felt like he couldn¡¯t breathe from the moment they saw Oidus on the floor next to Yviev.

    Yirn cleared his throat and said, "Yviev, we¡¯ll go study now." He lied as fluently as he spoke.

    Yviev and Oidus raised their heads from the notes. Yviev stood up and said, "I¡¯ve got to go now; maybe we can continue at another time?" She politely excused herself and left Oidus with her notes.

    The professor seemed slightly disappointed but smiled when she saw Kanrel next to Yirn and waved at him. Kanrel couldn¡¯t raise his hand to wave back at her; his hands just wouldn¡¯t follow his commands.

    Instead, Yirn had to pull him along with them so that he wouldn¡¯t stay behind and sheepishly stare at the woman sitting on the floor.

    They walked in silence through the park; there were no words needed, as Yviev could just tell that their fears had become reality. Would she feel disgusted? She had just spent almost an hour talking to the person who most likely was the person who had killed her fiancee.

    Kanrel knew that he felt disgusted; he felt bitter to the core. The image he had of Oidus was ruined. She was no longer an aloof genius but a murderer and a heretic. Someone who had targeted him from the beginning.

    Again they found themselves in Yirn¡¯s room; this time they all sat on his bed. It was unlikely for either Yviev or Kanrel to be the first to speak, so Yirn went ahead. "We can¡¯t be sure, not yet," he said, almost denying what they had found.

    "She killed my Jeso," Yviev muttered in disbelief. "She defiled his body; she took his ears!" Her voice became louder as she spoke; she almost screamed the last words.

    "We have to make sure. We have to ask her," Kanrel said. He wanted to join Yirn in his denial; he wanted disbelief to reign over him. He didn¡¯t want to believe.

    "How? Do we just ask her? Her?" Yviev spat her words out, and she took her hands to the necklace she always carried with her. She had gotten it as a present from her fiancee when they were younger.

    "We can bait her out of the academy and out of the city." Kanrel suddenly said, "Gravity; she was interested in gravity."

    Yirn and Yviev both looked at him. "How?" Yirn asked; he too remembered the notes in Oidus¡¯s room.

    "I have some theories about it; we can invite her to join us in performing a large code that would form a massive pool of gravity, but instead we would lock her as she is focusing on the code."

    "But it has to seem real... Do you have such a code at your disposal?"

    "Yes, I can make one. I''ve got many theories of my own, and I can make one that needs someone as talented as Oidus to perform the code."

    "But how would that get her out of the academy and out of the city?"

    "Using gravity magic is very dangerous, especially indoors, as it pulls everything towards it."

    Yirn nodded. "Then how will we lock her in place?"

    "We¡¯ll make a code that needs the three of us to keep it in place; we have to make it so that she can¡¯t move or see. That isn¡¯t too difficult with the information we have thus far," Kanrel explained. "We can do it. No, we have to do it," he said almost erratically as he stood up from the bed. "We have to find out the truth." He said as he looked in turn into the eyes of Yirn and Yviev. He was pleading with them to help him.

    Another silence ensued as Yirn and Yviev seemed to be almost in shock because of Kanrel¡¯s emotional behavior.

    Yirn swallowed and then smiled; he once again had that handsome smile on his face, which told a story of confidence and determination. He got up from the bed and faced Kanrel. He offered his hand to him. "Let¡¯s find out the truth," he said.

    Kanrel took the offered hand; it was warm as they shook it.

    Yviev was still on the bed; she shook his head instead, saying, "I guess I¡¯ve no choice then..." She got up from the bed as well, dusted her robes, and asked, "What are we waiting for then? Let¡¯s get to it."

 Chapter Twenty-One: An Ambush, Part One

    Forging a code that is more powerful than the capabilities of the person forging it is stupidly difficult, at least to the point that the three of them would have difficulties performing it together. It had to be something that would pique the interest of someone much more skilled than them.

    Every day, they had to see the person that they all suspected. She seemed to be as she always was: uninterested and blunt toward her students and peers alike. Nothing was different about her; only Kanrel¡¯s perception of her was different. Yet he sat through her lectures, took notes, and participated during class as he would normally do.

    Oidus, even with the crimes that she had committed, remained an intellectual of the highest caliber. And her style of teaching, although erratic, suited Kanrel perfectly.

    Even then, he was in a rush to produce an overtly complicated piece of code that even she would have difficulty fully understanding. There was just a month left before graduation, and the cold of winter wasn¡¯t that far away either.

    At least doing so kept his emotions at bay. He would not lose control; he would not exact revenge on her; that was yet to come. This was all so that they could question her and find the truth. And not base their beliefs on something that could be an assumption or, worse, a lie.

    Yviev and Yirn took it upon themselves to produce an entrapment code that they would use to pin her down so that they could question her without any issues. Yirn, who was more familiar with the surroundings of the city than they were, chose a location that they could use for their plans. An ample spot for an ambush.

    Sadly, they weren¡¯t able to visit the place beforehand because of their ban on leaving the campus grounds. Thus, they had to hope that Oidus would escort them out of the campus and into the city; perhaps her status could sway the campus guards.

    Yirn also upped his training regime and frequently visited the dueling grounds; he sparred with other novices that frequently went there. Because of this, rumors went around the campus about him wanting to become an Inquisitor or a Paladin.

    Kanrel didn¡¯t have time for that; the code consumed all of his free time. The issue with it was that it was almost exclusively theoretical; he could only test it on a smaller scale and then hope that it could work as something much larger.

    He couldn¡¯t just create a fake code that would never work; he had to create something that could work. Otherwise, Oidus would see through this and think that Kanrel was just wasting not only his own time but, even worse, Oidus¡¯s time.

    Yirn and Yviev shared with Kanrel how their entrapment code worked and what Kanrel''s part was in using it. According to Yviev, it was crafted in such a way that the three of them had to use it and keep it up at the same time; otherwise, Oidus could end up breaking out of it.

    Then, at last, they thought that it was time to give it a shot. So Kanrel went to Oidus¡¯s laboratory to showcase his code and ask for her help in testing it.

    Kanrel looked at her from the doorway, collecting his wits and breathing slowly in and out to not let anxiety take hold of him.

    She sat on the ground, writing something on a piece of paper, perhaps another conclusion to a failed test or something entirely different. She lifted her gaze when she noticed him standing in the doorway. She blinked a couple of times as if wondering if the thing she saw was real or not.

    "So you¡¯ve finally decided to visit me?" She asked and got up from the floor: "Don¡¯t just stand there and come in instead. I suppose you are here for a reason?" She encouraged him and sat on a nearby chair.

    Rather slowly, Kanrel walked in front of her. He cleared his throat and began his explanation: "I¡¯ve recently encountered a small problem with my own research, and I would like your help with it."

    Oidus raised her eyebrow and asked, "What small problem? What research and why do you need my help with it?"

    Kanrel opened his notebook; in it was only his theory about gravitation and how one could use it with magic. "Since the challenge you gave us to lift a chair, I¡¯ve been experimenting with gravity; it was the first thing that I wanted to use to lift the chair after all.¡±

    Oidus leaned slightly forward in her chair.

    "Especially, I¡¯ve been experimenting with nodes of gravity, so forming a gravitational field or a spot in a location, for which I¡¯ve devised a code," Kanrel said and brought his notebook to her.

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    She took it from him and began reading. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she read it, but soon a smile found its way onto her face. That damn smile.

    "You¡¯ve got yourself quite the code, indeed. Based on this, I can already guess what the issues might be that you¡¯re dealing with."

    "So let me guess: using this code within the academy would more or less cause massive amounts of damage, and at worst it could lead to the deaths of innocent bystanders?" She asked, going through the code again.

    Kanrel nodded, "More or less, and I am unsure if I am successful in using the code even with the help of Yirn and Yviev," he added, taking the notebook back as she offered it to him.

    "So you want me to help you out of the academy away from the city first and then use the code for you?" Oidus asked.

    "Exactly."

    Oidus made a long sigh. "Sure, I can help you with that, but why would I?" She asked and got up from her chair, "If there is nothing in it for me, why would I help you?"

    Kanrel just stood there, his mind racing. What could she gain? Was there anything that she could gain? He could only think of her research, explosions, and implosions. So he went with the first thing that came to mind: "I think our current understanding of gravity is far too limited and possibly wrong in many ways, yet it is something that affects all; even magic has to take it into account."

    "Understanding and perhaps even mastering it could push us through to the next phase of the development of magic."

    Oidus, who was about to walk away, stopped in her tracks. She seemed to ponder his words until she scoffed, "You¡¯re probably right," then she let out another long sigh, "I suppose I won¡¯t lose anything if I help you, and perhaps you could mention my research to your mother; I would just love some investments into my research."

    Kanrel almost sighed in relief. "Does tomorrow work for you?"

    "Sure, now go tell the good news to your friends or whatever; I¡¯ve got better things to do for today," Oidus said, dismissing Kanrel with a wave of her hand.

    And as he was about to leave, she added, "You should visit more often; I have much hope for your future."

    Kanrel stopped with his emotions swelling up again; it took considerable effort to not demand answers at that moment. "I will make sure to do so," he managed to say before he walked out of the door.

    The rest of the day went by like a snail. He told the others that it would all happen tomorrow; they just weren¡¯t quite sure when specifically. But it was easy to assume that it would be after the evening, so almost at night.

    They quickly revised their plans so that they would all know where they were going and what to expect. Preparation is key to all things. They would have to be prepared for battle at worst if their entrapment code failed.

    Kanrel even prepared questions that he would ask her, and there were so many questions that he wanted to ask her.

    He went to his room a bit early and laid down on his bed. His mind raced with how things would go and how she would answer his questions. All the things that could happen, that could go wrong, that might go right. Everything and all.

    He was trapped for the rest of the day and on until very late at night by these circling thoughts, emotions of doubt, and anxious worries.

    Tomorrow felt so far away, and so did the answer, yet they were just behind the next corner that they would take.

    He saw a nightmare; it was the same nightmare that he had seen daily during their time at the hospital: he was tied to a bed, but instead of faceless men, there was just Oidus. He would try to move; he would try to yell; he would try to beg, but only screams would come out.

    He begged for mercy, but there was none in Oidus¡¯s eyes nor in her actions as she slowly approached him. In her hands was a rapier, which she slowly inserted not into his stomach but into his heart.

    Waves of pain and screams of agony trembled through his existence. Enough to wake him up from his nightmares, enough for him to scream even while awake. Enough for him to look for the rapier stuck to his chest¡ªto his heart. Just to find that there is nothing there.

    His heart beat quickly, like the drums of war. He looked around while sweat ran down his body. He looked for Oidus as tears fell from his eyes. Slowly, his body shivered no more, and slowly he calmed down.

    He knew it was early in the morning as he buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry. Why did he want to cry? Why would he ever cry? He gritted his teeth and let anger consume him for just a moment. He hit his bed hard, just to feel only the response of pain. He took his pillow and bit into it, just so that he could scream at the unjust world that he found himself in.

    Useless. It was all useless. He understood this as he slowly calmed down. He felt like he did on the day he awakened from the Ritual. They looked down on him; the Angels did. They must¡¯ve only felt pity and disbelief for those who chose to take this path.

    Surely they could not understand how useless a man could be, even when they looked from the heavens straight at them. They would only see men like him¡ªpowerless creatures that knew nothing and lived in doubt even when the answers were given to them. Even when power was granted.

    Surely they would have just one thing on their minds: If this is a man...

    If they had known before giving the gift to humanity, they would have let the Wildkin remove it from this world. This would¡¯ve been the true blessing that they could give to creatures like him. This he believed with all of his heart.

    He could not fall asleep anymore, so he let time slowly drag by as he just lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling. At least the ceiling was different this time.

    After a while, he got up and dressed himself. He figured that it would be early enough at last; it was difficult to tell at this time of the year. Out of his window, he only saw himself looking back. A useless man with tired eyes.

    With the strength that he had left, he opened the door and accepted that this would be his life. This is what it would be like for the rest of his time in this world. His outlook on things would not get better; things wouldn¡¯t get better. For what he was and what he felt were all seen through a lens much darker than the darkest of autumn nights.

    Today was the day when the truth would finally come out and set them free.

 Chapter Twenty-Two: An Ambush, Part Two

    It was late, and the sun had set hours ago. The four of them stood near the gates that would allow them access to the city outside the academy. Two guards were talking to each other, wondering if they should abide the outrageous demands of a priest or stick to the first commands given.

    The gates they used were located after the postal office and the law enforcement building on campus, so one of the guards went to the latter to receive permission to allow Oidus to leave the academy grounds with three murder suspects.

    Just based on this, it was certain that law enforcement had not made any progress in their own investigations of the matter.

    He returned ten or so minutes later with a piece of paper, a degree of sorts, that would allow her and the novices to leave the campus. But they would have to be back by noon, or they would send a couple of inquisitors to find them and then bring them back.

    The gates opened, and on the other side was the third-largest city in the kingdom. Around eighty thousand people lived there, and the city felt like it would never end.

    There were buildings everywhere, and even people were still walking during the darkest hours of the evening. They could hear bustling bars and pubs with loud music and joyful shouts coming out of them. Such places often had illegal activities connected with them, be it something that was mostly frowned upon like prostitution or the consumption of alcohol.

    There wasn¡¯t much variety with the buildings they went past; it was clear that the further they went away from the academy, the less money the people around them had. The shops weren¡¯t as nice, and the streets weren¡¯t as clean. And there was this feeling of unease when they had to go into a dark alleyway.

    Yirn was confident when guiding them through the city; after all, it was something that he was more than familiar with. His pace was fast, as he really didn¡¯t want to spend too much time in the city. Moving quickly also helped them avoid having to deal with unwanted attention.

    There was always the possibility of getting robbed, but their robes made it so that most would not dare to even approach them in such a manner, though they might taunt them as they went past.

    The city wasn¡¯t entirely surrounded by walls; only the inner city was, so the areas that were much richer and held much more "important" infrastructure of the city, like law enforcement offices or the city council. The city itself, with its walls, made it clear that there was a difference in class. An inherent difference in the people who called the city of Atarkan their home. Sure, all those who lived there called themselves "Atarkaneen", but the city was divided by physical barriers into sections of different people who had a different class in the society in which they lived.

    Those within the walls were mostly richer people who had much more power than those outside of them. Those who were outside the walls but nearer to them felt themselves different from those who lived on the outskirts of the city.

    Atarkan by itself was a city of considerable riches, but the academy that was within its walls was the main reason for the very existence of the city. It was the center of it and also had its own entity of governance and law separate from the city itself.

    The academy, with the funding it got from the kingdom and the many rich families that sent their spawn to study there, was far richer than the city that surrounded it.

    It would be easy for all men to see how unfair the world was if they walked through a city and paid attention to the things and the people they saw around them.

    After about an hour, they had finally reached the southern edge of the city. There would still be many buildings and people living outside this "edge," but they would quickly become few and far between as the city would end.

    They found themselves on the southern road that would lead them away from Atarkan; it was a busy road during the day, and they would travel about a kilometer to nearby hills that were surrounded by a sparse forest.

    It had been a long time since Kanrel had taken a step outside of the city or even the academy. If one spends their time in a cozy environment with a well-kept inner park which is almost a simulation of nature, it would be easy to forget just how unkept nature truly is.

    The leaves that had fallen from the many trees around covered the ground, and no one had swept them away. It also got much colder as they got further away from the city; frost had begun covering the leaves they walked on, and one could hear this crunch whenever a step was taken.

    There wasn''t any light around, not from buildings, just the moon that slightly showed itself from behind the clouds that covered it. If it rained, then it would snow.

    Oidus was nice enough to create multiple lights that would light their way through the forest. With the help of this, Kanrel could see mist coming out of his mouth when he exhaled, and he couldn¡¯t help but cough at times as the cold air tickled his throat when he breathed in.

    He had already begun sniffing, and it was virtually one of the only sounds that they could hear in the cold autumn night.

    They slowly scaled the hill, and at the top of it, they could only see as far as Oidus¡¯s lights allowed them to. The tops of some of the trees and the hilltop itself.

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    By shape, it was mostly plain, with grass covering the top of it. There were some loose rocks and stones, but those were in the minority at the top of the hill. During midsummer, many of the citizens would gather around the hill to see and listen to a sermon held by the Grand Priest. During his sermon, he would showcase his magic to the common people, and they could ask him for help with anything that they could think of. The Grand Priest would then grant them their wish or heal their injury, as long as it was something that he could do or achieve by magic.

    They weren¡¯t there for a sermon, as such.

    "Now then," Oidus said as she stood in the middle of the hilltop, "shall we begin?"

    Kanrel gave her his notebook so that she could begin casting the code. She seemed to read through the code continuously. "I¡¯ll have to do some minor altercations so that the code will better suit my way of using magic," she commented as she turned to an empty page and began to write.

    Yirn stared at Yviev and Kanrel in turn, and as an answer, he got a nod from both of them; it was the signal for them to commence their code of entrapment. In rapid succession, they began, and it didn¡¯t take long for Oidus to take notice. She had a confused look on her face at first and was about to say something.

    Suddenly, her movement stopped, and it looked like she was being forced to sit on the ground. She rapidly moved her eyes around as she began to curse out loud, "What in the name of the Angels do you think that you¡¯re doing?"

    "Are you mad? Are you, after all, the murderers you¡¯re accused of being?" She spat her words out, "Cleaver priestlings, you are... You¡¯ve not only blocked my movement but also my sight; if I cannot see then I cannot do anything other than talk, at least that you¡¯ve given me."

    "Silence," Kanrel said with all the authority that he could find within, "you are here to be questioned by us, and not the other way around." He walked closer to her; his hands were shaking, but he wasn¡¯t sure if it was because of the cold or the adrenaline coursing through his existence.

    They could all hear a long sigh come out of her: "Sure, what is the thing you want to know so much that you''ve got to commit a crime to find out?" There was defeat in her voice, or maybe just boredom.

    "Well, with the murders, we have a reason to suspect that you are either the person behind them or somehow related to them," Kanrel voiced out their accusation. Yviev was next to him, taking notes of the things that would be said. Yirn just stood there with his arms crossed.

    A silence answered them, but soon they could hear a slight chuckle: "Is that why you¡¯ve not visited me?"

    "Just tell me the truth."

    "I have nothing to do with the murders. Happy? Now let me go, and I won¡¯t leave you all battered and on the brink of death for this transgression," she said with a sweet smile on her face.

    "We have evidence," Yirn intercepted.

    For a moment, Oidus looked surprised, then her eyebrows furrowed. "You¡¯ve broken into my room, haven''t you? And there you found the jar with the ears."

    "A difficult thing to explain, indeed. I suppose you wouldn¡¯t just take my word for it if I happened to say that weeks prior it had been placed in my room?" She asked and soon continued, "Of course you wouldn''t."

    "What do you mean?" Kanrel asked in turn. There was still a voice in his head that wished that she would be innocent of all of the things that they accused her of.

    "You remember the day that the tongue was nailed to the wall at the laboratory? Before that, I found the jar in my room with a note that was very similar to the graffiti," she explained.

    "We can¡¯t just take your word for it." Yirn said his voice sounding almost sad: "What about the secret passage that leads into your room?"

    "What secret passage? Say things that make sense, boy," she said, and another bright chuckle filled the air.

    "The one behind the wardrobe in your storage room," Kanrel said. He almost believed her, but at the same time, lying was more than easy.

    "In my storage room? The one that is locked? If you¡¯ve been inside of it, then you must know how little things there are inside it; I never go there, nor do I ever put things in there," she explained. "And now you tell me about a ¡®secret passage¡¯?"

    "Tell me of this secret passage..."

    So Kanrel explained what they found there and how they first got there: the chambers, the engravings, the stone doors, and the words that were carved on the floors. And at last, the last chamber and the table in the middle of it; the note on top of it; and the words written: The truth shall set you free...

    A contemplative silence came between them, and it took a whole minute for Oidus to say anything. "That, indeed, is quite interesting," she said, then sighed again. "But I must be honest with you and possibly disappoint you in the process; I had no idea of such a chamber or a secret passageway, nor have I ever seen or written words even similar to those that were on the note you found."

    "I¡¯ve nothing to do with the murders, and hearing your tale, I can understand why you would come to such a conclusion."

    "If you now let me go, we can go through your gravity test, as you first proposed, and later we can investigate this chamber and its contents together."

    Kanrel swallowed; he really didn¡¯t know what to do now. On one hand, he didn¡¯t want her to be the person behind everything, and on the other hand, it was difficult to believe her; telling lies is easy.

    So he first looked at Yirn; their eyes met, and Yirn shook his head. It was clear that he didn¡¯t believe a single word that Oidus had just said. Then Kanrel took a look at Yviev, who nodded instead; she believed, or at least wanted to believe, Oidus¡¯s words.

    Kanrel scratched his head. He could take a leap of faith. If they now let her go and she was the murderer, she could easily dispose of them, and she could as easily tell the guards that they had tried to run away or attacked her, and everyone would believe her.

    The other option was to kill her. Taking her back to the city and then accusing her in front of everyone had too many risks involved.

    "We have to kill her," Yirn suddenly said. "It is the only thing that we can do."

    "No! If we kill her, how are we supposed to explain her not coming with us back to the academy?" Yviev expressed his disagreement.

    "We¡¯ll run away; we¡¯ll go as far as we can!" Yirn pleaded.

    Kanrel shook his head. "We have to let her go; this is the only option that goes according to everything we¡¯ve been taught," he said, and his decision would be final; it was two against one.

    If he truly were a priest, and a priest ought to do good, then that is what Kanrel shall do.

    Yirn suddenly scoffed. On his face, there was a weird facial expression; it looked like a smile, but one not as well practiced as the one he would usually show. The smile he now had on his face was a true smile: "Fine, have it your way!" He spat out his words loudly, and soon they were surrounded by people in dark robes, their faces covered with grotesque masks.

    They stood there, surrounded by individuals with weapons in their hands. "What is the meaning of this?" Kanrel asked.

    "The truth!" Yirn yelled and lunged an explosive ball of fire at them. They had been betrayed; they were ambushed.

 Chapter Twenty-Three: An Ambush, Part Three

    In shock, Kanrel barely managed to counter the flailing fireball that was sent their way. He smothered the fireball before it managed to hit its target, but soon there came another while the other attackers came from every direction with their knives out.

    A stab came at Kanrel, and he blocked it with his left hand, leaving behind a bloody wound. Pain ran through him, but he didn¡¯t have time to let it take over. He performed a code to heal the wound, then another to smother a fireball coming his way, and then he tried to form a third code to push the attackers away, but it wasn¡¯t powerful enough, so the attackers were only slightly faltered by it.

    But this gave Yviev enough time to prepare her code. Multiple ice spikes formed in different locations, and they all were aimed at the masked ambushers around them; they shot out at violent speed, but only one of them managed to hit its target. A scream of pain was heard as the spike ran through the ambusher, and he flew a few meters back.

    Yirn had only bloodlust on his face as he formed more powerful codes and even more of them at the same time. He was there to kill them, and only death could stop him. He lunged a fiery whip at Kanrel, who had to block it with an ice wall. Kanrel then took a few steps back, only to receive another stab, this time to his back.

    He quickly turned around while gritting his teeth. He punched the bastard in the face while forming ice spikes on his fists. Blood splattered out as the fist hit its mark. He followed this with a small ball of fire, which he slapped into the man''s neck.

    The ambusher screamed in horrible pain as his mask shattered into pieces and blood ran down his face. Behind the mask, only a bloody face could be seen, and icy spikes pierced into one of his eyes.

    The fire spread all around his robes, and the man had to lunge backward; he was sent running for his life.

    Another ambusher got to Kanrel and managed to stab his side, then another stab, after which a fireball hit him. Kanrel screamed as he once did during the simulations.

    Yviev was busy as well, and she was not left without wounds, which she skillfully healed soon after. She kept lunging ice spikes at them. She helped Kanrel as quickly as she could, as most of the ambushers were surrounding him.

    She could only heal the wounds and injuries that she saw, and there were many of them.

    Kanrel gritted his teeth and focused on just one thing, and one thing only: a code he was forming as quickly and as precisely as he could. And when it was finished, the ambushers who were stabbing him quickly found out that their attacks did nothing.

    Their daggers bent as they hit Kanrel; their confusion allowed him time to blow them away from him.

    Yviev found herself mostly blocking Yirn¡¯s violent attacks so that Kanrel wouldn¡¯t get constantly cut in half by the sharp ice whip, which he constantly struck with.

    They will not win if this continues. Yirn had the upper hand, and it was evident that his experience in combat was far greater than Yviev¡¯s and Kanrel¡¯s combined. Not to mention the nine attackers that were left standing, ready to buy Yirn more time to do as he wished. They had to do something quickly; otherwise, they would surely die.

    "Release me!" Oidus yelled from the ground; she was still unable to move or see what was happening around her. She would be their only hope; only she could save them from certain death.

    Kanrel let go of his part of the code and commenced his attack: "Do it!" Kanrel yelled as he began, in quick succession, forming different codes that would buy time for them. A mist quickly surrounded them as it formed into a thick fog, and from the fog he began launching different spells.

    Kanrel only knew where Yirn would be positioned, so he mainly focused his spells there, blunging ice spikes and fireballs in his direction.

    He would deal with the rest of the surroundings by freezing the ground and creating barriers around the position where Oidus and Yviev would be.

    Yviev removed her part of the entrapment code as the mist began surrounding them. She was on her knees in front of Oidus, who, even after the removal of two parts of the code, was unable to move or see. She would have to find the strands of Yirn¡¯s part of the code, which were most likely much greater than they had first thought.

    She slowly began removing the code that truly held Oidus in place.

    The fog soon disappeared as a strong gust of wind took it with it. Kanrel could see Yirn standing not far from him, on his face a grin that promised only death and in his hands an icy whip that soon struck at him.

    Again, Kanrel had to block it with a barrier just to miss multiple fireballs that were sent his way. They struck him and soon set his hair and robes on fire. In the cold night, he was no longer in flames; he formed a code as an answer. The fire was suddenly extinguished, but his body was covered with burn marks.

    From the left and the right, his barriers were removed and the ground was not frozen, so again he was under attack by Yirn¡¯s minions. They came at him with their knives in their hands; they would again be sharp and ready to pierce him.

    Kanrel focused on the coming whip and the fireballs that would follow. He formed a barrier to block them, and he then formed spikes that came from the ground in an upward motion, striking at multiple attackers all at once.

    He could hear a scream of pain filling the air around; it was like ecstasy for Kanrel as he killed three of the attackers once; two had their chests pierced with long icy spikes, and one had his skull pierced through.

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    Most of the attackers were pushed back, but one got to Kanrel and stabbed him with his knife.

    Pain didn¡¯t matter; in a moment like this, it wasn¡¯t allowed to matter. Even with his physical abilities impaired, his mind was still rushing with ideas and adrenaline. The moment the attacker stabbed him, he was already ready. An ice spike was ready; it came out of nowhere, from somewhere above, and stuck down on the attacker, crashing into his head, crushing and piercing its way through his skull until it stopped somewhere in his throat.

    Blood flowed as the now-dead man fell to the ground. Kanrel didn¡¯t have time to witness this, as he already had to form another barrier in his defense. He pulled the knife out of his back as multiple codes were healing the new wounds that had found their way onto his body.

    He was breathing heavily, as the pain had become more real than ever. He wouldn¡¯t last much longer, not with all the many things that he had to do. Not with his barriers breaking quicker than he could form new ones to place them. Not with the other six, who were ready to attack him again from all directions.

    "Kanrel¡­ Accept this truth that I have given you! Accept the death that I have thought for you!" A yell could be heard on the hill as Yirn screamed his nonsense; his attacks were growing swifter and his grin less human by the minute.

    Things were happening too quickly. In one moment, Kanrel had to block a coming strike of the whip, and then multiple fireballs and perhaps a few icy spikes followed. He had to accept a stab by one of the attackers, who were now much more careful with how they approached him, but still, they would not stop; they would not be afraid to die.

    He kept blocking, while at this point he was unable to form codes to counterattack. All that he could do now was block, parry, and dodge. The codes healing his body were more important than attacking back; if he stopped doing them, he would just die. He would be paralyzed with pain.

    He blocked the violent attacks for as long as he could, then was struck by one of them. It stuck flesh; it ripped it apart, pulling his chest and shoulder open. He flew a meter backward and hit the hard ground beneath.

    He couldn¡¯t breathe from the shock and from the pain. He couldn¡¯t move at first until he had to do something, as the attackers were already on him. Their knives ready to finish the kill. He tried to get back but soon found a knife in his stomach and then another one in his chest.

    He would die. He was unable to form any codes, and he was unable to react to the coming attacks. He was unable to do anything. So he would just die here. Like this?

    Like this.

    It wasn¡¯t as loud as it had been just moments ago. It was peaceful, and no sounds would come¡ªnot those of the battle, not screams of pain from his lips. Nothing. It would end here, and there would be peace at last for him. There would be nothing.

    Sadly, it wasn¡¯t allowed.

    The attackers were instantly killed, as Kanrel could see. His wounds started to rapidly heal as multiple far-too-complex codes for Kanrel to understand began healing him. His breath stabilized soon, and the world wasn¡¯t so dark or so soundless again.

    From the ground, he watched as Oidus stood in front of him, her back toward him. She was ready to end this fight.

    Yviev came to Kanrel¡¯s side and began going through his body, looking for anything that Oidus¡¯s codes might have missed. She pulled him further away from the battle and soon helped him sit up a little so that he might see.

    Kanrel saw as the attackers that were left had their heads blown off; they popped like balloons, but with blood splattering in many directions. They were not a match for her; she was a master, and they were nothing in front of her; they were less than the dirt that they walked upon.

    She looked at Oidus with a smile on her face, as if she found the whole situation to be a joke, one that was slightly funny to her. "My beloved student," she spoke as she blocked a spell that was coming her way. "You¡¯re no match for me, so why even try?"

    "Give up, and your death might be less painful," she promised, blocking the coming whip and shattering it into thousands of pieces that fell around them in a rain of ice.

    The grin never left Yirn¡¯s face. "Your kind disgusts me the most; a nameless that has become a mere hound for the Priesthood, a shill to powers that have lied to us, that have done wrong to us."

    He said this while pulling a necklace from under his robes; it was one none of them had ever seen before. A weird-looking thing shaped like a dagger that looked plain and old, it was made out of a dark material that was slightly luminescent.

    "Hail to the true God! Hail to the true magic! Behold; the truth!" He yelled and stabbed his chest with the necklace, which pierced deep into him. He stood still and watched only at Oidus, on his face the truest of smiles, a weird grin that lacked all humanity.

    "Fool..." Oidus scoffed and observed what would happen next.

    Dark gas came out of his mouth, followed soon by a liquid that flowed slowly out; his skin began crawling as if something wanted to come out, as if there were a thousand bugs inside trying to pierce the skin to be free.

    His arms twitched as a scream muffled by the flowing liquid could be heard. With his hands, he rapidly started to tear his skin, his flesh that was beneath, and as he did so, first came blood, then a gray-muscled body from under. Many hands pushed their way through his skin. He grew slowly in size, first only a meter, then another, until he was at least six or seven meters tall; his head exploded violently, and another head grew to take its place.

    The dark liquid covered the ground, and the necklace could still be seen in the middle of his chest. On his body, the dark gas danced around, as if he were much warmer than everything around him.

    They all looked up at the eldritch creature with eight hands, most of them growing out of its back, standing before them. Its head was similar to the grotesque masks that the ambushers had worn.

    It opened its mouth and let out a scream that could surely be heard kilometers away. It shook the ground beneath them, and even Oidus had to take a step back and the others had to cover their ears.

    A toothy grin came to the monster''s face as it took a step forward, perhaps the truest of Yirn''s smiles. The ground shook under its heavy weight.

    A flash of light.

    The creature stood still and didn¡¯t move for a few seconds. Then it took another step. Just to fall over, a loud thumb shook the ground violently, and the head of the creature rolled to the ground. It had been cut off cleanly; black blood spilled out from the neck, and the head of the horrible creature lay on the ground with a face of shock on its face.

    From above, a figure of light descended on top of the creature''s body¡ªan angel of light, a woman who looked at them. On her face, no expression existed; only serenity and holiness oozed out of her as if she truly were a god or an angel.

    She looked at those who were there and still alive; at last, her gaze fell on Kanrel. She smiled her unpracticed smile. "My son, are these the friends you wanted me to meet?" She asked and kicked the massive body that she stood on top of.

    Kanrel lost his consciousness as the first snows of the coming winter rained down on them.

 Part One, Epilogue: The Graduation and the Vows of a Priest

    Dreams are mostly nonsense, though there might be some truth to them. He believed that through dreams, humans lived through their worst fears and their greatest aspirations, but also through the mundane.

    In one dream, you¡¯re once again a child in your mother''s arms, crying as you breathe in her familiar smell. You¡¯re safe, and the world around you is beautiful. You¡¯re safe, and darkness has no place where you lay your head. You¡¯re home.

    In another dream, you¡¯re back at school. Going through days as you usually do. From lecture to lecture to book to book, trying to understand and learn about the world in which you exist. This life is simple; sure, it is boring at times, but its structure is something that you¡¯ll surely miss in your later years. These could be the best years of your life.

    But then there are dreams like the ones Kanrel saw. They were filled with betrayal. Filled with loss. Filled with things that make you bitter and that make you not want to trust. These dreams are nightmares, and they are the dreams that shape your fears and form traumas.

    All these dreams and nightmares¡ªthe fantastical, the mundane, and the hellish¡ªall shape you. One could do without some of them, but not without the rest. After all, a man is just a formation of experiences, and his dreams reflect those experiences.

    Kanrel lay in the hospital in a private room. His body was fine, yet his mind was weak, and he had no wish to move; he did not want to leave the warmth of his bed. The warmth in which he lay.

    There was a coldness within that refused to leave. A call that would have to be left unanswered. A priest ought not to remove himself from life. Not by force, not by your own hands.

    This coldness was just the coldness he had felt the last year or so; it was something that belonged to him, something inherent to him. Something that would now forever be there with him.

    How would anyone live with this? How could anyone move forward?

    It stung. Not the cold, but the truth that was given. Betrayal of an assumed friend. Soon followed by his timely death at the hands of his mother. Kanrel should be thankful, yet he felt nothing of the sort. There had been so many questions left unanswered.

    A motive could not be pinpointed; only one was assumed. This "truth" Yirn had spoken of and written about. An opposition toward the Priesthood and the Herald. All things that didn¡¯t make much sense to him.

    Now he felt like a fool who was led by someone who never had his best interests in mind. He did many things for Yirn¡ªmany things to please him, many things to help. And not once had he questioned the reason for those things or for those requests. Yirn had taken his hand and led him to this time and place. And nearly, just a small fraction away from death.

    Looking back, those things that should have been questioned became transparent¡ªmoments where Kanrel should¡¯ve been more suspicious of him. Him being almost always late to their meetings; how he just "happened" to find the eyes in the jars; how he "happened" to say the correct words to open the way to the chamber.

    How he was the one to suggest Oidus as the mastermind behind all of this¡­

    Kanrel was a fool¡ªan apparent fool.

    In his room, they had found no evidence; there were no words written, no loose blanks, nothing under the bed, and no connection to the attackers. Nothing, nothing at all. Only his actions spoke of his involvement in everything. There was no proof, other than the dead men, of the existence of a nameless anti-priesthood group. He had given no answers; his death had given no answers; there were only new questions that had to be answered, and those questions would be left unanswered. The truth would remain something unknown to him, perhaps for all time to come.

    Only if such a group would lift its head from wherever it was hiding could they get any answers to anything.

    The few days he had spent in bed were allowed because of his mother being there and because of the conclusions that were drawn from the investigations. He was innocent, and so was Yviev; everything that had happened was blamed on Yirn.

    The graffiti, the disappearance of the students and then their murders, their own faulty investigations into the murders, and then the actions they took against Oidus. And according to the "official investigations," Oidus had been the one who saved the two students from certain death.

    It was told that the murders were the work of a radical organization that had an anti-priesthood agenda and that their main target was Kanrel because of his ties to the Herald. There was no word of the eldritch monstrosity or how they had entrapped Oidus and questioned her. Nor was there a mention of the chamber that they had found; such things weren¡¯t for the public after all.

    Kanrel, Yviev, and Oidus were vowed into silence, and Oidus got some sudden investments into her research from the Herald herself.

    The whole situation was dodgy.

    He heard a knock at the door; it would either be a nurse bringing him food or Professor Forsvarn, who suddenly loved to visit him. She wanted to "naturally run into the Herald" or something.

    "Come in."

    The door opened, and a woman in her mid-forties entered the room; her hair was raven black, and her eyes were green. She wore simple gray robes, as did all the other priests. But her presence was something much greater; all could feel it. Normal people would feel it less so, but the priests could feel the anguish to its full potential.

    "Mother," he said, "you¡¯ve finally decided to pay me a visit."

    Her smile was like his, unpracticed and horrific by nature, but at least it was a genuine one, not one of the many smiles of Yirn that had held so many lies.

    "I was busy, and we both know that you are just fine and don¡¯t need to stay here," she pointed out, pulling out a chair. She ever so gracefully sat down on it. "Are you perhaps sulking? I never expected your teenage rebellion to come in your early adulthood."

    Kanrel scoffed. "We both know that this is the only way we will ever have this conversation."

    Her smile faded, and her usual serious look took over her face. It was a look of authority, of someone who knew that if she asked for something, it would be perceived as a demand, a wish that ought to be followed.

    "I suppose you have many questions to ask then," she said, crossing her arms on her chest. "Ask away, and I¡¯ll answer as many as I am allowed to.

    Kanrel raised his eyebrows and said, "Allowed to? The mighty Herald of the Gods isn¡¯t allowed to answer questions as she pleases?"

    As an answer, he only got a shrug.

    "Very well¡­ I¡¯ll start with the original questions that I wanted to ask of you: Why are the Otherkind mentioned only now and not before?"

    "Because now was the correct time to talk about them; the previous Heralds already had information about them, but they were not allowed to share that information with humanity."

    "Why? Do you have any proof of such earlier information?"

    "Because it is a sensitive topic for the Angels; there is something related to that, which I can¡¯t share, that is very sensitive to them. And as for proof, you can think of the location of this academy and take it as proof.

    "Do you perhaps mean the chamber?"

    "Yes, it is the reason why the academy was built here."

    "Was the chamber then built by the Otherkind?"

    "Yes," she answered simply.

    "What about the engravings within the chamber? What do they mean?"

    "They tell history¡ªwell, a prophecy; they were made before any of the things that are shown in the engravings happened. A long time ago," she explained, "but I cannot talk about that further; it is past the information that I am allowed to share."

    Kanrel sat in his bed and silently peered at his mother, who casually sat on her chair. She gazed back at him. It was difficult to tell if the things she said were the truth, but they were also the only things he would hear about them.

    "How about the necklace Yi-¡­ he used? The one that turned him into an eldritch monstrosity?"

    She shook her head. "I cannot tell you; I am not allowed to." She let out a sigh. "You may ask another question about another topic."

    Kanrel furrowed his brows, thought for a moment, and soon asked, "Does it have something to do with the Otherkind?"

    "Yes, in a way," she answered simply, "I will not answer further questions about the Otherkind."

    ¡°There is something he yelled before his death¡ªsomething about the true God and then the true magic¡­ What did he mean by these things?¡± Kanrel asked, but for these questions, he got no answers.

    "Why is the conclusion of the investigations so different from reality? Couldn¡¯t it at least tell of the existence of the chamber or of how we captured and questioned Oidus?"

    "Because the information given to the public is in the best interest of the Priesthood and the Angels, and in the best interest of you and your friend, Yviev."

    "I do not wish your friend''s future career as a priest to be ruined by her involvement, nor do I want that to happen to my son," she said.

    "Besides, there is something that is wanted of you."

    For a while, he could just stare at her. He couldn''t go against her wishes, so he listened.

    "You will be appointed as a priest to a village northeast of here, a few hundred kilometers away," she began her explanation. "There, your mission is the same as is the mission of any priest, but you¡¯re also to look for things that might be unusual, be it stories told by the locals about mysterious things."

    "Investigate them, and then report them via letter to me." She had said her commands, so she got up from the chair. "You¡¯ll depart right after graduation, so it is time to get up; it is time to stop sulking like a teenage boy and to take responsibility." She looked deeply into Kanrel¡¯s eyes and smiled her usual smile. "Meet your friends; say goodbye to them for now, before it is too late."

    She left the room and left the door open. Kanrel could hear from the other side the busy hospital atmosphere. He just sat on his bed and thought about the things that were to come. His curiosity had not been satisfied; instead, there were far more questions that needed answers.

    It was the last week of their studies and the last chance to be a part of the mundane that he would surely miss years from now, so he got up and faced the world. He had the last few days of classes to attend, not to mention friends with whom he had much to talk about.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    <hr>

    So bitter and tainted are all the memories that he had with him. They were ingrained with betrayal and questions: did he do even this just so that he could betray him later? What things were done out of the goodness of his heart, and which were done with the venomous intent that he had had from the beginning?

    What was the intent of all his words, all his actions, and all that he ever did to him? Was it all there just to lead him astray?

    He stared at the bench and at memories of that bench. It was covered with snow, and none had sat on it, perhaps since the first snowfall. He had been on his way to a lecture, one of the last ones that he¡¯d ever have here, but the sight of a simple bench had stopped him.

    Feelings are so difficult. For months, he had believed that he would not feel anything other than despair. Now he wondered if one could love another even when it wasn¡¯t so apparent. Did it really hurt so much to lose someone you only rationally thought of as a friend?

    He dared not look further, not at the bench, not into his own memories of it, nor into the difficult feelings that plagued him. He ripped his gaze away from it all, away from within, and marched onward, leaving behind the bench and the memories that had become sour.

    They stared at him as he sat down in the front row. Yviev was there, but she would only slightly look at him. The lecture was on, so it made sense that she would focus on that instead of him.

    Kanrel knew that somewhere, at the back of the class, Uanna and Wen would be sitting down like he was. Perhaps looking at him, pondering all that might¡¯ve happened if he truly had nothing to do with Yirn at the things that he had committed.

    Oidus kept lecturing like she usually did, in her own erratic manner, and Kanrel wrote in his notebook the things she said, as he had done thus far. It was like it had been before; it was just that on his right side, there was no one there. An empty place where Yirn would usually be.

    Sometimes Kanrel would casually, perhaps out of habit, look at where Yirn would¡¯ve been and what he would write on his notes.

    What was wrong with him? The enemy was no more; the murders were solved; his studies would soon be over; and he knew where to go after them¡­ So what was the issue?

    He wasn¡¯t his friend, not anymore. He wasn¡¯t even alive. He wasn¡¯t here; he wasn¡¯t there. He doesn¡¯t exist. Not anymore.

    Kanrel had stopped taking notes or even listening to the ongoing lecture. He just sat there and looked slightly to his side, where someone was supposed to be and where someone had been.

    He was confused; his mind would go blank, and the only thing¡ªthe only one he could think of¡ªwas him. Yirn. The coldness was there more so than usual; it slowly reached into his mind and took a stranglehold of it; it slowly pressured his chest and his throat.

    He swallowed, trying to swallow a piece that would not go away. He tried to breathe normally, but he felt like his head was underwater, as if he were drowning, as if he were under a blanket of darkness.

    Kanrel closed his eyes and slowly tapped his notebook with his pen, creating a slow rhythm in a classroom filled with the sounds of writing and the singing of a person holding a lecture. It was just another normal sound in a classroom.

    It dawned upon him, a slow realization that made him open his eyes again and look more openly at the position where Yirn had been and where his memory still remained.

    He was his friend. He was alive. He was here, and he was everywhere. He exists, or so he once did. He was with him at all times. His memory remained in the things that they had done together, in the places that they had frequented, and in the people that they had known.

    It was why it hurt so much. Not his betrayal, but what it had caused. He had lost a friend. But what hurt the most was that he had found that he couldn''t forgive him; he was unable to.

    At lunch, Kanrel sat with Yviev, Uanna, and Wen. In the loud atmosphere of the cafeteria, there was silence among them. Not a word left the lips of those who sat around the table. If a mouth were to open, no words would come out; only food would enter.

    Perhaps it felt as unbearable to others as it did to Kanrel, which is why he said, "Only a few days left, then we are no longer priestlings, no longer novices." The words felt awkward as he forced them out of his mouth.

    Uanna suddenly smiled brightly, as if she had been waiting for him to begin the conversation. "So you do talk! I was starting to wonder if I would ever again hear your voice." Her smile was that of habit and not because of true joy, but perhaps she would¡¯ve truly felt joy in that moment if it had been before the Ritual.

    Kanrel answered her smile with a smile of his own: "The last few days have been a bit... confusing." He said, and uncertainty could easily be heard as he stumbled upon the last word.

    "But, I suppose, one can only move forward," he continued, his smile slowly fading. "It can be difficult to look back and not feel bitter."

    Yviev listened intently as he spoke. She slowly put her fork down and cleaned the sides of her mouth with a cloth. "Have you decided what you¡¯d like to do after graduation?"

    "Professor Forsvarn seemed disappointed when he mentioned you not too recently," she quickly added. At last, she looked at Kanrel, as if no longer afraid of looking at him.

    "I will become a village priest, so I am more or less doing the thing that Wen wanted to do," Kanrel explained. He could¡¯ve told them the full truth but chose against it.

    The others nodded. "I think it will do you good," Yviev said, patting Kanrel on the back. "Having something to do will keep your mind at bay; the Angels know we all need that."

    It all felt awkward, but it was better than nothing¡ªbetter than spending the last days that they would perhaps ever meet in silence. They promised to write to each other as often as they could, at least once, to tell the others what the mission was that they were appointed to by the Priesthood after graduation.

    So the days went by, doing the usual things a novice might do at the Academy of the Heavenly. Though with a lot less erotic novels and skinny dipping in the moonlight, and not because they wouldn¡¯t want to do such things, but because it was far too cold and there were better things to read.

    They wouldn¡¯t meet at the laboratory but instead at the cafeteria and the library across it; there were too many sour memories in their usual gathering places.

    The last day came quickly, and all the novices had to gather at the cathedral. A year ago, they had the Ritual there; they all descended the stairs; they had lost the gift of joy to gain the gift of power that was the curse of magic.

    The grotesque angels looked down upon them, as they always did, but one gets used to such things after a while. That feeling was something they were used to, but not the feeling that laying your gaze on the Herald of the Gods did.

    She stood under the great angel of the painting behind her; her gaze was on them, as was the gaze of the angel. She was grand; she was much more powerful than anyone present. Her knowledge was infinite before this sea of novices and even priests that had come there to listen to her words and to her preach.

    There was anticipation in the air and a disgusting flow of magic that ran through everything¡ªa feeling much more potent than that of the laboratory. Her anguish was there for all to see, and they all found themselves within its grasp¡ªthe slow waves that would make them think that their own suffering was nothing¡ªeven that was nothing here, before her, or under her gaze.

    "The first Herald wrote as follows in the book that would become the Book of the Heralds: Feeble was the moment before nothing; for a moment, I felt everything¡ªall the joys and feelings that anyone can feel¡ªit was ecstasy, life was beautiful, and I was happy¡ªbut after a mere moment, there was nothing. Just the darkness in my mind and the mist that now clouds it."

    "This was her experience of the thing that most priests know as the descent; her¡¯s was much more cruel than the one that you went through; it is also the same that every Herald has to go through. At the moment in which I was chosen by the Angels to be the next Herald, I went through that very same experience; all of the Heralds went through it."

    "So not once but twice I have lost joy just to gain power."

    As she spoke, her gaze traveled through the faces of all of those who were there¡ªeveryone who had found their way into the cathedral at that moment. Then she turned around and looked at the angel behind her. "It is unlikely for anyone to truly see an Angel, to bask in their glory, to truly feel filthy and useless before a creature greater than anything; yet I feel regret, as certainly do all of you."

    She again faced the crowd and said, "That regret is something that will never go away; it will haunt you for the rest of your lives, as will the ever-present despair that gnaws at your existence."

    "The life of a priest is not easy, but it will not be difficult either; your life is to be dedicated to service, not just for the Angels, but for the people that are around you."

    "Out there is a world with far greater anguish, despair, and pain than any of us have truly ever felt. It is for us to carry a fraction of this torment."

    "Thus I stand before you on this day to accept you as part of the Priesthood, as part of this sacred mission given to us by the Angels; recite thy vows!" She commanded, and the novices and priests alike declared their faith and vows in unison:

    "In the name of the Angels, the Heralds, and the Priesthood, I pledge my life to the vows of duty that are given to us by the wishes of the Angels.

    I vow to carry this torment without taking a life away from innocence; without succumbing to corruption or to a hunger for power; without killing myself; or without leaving those who are in need.

    I vow that this duty I shall withhold, this duty I shall keep, and I vow that if I go against it, I shall receive the judgment of the Angels. May they witness and hear my words, and when I stand from my knees, I shall carry the mantel of a priest."

    At last, when the last phrase was proclaimed, the novices stood up, and now that they were standing, they were priests of the Priesthood.

    The Herald looked down upon them, and it was like her existence was illuminated by something¡ªanother existence¡ªand thus she spoke: "We have seen and heard your vows, and they are accepted; now go and fill the duties that are given." Her voice echoed that of another; a more powerful presence lingered in the cathedral, one that wasn¡¯t disgusting like that of the priests but one that was warm and joyful.

    For a moment, even Kanrel felt happy, but that was soon washed away with a wave of despair.

    Those who had just been novices were now priests, and one by one they were called upon the altar at the front of the cathedral. There, the Herald gave them a letter in which there would be their assignment until otherwise told.

    There were so many potential places for all of them to go; some would become inquisitors, some would wander the kingdom, preaching and helping those in need, and some would find themselves in hospitals. Just a few things out of so many.

    Kanrel already knew his assignment, but either way he received his letter, as did everyone else. Before giving the letter, his mother stared at him for a moment longer and even patted him on the head. Then he, too, was dismissed from the cathedral and from the academy as a whole.

    They all now had to pack their things and adequate equipment for their journeys that had begun. It was a cold winter day as Kanrel marched out of the academy and into the city outside. He knew where he would be going.

    After he reached the hills on the eastern road that would lead further into the north and the village that would be somewhere there, he looked back at the city and saw the massive complex that was the Academy of the Heavenly in the middle of it.

    Dreams are what he thought they were. But the mundane dreams of your times at school can easily be soured, and even those dreams could soon become nightmares. Then what else would there be left, other than the sweet memories of your mother''s embrace and the nightmares of everything else?

    So bitter had become the memories that he once had of his time at the academy, and he had barely just left them behind.

    Where do you find within yourself to dream again if all that is left are nightmares?

    ---The End of Part One---

 Part Two: In a Village Up Northâ€”Prologue: Through Winter

    Kanrel sat in a small cave he had found a few hours earlier. There was a campfire; he kept it afire and shivered in its warmth. To say that it was cold was an understatement. It was the most cold that he had ever experienced; it was more cold than he thought possible.

    His robes weren¡¯t really enough. So he had to, at all times, manipulate the air around him to survive. He made it warmer so that at least he could walk more or less normally. This had been his life for about two months.

    At first, it really wasn¡¯t that bad, and the journey was going like a breeze, but after the first week or so, he found himself surrounded by snow and the constant harsh wind that whipped him from a given direction in what seemed like a whim.

    After just a few months, it was obvious that it was insane to journey by foot to a village that was in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter. Whose idea was it in the first place? Would his mother be this cruel?

    He huddled closer to the fire. The flames flickered in the dark cave, casting shadows on its walls. The dance of the shadows was alluring, inviting, and enticing him to sleep. He didn¡¯t want to sleep, for dreams haunted those who suffered.

    It was better to stay awake for as long as possible. And then to hope that when he eventually fell asleep, there¡¯d be no dreams¡ªjust the darkness similar to the one that was during the ritual.

    The cold itself wouldn¡¯t be the thing that would kill him; it was starvation. He had rationed food through the whole journey, and soon he¡¯d run out. For how long would Kanrel even survive without food? Days? Weeks? Months?

    Especially when he hadn¡¯t eaten well for about a month. The last time he had a good meal was during the previous settlement that he had visited. A small village, much smaller than the one where he was going. The family that housed him was honored to have him there; they hadn¡¯t once met a priest.

    So they offered him a place under their roof, food, and human contact¡ªconversations that gave him much information about the journey ahead.

    To make it all worth their time, Kanrel offered his services to them; he helped them remove snow from the roof and around the house where they were staying. They¡¯d all be covered by snow soon enough, but it still helped a little.

    During that same night, he found himself having a long conversation about the angels and the Priesthood. The family was very curious about some of the things that they had heard about them; they wanted to know if priests truly felt no enjoyment.

    He missed that warm house, the food they had offered him, and even the company. But instead of that warmth, he was stuck here. In a small, cold cave, he was sniffling like it was his only hobby and shivering when he could¡¯ve been indoors, in a house.

    His stomach growled as he went on to dig through his backpack for almost the last scraps of food that he had left with him. Jerky and a piece of dry bread¡ªthe constant cold had at least kept it more or less good to eat. He warmed the bread with a basic code and then bit into it; there wasn¡¯t much taste, just a texture that was fairly wet in his mouth. Then he bit into the salted piece of jerky, only to find that there was no taste.

    Food remained as ash, even when he was hungry enough to enjoy almost anything. He slowly ate what he had gotten out of his bag; tomorrow would be the last day he would have anything to eat, maybe for the rest of his life, and even that he would not enjoy.

    He lay down near the fire, on the cold floor of the cave. He closed his eyes and hoped that there¡¯d be no dreams to be seen and no pain to be remembered. There''d be no more sour memories to live through¡ªno more of a face that he didn¡¯t wish to see.

    A warm hand took his and pulled him closer. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you; my name is Yirn,¡± the man said to him. His smile was sweet, and it remained difficult to see it any other way.

    A sharp pain stuck in his head, and he almost fell over. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Yirn asked, and concern could be seen on his face. How was he always like this? So human, even as a priest.

    Kanrel tried to answer, but no words came out. Only more pain struck his head; it ran down his spine just to explode in his chest. It was difficult to breathe. It was difficult to open his mouth¡ªto give an answer to a friend. It was difficult to keep hold of Yirn¡¯s warm hand. So he let go, and the pain went away.

    There was darkness, and he was no longer there. There was darkness from which a light pierced through in a beam of a thousand colors. It shone through everything and all. There was light, and its beauty was true. But for just that one moment, for the gray soon came after. Slowly climbing out of him, bursting out of his mouth and out of his eyes.

    Kanrel could see himself; he could see how the gray came from within, how it submerged everything around him, how the light died, and how beauty was no longer a thing. How the sound of his own screams woke him up.

    The cave was dark, and it was cold. The campfire had extinguished long ago. He got up as his body trembled in the cold. It took considerable effort to form another code to give birth to another fire¡ªto not let the shock of reality be conquered by the nightmare.

    He couldn¡¯t sleep again; he wouldn¡¯t. The rest of the night he spent warming the whole cave; for just this one night, it would be like a home to him, like that warm farm he had spent just a day in. The last crumbs of bread and the last slice of jerky would be the great feast that they had prepared for him.

    Ash spread in his mouth, as there was no taste to enjoy. But he ate it like it was his last meal. He ate it as if he could enjoy it. As if he were the man he had been before the ritual. To no avail, he tried to subdue his hunger. He tried until all he had left to eat had entered his mouth and gone down his throat.

    Then he sat still, searching from the fire before him for anything that would bring him comfort. A way out of here. There was nothing there. The shapes of the fire meant nothing; it was just fire, just warmth. The only thing that he had around him, but even then, the cold that was within overruled it. Made its meaning to be less, to be naught.

    He gave up, got his things, and left the cave behind. Left its warmth and took steps into the snow. He knew the direction from which he had come, so he went the opposite way. Around him just the snow and tall spruce trees, those too covered by the snow. The world was more white than was necessary.

    The cold breeze came from the west, where tall mountains would be, and based on them, he could at least figure out that he wasn¡¯t going in the wrong direction. When it was darker, he could use the stars to navigate his way toward the north.

    But in the dim morning light that he had, he could only figure it out by using the mountains and the sun. There wouldn¡¯t be many hours of that either, and when it would be midday, the light would illuminate the snowy ground below, making it a bright mess that one didn¡¯t much want to look at. At times, it would feel like staring at the sun itself.

    With each step, the grinding sound of him stepping on the snow could be heard. It was constant and something he would love to be without. He wanted to hear something different for once, preferably the sound of wood under him or the sound of a floor on which he could walk. The sound of civilization. There was nothing like that here. There was just the snow, the trees, and even more snow.

    He let his mind wander as he walked forward, toward a destination that might as well not exist. He tried not to let his mind drift too far into the hunger or the cold that he was feeling. By midday, he had no idea how much he had walked. And when dusk came, he still had no idea. He only knew that he had probably made some progress. He was probably closer to the village than he had been in the morning unless he was going the wrong way.

    He just didn¡¯t dare to think of such a possibility; he had to believe that he knew where he was going. Otherwise, doubt would crush him under its weight. He would much rather let hunger and cold kill him than despair. He had enough despair for everyone.

    In death, would there be peace? Something similar to the peace that he had felt before he was rudely awakened back into this cold reality of his. Would there, even in death, exist despair? Would the angels not allow even that for a priest? Would he find himself in a lingo of constant torture of a darkness that would cover him, only allowing him to feel the agony that he had felt thus far?

    Would they be so unfair?

    As night came, he found no cave to make his own. He could stop now or try to find something in nature to cover him; he didn¡¯t want to spend the rest of his strength digging a hole in the snow. Sure, there was plenty of snow for that, but walking forward felt right.

    If he were to die tonight, then let it at least be closer to the destination. He would rather die than see more nightmares. So he kept walking. Perhaps he would die not too far away from someone''s home. Maybe his frostbitten body would be found by some poor bastard who had never seen a priest in their lives. Maybe he would die on a field of snow, and when the summer came, he¡¯d slowly become part of the ground; he¡¯d slowly be eaten by maggots and other nasty things.

    Maybe he¡¯d soon stop hearing the snow crunch under his feet. How lovely would that be? Kanrel forced a smile on his face. Maybe he¡¯d die with a smile on his face; the person who¡¯d find his body would falsely believe that he had died happy.

    It was just dark, and the light he had created was the only light that there was. Not even the stars wanted to grace him with their existence. They must¡¯ve been too shy to see him and welcome him into their arms.

    So he walked in the sea of darkness around. Dodging trees that were on his way, soon climbing a hill just to find more darkness on the other side of it¡ªmore trees and more snow. At least the snow reflected his light a little. Soon, the forest was less thick, and trees became scarcer. The hill began to slope down until there were no trees around.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    From the edge of the hill, he could see a lonely light in the middle of the darkness. Around it, there was perhaps nothing. It just stood there, inviting him to come closer, inviting him to come into its arms.

    That light would be his guiding star.

    He went ahead with a newly found strength coming from somewhere within. He couldn¡¯t really feel his legs, but they still carried him down the hill, onto what seemed like a field. The snow on top of it carried his malnourished body; it wouldn¡¯t let him sink into the deep snow that covered the ground beneath.

    He tumbled his way through the field, closer and closer to the light. That orange light. As he came closer, he could feel tears flowing down his cheeks. The cold and the pain it caused him made every step a difficult one.

    He went on for perhaps a few hundred meters. Soon, his light and the light of a house met. It grandly stood in front of him, coming out from a small window next to what seemed like a door. It lit the terrace and the stairs that would lead him to the door.

    He could see a figure in the window that soon disappeared. The door opened, and a person stood before it, looking outside¡ªlooking at him.

    It was apparent that one must be crazy to travel hundreds of kilometers in the dead of winter, even if one is a priest.

    From the eyes of the man that now stood before him, who had seen his light and now him, it could be understood just how crazy Kanrel was.

    He probably thought it to be his own imagination, but lo and behold, a man in thick gray robes walked his way, holding a light that had no physical source. Kanrel climbed the stairs and stood in front of him.

    ¡°You must be one of those priests, eh?¡± The man asked and received a nod as an answer. "Bloody hell, ain¡¯t you a foolish punch, practically suicide walkin¡¯ ¡®ere durin¡¯ winter,¡± the man peered at him from head to toe. ¡°Then again, you ain¡¯t lookin¡¯ like you walked for that long."

    Kanrel did some quick calculations in his head: ¡°Maybe two months; I lost count along the way.¡±

    The man stared at the aloof young man for a longer time than was perhaps necessary. ¡°Right, must¡¯ve lost his mind; come in then. They say letting a priest stay the night is good luck... But they do say that it¡¯s bad luck as well; I guess we¡¯ll find out soon enough."

    He walked to his door and shouted, ¡°Betty! We¡¯ve got one of those gray-wearing freaks out here! He says he¡¯ll stay the night!¡±

    He went in and looked back at Kanrel. ¡°Come in then! We haven¡¯t got the wood to warm the whole world!¡±

    Kanrel let out a long sigh and did as he was told. It seemed that the people who lived in remote villages weren¡¯t that up-to-date with what the priests did. He didn¡¯t stand there for much longer and walked indoors. He was welcomed with warmth and a smell that probably meant food.

    <hr>

    Warmth was like a forgotten memory that came back in a flood. Hunger roared through him as the smell of food filled his nose. Kanrel looked around the fairly large house and found it to be a little more than what he had first expected it to be. Looks from the outside can be so deceiving.

    Homely is how he would¡¯ve described it before. The fireplace that heated the place, the table that wasn¡¯t too far away, and the multitude of chairs that surrounded said table. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the sounds that came from out there¡ªthe cold wind that had harassed him all the way from the academy to here.

    Where was here? He wondered as he followed the man, who had a graying beard and a receding hairline. It was easy to see that the man had lived a long life, and it might be that he had always lived in this house and on the lands that surrounded it. Then again, was there really a reason to leave? Life was simple here, even with all the complications that might present themselves.

    The man pulled up a chair to sit on and gestured for him to sit as well. Kanrel took his bags and gently placed them on the floor. He went ahead and sat down near the fire pit while looking around and observing his new surroundings. Who was this Betty? And where might she be?

    ¡°So, friend, I assume, what brings the likes of you so far north?¡± The man said he stroked his beard as any older gentleman would, out of sheer habit.

    Kanrel massaged his hands together, trying to get rid of the rest of the cold that was in his body.

    ¡°I am to be stationed here; that is all I know,¡± he said, still going through his surroundings.

    ¡°Welcome then; it''s been a long time since I¡¯ve seen one of your kind¡ªmaybe ten years or so?¡± The man seemed to talk to no one in particular. His expression shifted from a thoughtful one to one with clearly visible sadness; it was like he had just remembered something. ¡°Back when Betty was still here,¡± he muttered loud enough that Kanrel could hear him.

    He stopped looking around the room and instead stared at the older man. ¡°My name is Kanrel Iduldian, a priest of the Priesthood. It is a pleasure to meet you and a great honor that you would share your house with a stranger like myself.¡±

    The man snapped out of his previous grief. ¡°Don¡¯t know ¡®bout honor and such, but a pleasure it might be,¡± he declared with a half smile on his face. He offered his hand to Kanrel, who took it instantly; his hand was rough, and one could tell that it was a hand that had worked its entire life, ¡°Rant Jenkse.¡±

    They shook hands, after which Rant stood up from his chair. ¡°You ain¡¯t lookin¡¯ like you ate for ¡®bout a week, and I was just ¡®bout to eat dinner myself,¡± he explained as he walked to the fireplace, in which there was a small pot hanging over it. He used a metal hook to pick up the pot from the fireplace and placed it on top of a wooden pot coaster that was in the middle of the table.

    Then he brought two bowls, two spoons, and a loaf of brown bread, which he placed on the table. ¡°I don¡¯t have much prepared, but it''s better than nothin¡¯,¡± Rant said, lifting the lid from the pot. From under it came a great amount of steam, and soon one could see a kind of soup.

    ¡°You know much ¡®bout crop rotations?¡± The man asked suddenly, and at the same time, he put a couple of scoops of soup into both of the bowls.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know much, but if I recall, first, you¡¯d plant something like rye, after which you¡¯d plant potatoes, and so forth, to keep the land fertile,¡± Kanrel shared what limited information he had about it.

    ¡°More or less, though it¡¯s a lot more complicated than that, but basically last season was potatoes, which is all I¡¯ve been eatin¡¯ the last few months,¡± Rant said. ¡°A bit dull after a while, but what you gonna do? Starve the winter? But I¡¯ve gotta say, I might be the best potato cook the land''s ever seen!¡±

    The sadness returned to his expression: ¡°If you don¡¯t count Betty, that is."

    Kanrel took a spoonful. It didn¡¯t taste like anything, but it was warm, and it was food, so he ate with such swiftness that Rant was left just looking at him go, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a priest enjoy food in all my life; hunger truly changes the hearts of men!¡±

    Kanrel smiled his usual stiff smile. ¡°It is the best thing I¡¯ve had in what feels like an eternity; the past weeks I¡¯ve been eating dry bread and jerky; I ran out of it this morning,¡± he explained, scooping himself some more soup.

    Bread and soup was a combination that would be heavenly for any starving man; it went down easily, and it was something that would fill his stomach to the brim.

    They ate mostly in silence. Rant would at times ask a few questions about his journey, even confirming that he was indeed not crazy and had actually traveled for a few months in the dead of winter. And he did, of course, call him a ¡°fool¡± for doing something so "foolish."

    Rant prepared a place to sleep for Kanrel in the small guest room. The room was filled with little things; of course, there was a bed and a table to put your things on, but there were also plenty of random things.

    On the shelves, there were different types of rocks¡ªrocks of various types and different colors¡ªa rock collection. Rant explained that the room was for his sons, who lived closer to the village with his family. His son worked in construction, and his specialty was masonry.

    Though apparently, he hadn¡¯t much visited recently.

    You can easily miss the most simple of things, especially when you haven¡¯t had the chance to be in contact with such things. A bed, a blanket, a table, and even something as simple as a chair. One can miss those things and only appreciate them when they¡¯re gone. And when one comes in contact with it again, it won¡¯t take long before the simple things become mundane again, and you seldom even think about them.

    Kanrel would not be able to enjoy said things, so tomorrow he wouldn''t be emotionally able to appreciate them. He would have to actively think of the fact that he now had those things.

    Sleep came quickly, and the darkness swallowed him, just to carry him to the next morning. There were no nightmares, just the comfort of nothing and the comfort of not remembering anything.

    The next morning, for breakfast, they had the same food they had the day before. It was still dark outside, but the darkness would soon be subdued by the light in just a few hours. When it would be so, Kanrel would leave the old man¡¯s house behind and seek out the village, which was bound to be near.

    ¡°How far is the village from here?¡± Kanrel asked after they had had their breakfast.

    "It''s ¡®bout an hour''s way north; you¡¯ll see it when you arrive,¡± Rant explained. ¡°I would like to ask for a favor,¡± he then added.

    ¡°Sure, anything.¡±

    ¡°You see, I don¡¯t know how to write or read, but my son does; could you write a letter for my son?¡±

    Kanrel gave a nod of agreement and went to get his back. He got his notebook and a pencil, set them on the table, and waited for the man to begin.

    ¡°When will you visit home? It is lonely here, and it won¡¯t be long before my time is over,¡± Rant began. ¡°The nights are getting colder; I¡¯ll be dead by the end of winter.¡±

    Kanrel began writing but stopped before he reached the end of the last sentence. He looked at the man sitting across him; the sadness still remained on his face; it was there, and it was more apparent than it had been last night.

    ¡°Are you sick somewhere?¡± He asked. Maybe there could be something that he could do.

    ¡°Yes, but it is a sickness no man or priest can heal,¡± Rant explained. ¡°I am old, and it hurts everywhere; since Betty has been gone, I¡¯ve felt empty and so lonely. So I suppose I have a sickness of the mind as well.¡±

    Kanrel just stared at him in silence. There really wasn¡¯t much that he could do for him other than write the letter for him. ¡°I could write you a will as well,¡± he soon offered.

    ¡°A will? What¡¯s that then?¡±

    ¡°After you¡¯re dead, it will state who gets your property and all the earthly things that you have left behind,¡± Kanrel explained and then looked around. ¡°Your house seems like an old one, and you¡¯ve probably lived here all your life; it would be a shame if it was left unattended after your departure.¡±

    Rant seemed to think for a while, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it go to my son anyway?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but there¡¯d be no question, and no one could argue that he wouldn¡¯t be the rightful owner of this property and the lands adjacent to it.¡±

    ¡°It is something nobles do quite often, and wealthy landowners and merchants usually need a priest to be the one to witness it and to write it down,¡± Kanrel added.

    Rant thought for another moment, ¡°Would it cost anythin¡¯? I don¡¯t have much gold."

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°No priest would or should ask for anything for his or her services; besides, you¡¯ve housed me for the night and fed me twice; you¡¯ve saved my life out of the goodness of your heart; who would I be to demand anything of you?¡±

    Rant smiled a little; the sadness remained in his smile, yet he said, ¡°Priests do seem to bring some good luck; I¡¯ll accept your offer.¡±

    Kanrel finished writing the letter that Rant had dictated for him to write. Kanrel then made him sign the letter himself, teaching him how to write his own name. He then added the assumed date that it was written on, also writing a mention of who had written the message as well as the fact that they¡¯d draft a will for Rant Jenkse.

    Soon after, they began working on the man¡¯s will. In its simplicity, the will held in it the information of all the things that Rant owned, the lands, the property, and the things inside the property. He wasn¡¯t wealthy in the sense of money at his disposal, but he had plenty of land, which seemed to be prosperous. And most of the money he had, he would invest in his son''s business.

    He made two copies of the will, and when they were both done, Kanrel made Rant sign them.

    which he took some wax and sealed them both. One of them he gave to Rant, ¡°I suggest that you place it somewhere safe, probably into your bedroom; I will keep hold of the other one, and I will be in contact with your son.¡±

    Rant made a nod and received the other will for himself: ¡°I suppose this is goodbye then?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Yes, for now, it is; I¡¯ll be sure to visit you again before your departure,¡± Kanrel promised. He packed his things, got his bag, and was ready to leave. For the last time, he looked at Rant, who stared at him, holding on to his will and pressing it against his chest. His stare wasn¡¯t direct, and it only at first seemed like he was staring at Kanrel; instead, he looked beyond¡ªwho knows where?

    Kanrel opened the door and soon closed it behind him. As he went down the stairs back onto the snowy ground, he wondered if there really wasn¡¯t anything else that he could do. No one can heal the ails of age; everyone will die in the end. And it was true that none could survive time, but even in its inevitability, it remained a sad reality.

    Perhaps he could at least find his wife in death. If there was such a possibility, if there was such a thing as life after death.

    Soon the house in the middle of the snow was left behind, and he kept walking northward. It was midday again, and light graced his way through the winter scenery that he walked through, and after that hour, he saw it. Surrounded by snow fields, the mountains far from west to north, and the forests to the east.

    A village much larger than he had anticipated. Hundreds of houses of different sizes, some made out of wood and some out of stone. This would be the place where he¡¯d spend the foreseeable future. One of those houses would be his to live in, or so he hoped. Having to share a house with someone wasn¡¯t something he really wanted to do.

    He prepared himself mentally; the day was short, and there was so much that he had to do.

 Chapter Twenty-Four: A Pub and a Barmaid

    Even through the darkest and coldest months, people lived. Kanrel believed that out of all the things that humans were capable of, survival was their greatest talent. By now, it must¡¯ve been so.

    No matter the temperature, no matter the lack of food, no matter their surroundings, they managed to survive. One could, with great justification, compare humans to roaches. Though roaches are just disgusting, they are not nearly as bad as humans can be. Do roaches have a concept of murder?

    Roaches have no understanding of morals and ethics; humans do, yet they are unable to abide by them. Roaches are what they are, and so are humans, but at least roaches dared not insist that they were something great or something more than they are.

    Despite all these things, humans can be quite admirable. And this village was proof of it. A small settlement in the middle of nowhere, far away from greater civilization, far away from the large cities with their constant hurry and organized crime.

    Here, there was hurry, but it was less so, and crimes were most often just accidental things done by confused elderly or by children who didn¡¯t know any better. One had to understand that it would always be like this, for how else would they entertain themselves?

    Most of the houses were quite small; each place must¡¯ve had only a couple of rooms at best. But then there were the outliners¡ªthe large building, which was most likely a tavern or a pub. There was also a temple, which did seem like a place no one had entered in a long while.

    The place he was looking for was the mayor''s house; if this village had such a thing, any form of local government would do. So he entered the pub; after all, it was known far, wide, and in between that the most astute intellectuals of the known world spent most of their time in a pub, preferably with a drink in hand, and other intellectuals around themselves so that great conversations of philosophy could be had. And so forth.

    While walking in the snow closer to the building he was suspecting to be a pub, he could already smell it. No, not the beer, not even the barf, but the piss. He could also see it in the corners of the lovely establishment. Yellow snow would only mean one thing: a large gathering of intellectuals.

    He opened the door and was invited in with the sound of loud chatter and the smell of tobacco and ale, but most importantly, there was warmth. He closed the door behind himself and entered deeper into the pub, where men and women were gathered around small tables.

    They would talk about a variety of things, most of which made no sense to him:

    ¡°...Dan then shat himself, right there and then! Never thought a wolf would run away so fast!¡±

    ¡°I did not! But I do remember when ourstruly ¨C Hernet ¨C decided to court the Janderin wench! What did you say to her again? ¡®I¡¯ve got just ale and the taste for ale; can we therefore elope?¡¯¡±

    The table of young men burst into laughter; they raised their cups and clanged them together, soon downing them in quick succession.

    Not once had Kanrel had the chance to taste the brown liquid they call ale. And hearing the conversation, he did believe that he ought to give it a chance, but maybe another day.

    He navigated his way through the packed open space, with multiple tables scattered around it. He was looking for anyone who might be more sober than the people inhabiting those tables. Soon he found a tall maiden who stood behind a bar desk, at which there were many people sitting, drinking their drinks, and having small talk.

    The woman was imposing with her beauty and harsh with her words; the men at the bar could either drink and pay for their drinks or fuck off. She would not deal with the harassment of drunken bastards - unless they paid well; money was always welcome in her lucrative establishment.

    So she eyed the young man approaching her desk; from head to toe, she looked for anything that screamed wealth. Perhaps she saw something, perhaps nothing, as she brought on her face a wide smile: ¡°Lad, anything I can do for ya? A drink, a room, perhaps some food, maybe all of these things combined, and more?¡±

    Her voice was husky, which made it clear that she was quite the smoker. Tobacco wasn¡¯t a thing Kanrel much cared for, and it wasn¡¯t really allowed on campus grounds, but he did know how it could affect one''s health.

    He came closer and cleared his throat. ¡°I would like some information; I have to meet with a mayor or anyone who is more or less in charge of this village,¡± Kanrel said. ¡°I am a priest who has been newly appointed here.¡±

    The woman raised her eyebrows and then eyed him again, looking for any indications that this might be true. ¡°A priest, you say..." She pulled from somewhere a cup and poured some ale in it. She then placed this cup in front of Kanrel. ¡°Can you show me? You know¡­¡±

    Kanrel let out a sigh. ¡°Magic?¡± He finished in her stead; he scratched his head and said, ¡°I would rather not do it here; maybe somewhere more private.¡±

    The woman raised her eyebrows and seemed taken aback. ¡°Oh my, I wasn¡¯t talking about magic like that." She then smiled slightly when she observed Kanrel¡¯s unchanging expression.

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    ¡°Well, come in the back; show me your magic,¡± she said, winking slightly. Without looking back, she entered a backroom that was behind the counter. Covering the doorway was a cloth that she had to move aside to enter.

    Kanrel stood still for a while before the man next to him said, ¡°Go now; don¡¯t keep the missus waiting.¡± The man had a wide grin on his face as he eyed the cup of ale in front of Kanrel.

    After a long sigh, he did what any man would: he followed a beauty who had given him an invitation. He was doubtful that anything would happen, but he was worried that he¡¯d get mugged. And he did really worry about magic; what if he was unable to perform?

    Kanrel entered and let the curtain cover the doorway once again. The room he had entered was a small one, but it possibly led into the barmaiden''s quarters, the kitchen, and the cellar. The tall woman leaned against the wall and peered down at the shorter man.

    ¡°A priest, ay?¡± She muttered, there was much curiosity in her voice, ¡°Last I saw one of your kind; I must¡¯ve been just a young lass.¡±

    ¡°I remember how he would go around the village, doing some menial work, lifting a fallen tree, and such; he didn¡¯t talk much and didn¡¯t have many expressions either, but he was a curious fellow and had lots of questions."

    ¡°So, mister priest, show me some of your magic, and I will myself escort you to our so-called mayor.¡± She promised with a slight smile on her face. She crossed her hands on her chest and waited.

    There really weren¡¯t any words needed; he would either do as asked or leave, so he chose the former. He dug out his notebook, placed it on the carpet, and took a step back. He then formed a quick code to lift the damn thing.

    He could hear a gasp as it started levitating; he slowly made it approach the woman, then opened it on the first page that had his name written as the first line: ¡°As you can see, I am Kanrel Iduldian, and I am a priest; the notebook levitation before you describes my journey here from the Academy of the Heavenly; the encounters I¡¯ve had and some thoughts as well.¡±

    ¡°But, never mind that; I¡¯ve shown you my magic; now is your turn.¡±

    The woman looked at the levitating book in wonder; it was unlikely that she read any of the words written on it, as she preferred to observe such magic. Soon she gathered herself and slowly touched the book. Kanrel let the code run out, and the woman had to quickly grab it before it would fall to the floor.

    She had a smile on her face as she said, ¡°You want to see my magic?¡± She peered at Kanrel again, from head to shoulders. "Sorry, lad, you aren¡¯t really my style... But come to me again in five years or so; maybe there¡¯ll be something on your chin by then.¡±

    Kanrel smiled his prettiest smile and said, ¡°You know what I mean, miss?¡±

    ¡°Vien Janderin, a pleasure to meet such a promising young man,¡± she said with a mocking curtsey. ¡°Before I lead you to the mayor of our little village, there is some business I¡¯d love to have with you.¡± Her smile had grown sly, and such a smile never promised anything good.

    Rationality would scream at any man at such a moment, but curiosity is what would, in the end, kill the cat.

    ¡°As long as it is nothing illegal,¡± Kanrel, in the end, promised after letting out a long sigh. It would do him good to make favorable first impressions in a village he might have to work in for years to come.

    Her smile deepened. ¡° Do not worry, my new friend; I would never do anything even remotely illegal; I just think magic is truly wonderful, and in this world, there isn¡¯t even a single man, woman, boy, or girl that wouldn¡¯t just love to see a show.¡±

    Kanrel could already guess what she would say next.

    ¡°And you know, I can offer you a place to stay, food, and drinks¡ªwho knows, maybe even company, depending on your ability to grow a beard, of course." She took a few slow steps toward him and then pushed him to a wall behind him, all this with the book that she was pressing on his chest.

    ¡°But darling, a man ought to earn his own upkeep; you do your magic, I¡¯ll do mine.¡± She leaned to whisper into his ears, ¡°You¡¯re gonna make me rich, aren¡¯t you?¡± She then took a step back, leaving Kanrel with his notebook.

    ¡°Now then, let¡¯s go, lad; we have a long day ahead of ourselves; a mayor to meet, a magic show to hold... Follow along, follow along!¡± Vien said as she walked out through the curtain again, leaving Kanrel against the wall with a shocked look on his face.

    Kanrel swallowed, his hands shaking as he put his notebook where it belonged, and with uncertain steps, he went after the woman, back into the cold winter day. The sun shone brightly as he tried to keep up with the tall woman. She really didn¡¯t seem bothered by the cold; instead, she was in a hurry; time was money, and none could sell a cup of ale better than she could.

    They did have to walk past many different buildings; some were shops and some were normal housing, but Vien would either way, as they walked, give a slight tour of the places they went past. One of the shops was a bakery with the best bread in town; another was a jewelry shop, and as they passed it, she hinted that anyone could at any time buy her a necklace or a ring.

    One, a slightly larger house, was where a local mason lived; a lot of the buildings of the village had his touch in them, be it foundations for a new building, house, or whatever; a wall or perhaps floor; and some fireplaces even. His efforts were quite appreciated in the village, but his eccentric interest in rocks left much to desire.

    He was apparently very wealthy and quite handsome, but his social skills and topics of interest were mostly rocky. Cold and such.

    After a good ten or so minutes, they reached a group of buildings, all of which were owned by the mayor of the village. Apparently, most villages didn¡¯t even have mayors, but Ulken Reven insisted that they should, as the Village of Jersten wasn¡¯t really a village but rather a small town. And all towns should have a mayor.

    None cared to argue against his thoughts of grandeur; it wasn¡¯t like it much affected their lives. Now they at least had someone that could deal with all the official government garbage that the kingdom forced upon them at times, like taxes.

    ¡°I¡¯ll put in a good word for you; you see, me and old Ulken have an understanding,¡± Vien promised as she went ahead and knocked on the front door.

    After such words, Kanrel could only be afraid what that understanding could be.

 Chapter Twenty-Five: An Understanding, of Sorts

    You could say that it was nice¡ªthe interior of the building, the warmth that so wonderfully surrounded them. The warm cup of tea was poured into a lavish porcelain cup by an older gentleman with many years behind him.

    There was also an older lady in the room, but she seemed to much prefer spending her time with a book in her hands. Thus far, she hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the visitors, but then again, there really wasn¡¯t much reason to.

    Out of sheer politeness, Kanrel took a sip of the substance, which looked like any good tea, but was left disappointed as the not-so-tasty ashy flavor filled his mouth. He slowly set down his cup and said, ¡°So, about this ''understanding''... You want me to help you elevate the status of this village into a town?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the man said; he was none other than Ulken Reven himself, the self-proclaimed mayor of this village. He seemed to enjoy his tea greatly as he gracefully took a sip. His gray eyes had this sense of desire in them.

    Kanrel looked at Vien, who slightly rolled her eyes. It did seem that their understanding was not so understanding at all.

    ¡°And how exactly would I be able to help with this goal?¡± Kanrel asked, and he took out his notebook, opening an empty page just so that he could take note of their ideas. He wasn¡¯t opposed to Ulken¡¯s ideas yet.

    Ulken put down his cup and leaned forward. He had a smile on his lips as he pointed out what he knew. ¡°You¡¯re the son of the Herald; it is obvious that you¡¯re sent here for a reason... Are you not?¡±

    Kanrel stopped writing and gave up on taking notes at that moment. He put his notebook and pencil away while almost muttering things about them wanting to benefit from nepotism. Instead, he said, ¡°If you wish me to directly ask her to influence the politics of the kingdom to achieve something like that, then I can only apologize; I don¡¯t have that much sway in such things. And it is unlikely that the Herald would much care for my ideas.¡±

    ¡°Do not fret, my boy; I would not dare to suggest such a thing!¡± Ulken promised, ¡°I was more so referencing how your and really any priests writings of their time in a given settlement will affect its status.¡±

    ¡°All I want from you is to do the things as any priest would do; I just want you to be slightly more liberal with the compliments that you give." Ulken¡¯s eyes glittered with desire and passion for this one thing.

    Kanrel let out a sigh; it had become almost a habit. Why does communication with people make one sigh so often?

    ¡°May I at least know why? Why do you want this village to have the status of a town?¡±

    Ulken smiled. ¡°I am glad you asked, for the reason is quite simple! Are you perhaps aware of how the power structure of the kingdom works?¡±

    Kanrel was in fact aware of the "how,¡± but it was obvious that the man would go on a rant about the topic, a topic that seemed to be a source of great passion. So why not indulge in the things he is about to say? Thus, Kanrel shook his head.

    ¡°Villages, towns, and so forth, are usually under the jurisdiction of a count or a duke; or at least the lands are owned, in one way or another, by counts and dukes; all that land is of course leased from the crown.¡±

    ¡°But, in the case of a remote village, such as the village of Jersten, it is not so simple. Technically, all this land is under the direct control of the crown, but at the same time under the jurisdiction of the nearest town.¡±

    ¡°That town is so far away, that information quite often is lost on the way here, and most of the time, we are just forgotten all together until something is needed out of us. ¡°

    ¡°I find this to be unfair and inconvenient for all parties involved.¡±

    ¡°Another point is that villages get less of a budget from the government, which can be seen just by the fact that the last priest we had was over a decade ago! Is this not outrageous?¡±

    ¡°So, naturally, if we are given the status of a town, we would no longer be under the jurisdiction of another town; we would get more resources altogether and the presence of the Priesthood at all times.¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but agree with his reasoning; it was true that villages like the village of Jersten were often neglected by those who owned the lands. Life was already rough out here, but when there was seldom outside help, it was surely more difficult than it needed to be.

    ¡°How much has this lack of resources affected life here?¡± Kanrel asked.

    In an instant, Ulken¡¯s very presence sifted. He leaned back on his couch; his face told a story of emotions, and prying further might only bring him more pain in the form of memories.

    ¡°I¡¯ve lost two children half a decade ago, both during the winter.¡± His voice was suddenly so deep as he looked at Kanrel, but through him, ¡°The cold kills; the hunger kills; and so does everything else.¡±

    A silence grew in their midst.

    ¡°And we aren¡¯t the only ones that have lost a loved one when it could¡¯ve been so easily avoided,¡± said another voice, the voice of the woman who had not long ago had her eyes on her book. Kanrel looked at her, but she only looked at Vien.

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    Vien had a frown on her face. She stared at the insides of her cup and soon smiled slightly. ¡°Life is unfair, and we are all aware of it¡­ but maybe, just maybe, it could be just a little more fair; is that much to ask for?¡± Her voice didn¡¯t tremble, and the hurt didn¡¯t show through her words, but it could be seen so clearly in her eyes.

    Perhaps the way she sought wealth and valued it so much had better reasons than just a simple desire for it.

    ¡°I see no reason to decline, and I will see how I can help¡ªnot just with reports I might write but with work that any priest ought to do; I will be of service,¡± Kanrel promised. He could only do so; what else could he?

    They came to multiple agreements on that day about how Kanrel would help them and how the village would help him. They would provide him with anything that he might need, primarily food and shelter, and, of course, any information that he might seek.

    Kanrel still chose not to share too much about the things that he was investigating. But he believed that he would either find nothing or, in the end, hear something¡ªanything. But only time will tell if there is anything at all here.

    But at least, based on the little information that he had gathered thus far, there was one lead: The previous priest of this village, his possible belongings, and anything that he might¡¯ve left behind. Also figuring out what had happened to him: Was he dead? Was he appointed to another place? Or did he perhaps desert?

    Life is indeed rough here, so it would not be a surprise if he had chosen to desert and leave these lands for anywhere that he could go.

    Before returning to the tavern with Vien, he went to visit the house of a certain mason. He had a message to deliver. Vien demanded that Kanrel should return to her tavern before nightfall or she would get ¡°very disappointed¡±. There was no way he would want to disappoint a person who scared him way more than was needed. Besides, he was supposed to stay at her tavern until the end of winter. He would have to maintain good relations with her; anything else might cost him dearly.

    The son of Rank Jenkse, Isbit, could only be described as the stoic kind. His expressions changed less than Kanrel¡¯s in the past, and he seemed less keen to uphold useless conversation. Things ought to be prompt in his world; wasting his time was a sin.

    Though he was very courteous and the way he spoke was more or less pleasant, there still remained this awkwardness that almost soiled the air around them. Their encounter wasn¡¯t quite unpleasant, but it surely wasn¡¯t enjoyable either.

    So to make the most of their time and to return to the tavern as swiftly as possible, he decided to go straight to the point of the matter instead of forcing the man or himself into small talk.

    ¡°Your father sent this letter with me; I hope you visit him as soon as you can; he seems lonely,¡± Kanrel said as he offered his notebook.

    Isbit observed it with uncertainty so clearly on his face, then he accepted it. Kanrel could see as he quickly read what was written once and then a few more times. Even then, his facial expression remained calm, yet a slight frown could be observed on his face.

    ¡°I ought to, but visiting that house is..." Isbit said, his facial expression becoming more disturbed as he continued, ¡°It is difficult; he probably told you about what happened.¡±

    ¡°He just told me that she was no longer around; he didn¡¯t go into details.¡± Kanrel said, ¡°Is there more to the matter than just that?¡±

    Isbit¡¯s frown deepened, and he shook his head, yet said, ¡°She disappeared; she went to the forest to pick some mushrooms during the fall... She never came fully back.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°She¡­ her¡­¡± Isbit swallowed. ¡°Her head... just her head came back; her eyes were so... gray, yet her head... her head was so... alive.¡± He stuttered through his words and soon closed his eyes, as if not wanting to see what he saw, just to open them again, his expression more horrified than before.

    ¡°I cannot forget... I see it... so often, too often.¡±

    Kanrel listened intently and took his notebook back. ¡°May I ask anything else about the matter, or would you rather not do so right now?¡±

    Isbit again shook his head. ¡°I wish to not remember; I wish she was still here. Come to me another day; I need more time to forget."

    Kanrel nodded his head and put his hand on Isbit¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You can anytime come and find me at Vien¡¯s tavern; I am here to help the people of this village.¡± He then left the mason and his family of four behind; there¡¯d be another time for him to press this matter and find out more. This just wasn¡¯t the time for it.

    Kanrel could feel his insides burn as he listened to Isbit¡¯s words; when he heard the words the mayor and the little which Vien had shared. He burned within, like he had burned when Yirn¡­ did what he had done.

    As he walked back to the tavern, he slowly formed a simple conclusion: compassion and the ability to love others had never left him; he had only thought that they were long gone, but death will always make you realize your own humanity. And how much it hurts to lose someone.

    Only joy had left him, and when those he loved the most were gone, would he be reminded of that reality again? He would never feel the joy that was love for those that were most important to him.

    Walking toward the tavern was like taking steps on that stairway during the Ritual; it was like the fall that seemed not to end; it had yet to end; he was still falling, but now as well he was burning.

    Kanrel knew what would wait for him inside; he could so easily guess it. It would be time for this clown to perform for his right to sleep in a bed and for his right to eat. Soon he saw the tavern, and before he would enter, he secretly practiced his expressions; he practiced his smile.

    He wouldn¡¯t want to make the crowd think that he was a sad clown; such a paradox would only be amusing to a select few.

 Chapter Twenty-Six: A Performance

    Truly, there must be nothing better to do in the countryside during the winter. The even more bustling atmosphere of the tavern was a great indicator of that. Though there existing a village-wide alcohol problem might also be the cause of it.

    But who truly knows, and who is he to critique such a thing?

    The young men earlier in the day weren¡¯t at the table they were at before; now they found themselves deeper in the tavern. Their expressions and mannerisms told the whole story: a few drinks too much.

    They were at the bar, where a fellow, who might¡¯ve been called Dan or Hernet, was trying to woo a certain assertive lady behind the bar. Her expression remained polite as she served another drink; it was clear that she had everything under control. The youth could try all they wanted, but the moment they took it too far, she would unleash a great wrath that would make even someone drunk question their own actions.

    Kanrel approached the bar and took a seat. He listened closely to those that he would, in the end, call his neighbors and customers.

    ¡°Ya know, the thin¡¯ about this!¡± Dar or Hernet said out loud as he lifted his class, ¡°This! Ale, given by you, is like a proposal to me,¡± he then downed the drink; it wasn¡¯t graceful at all as he spilled ale all over his clothes.

    ¡°See! And that is how I accept it; so, when can we elope?¡±

    Vien just stared at the foolish man; she held her polite smile and said, ¡°How about you have a few more? And don¡¯t forget to pay, and then I might think about it.¡±

    A wide smile spawned on the man¡¯s face as he ordered another drink¡ªthe things one does for love or lust.

    The interaction made Kanrel wonder if most people, in this case, men, would be so unrefined in such a state. So, embarrassing? Would most women have to deal with men who would drunkenly approach them, even when it wouldn¡¯t be welcome or even attractive in the least? He figured that handsome men would have the same issue; thankfully, he wasn¡¯t handsome at all.

    Vien poured another drink for the drunkard and soon shifted her attention to Kanrel. ¡°This is what I have to deal with; it pays well, but it can get quite annoying at times¡­¡±

    ¡°So, now would be the perfect time for you to set up your first-ever show,¡± she added. On her face now was another one of her scary smiles; the day would be long, and Kanrel could feel it.

    There was a stage in the southernmost corner of the first floor; all inside could easily see it as it was positioned in such a manner. Vien forced Kanrel onto the stage as she said, ¡°All you have to do is your magic, or whatever, and I¡¯ll deal with the rest. Do you need any props? I don¡¯t know, balls or knives or such?¡±

    As he stood on the stage, he had no idea what he would do, how he would perform, or what he would need to be able to perform. All he had were tables, chairs, and people.

    Chairs¡ªsuch a simple thing, but so very useful. A chair, like an old friend, would always remind him of its existence. All those unassuming chairs. All here and at his disposal.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be needing anything; I¡¯ll use whatever I can see." He said, trying to remember the things that were done during their ¡°challenge of creativity¡±.

    Vien looked at him for a moment and said, ¡°I pray to the Angels that you don¡¯t screw me over here¡­¡± She muttered to herself as she positioned herself to face the people in the tavern. She cleared her throat loudly, but it was clear that not many would hear it. It really wasn''t a surprise that not many would hear her.

    ¡°Friends! Patrons! And fellow ale-loving bastards!¡± She yelled loudly. Slowly, the tavern and its many patrons went silent and prepared to hear out what the fuss was about. All they saw was their beloved ale-maiden on the stage and a man dressed in a gray robe behind her.

    ¡°I have prepared a show for you today! A man, all the way from the capital, has come here!¡± She said and then stepped to the side so that Kanrel could take center stage. ¡°Behold! A Priest!¡± Vien came down from the stage while quietly urging Kanrel to begin his show.

    It was dead silent for a moment before Kanrel found his words, ¡°Hello everyone; my name is Kanrel, and I will be the new Priest of this village; and this is my magic!¡± He improvised on the spot and began coding.

    In confused silence, nothing happened at first. Some of the patrons had already grown bored and returned to whatever they were doing, but soon a sound could be heard in the tavern. A rhythmic march of wood hitting wood.

    The crowd began to look around just to observe chairs slowly walking in unison toward the stage; screams of surprise filled the air, and again, Kanrel had the attention of the whole tavern.

    The chairs gathered near the stage, forming pairs that then walked from both sides of the stage, climbing the stairs until they too were on the stage.

    Kanrel quickly formed another code, causing the chairs to surround him from all directions, obstructing him from the view of the crowd; he took a seat on one of the chairs.

    For a moment, nothing happened. The chairs had stacked themselves on top of each other around the priest, who was now gone from their view. The silence broke as Vien began to clap and cheer; soon the crowd followed in her example, and a deafening applause filled the room.

    Kanrel wasn¡¯t done quite yet. He formed new codes; the chairs now began floating, flying away from Kanrel in many directions, just to be gently put back where they came from. Only one chair remained as Kanrel sat on it, looking at the crowd.

    For a moment, cheers of wonder filled the room, and now it was already over.

    ¡°Woo¡¯s¡± and cheers could be heard; an applause far greater than the previous one filled the room, but then a coin was thrown at him; he could see it, and before it hit him, he made it stop in the air, just ten or so centimeters away from his face.

    This was followed by an excited crowd throwing a barrage of coins at him, with most of them landing near the stage, while some of them found their way suspended in the air by Kanrel. He wasn¡¯t too keen on getting hit by any of them.

    For an hour, he came up with more-or-less safe things that he could showcase to his eager audience. Be it small fireballs slowly dancing around him or levitating ale as it is to the mouths of some even more eager audience members.

    After each little trick he did, he was awarded with some coins, which he collected with already-prepared codes and placed them out of the eyes of the audience. Vien herself could collect the coinage and count how much she¡ªor rather, Kanrel¡ªhad made in those few hours.

    As evening came, Kanrel found himself in the company of more than curious villagers with many questions for him. Some were more drunk than others, with questions that often made no sense, as it was difficult to even understand what they were saying.

    He didn¡¯t much mind it, as he could always just politely nod as an answer, and if people got too touchy or too adamant with their many questions, Vien would take care of it, either by offering more drinks to already drunken customers or by giving some harsh words.

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    The atmosphere changed quickly throughout the day; people got more drunk, some started to sober up, and many had already retired, either to their respective homes or to the rooms that were available at the tavern.

    The later it got, the less chaos there seemed to be, and soon not many stayed. Some remained where they had been the whole day; for example, the man who had drunk Kanrel¡¯s drink still sat near the bar on the very same seat as before.

    But his sly smile that he had showcased mere hours ago was long gone; the man was no longer drunk; perhaps he never was, and his demeanor had changed from jolly to a constant frown. A solemn atmosphere surrounded him.

    A man who had pestered Kanrel since the end of the show noticed Kanrel¡¯s stare and pulled Kanrel¡¯s sleeve slightly. So the young priest turned to this man, who had yet to name himself.

    ¡°He lost his wife not too long ago; he has come here every day since,¡± the man whispered. He then looked around at the people who were still left at the tavern and continued, ¡°Many of those so late here have such stories, though some are just lonely.¡±

    Kanrel looked around as well; there were just a handful left. He made a nod; he wasn¡¯t surprised by this fact, as, after all, the words of the mayor¡¯s wife were still stuck in his head.

    ¡°Say, how could I help those who have lost someone?¡± He asked the man sitting next to him, ¡°My duty as a priest binds me to help, to find ways to alleviate pain and suffering, yet I don¡¯t know how I, a mere man, could help with pain caused by loss.¡±

    The man glanced at Kanrel, but soon his gaze found the bottom of his glass; there wasn¡¯t much left in it, but he swirled it around, looking more deeply at the vortex that formed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know; if I did know, you would be the first to know. I think that not many can help with that; I think there isn¡¯t much that others can do¡­ Perhaps only time heals those who have lost someone¡­¡± He said, his tone was very gentle, and then a slight smile appeared on his face.

    ¡°You know, you are the very image of a priest I¡¯ve had since my childhood: a bookish type with neither social skills nor facial expressions,¡± the man said. ¡°It is somehow comforting¡ªyour presence, that is¡ªand I just don¡¯t know why.¡±

    Kanrel stared at the man who still had his gaze deeply set in the vortex of his own glass¡ªthe hypnotizing motion of ale going in circles. Had the man himself lost someone dear to him? Was he one of the lonely people that he had just described? He couldn¡¯t even begin to guess, as he didn¡¯t even know his name nor anything else about him.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± He asked.

    The man stopped the motion of his hand, and the vortex quickly spun in his glass. ¡°My name is Dar, just Dar.¡± He said after a while, his voice was low as he introduced himself, as if his name was a secret no one was supposed to hear; as if it were embarrassing, the very name he had.

    But Kanrel knew why he introduced himself as he did. Dar was nameless. So he went ahead and offered his hand to the solemn man, reaching toward him, accepting him for who he was. ¡°Pleasure to meet you.¡± He said so with the best smile that he could conjure; he hoped it wouldn¡¯t seem creepy or unsettling.

    Dar stared at the hand and shyly accepted it; he didn¡¯t smile much, but that was alright. It didn¡¯t matter, as smiles were so complicated for Kanrel either way. Smiles held so much in them. All of them held some sort of emotion behind them; all smiles had a reason.

    Some smiles were lies, some the truth, others a mask of sorts, or an awkward reply to an uncomfortable situation. To find a genuine smile was beautiful; to find a sad smile was heartbreaking; and to find a smile filled with lies would leave any man questioning all of the other smiles mentioned before.

    For Kanrel, maybe it was better that Dar did not smile in this situation, for his lack of a smile was enough to express his emotions or lack thereof.

    As night soon befell, the rest of those that had remained left the tavern or went upstairs. Now only Vien and Kanrel remained downstairs. Kanrel helped with cleaning the place as Vien carefully calculated the profits of Kanrel¡¯s show and the overall profits of today. Multiple sets of ten coins were placed on the bar counter. Then she took a booklet that she kept in the backroom; it served as records of her daily profits and expenditures.

    Each page was filled with numbers, but Kanrel dared not look at them; the profits, spendings, and whatnots weren¡¯t any of Kanrel¡¯s business, so after cleaning, he just sat across Vien and observed as she worked.

    It didn¡¯t take long for her to do her calculations and mark them in her booklet. She closed it with a wide smile on her face. ¡°You¡¯re, as the saying goes, a goldmine¡ªa gift horse; this is by far the most my humble establishment has ever made in a single day.¡± Her expression was radiant as she began collecting the stacks of coins into the purses she had.

    This didn¡¯t much matter to Kanrel. After all, it was just money, and as a priest, Kanrel had no use for money. Sure, he was allowed money; such a thing wasn¡¯t forbidden for people like him, but he just didn¡¯t have a desire for it, not to mention he could always pay with work, with his magic.

    ¡°That is just wonderful, and I am most pleased that you¡¯re pleased, but I would love to know where I might spend my night," Kanrel asked instead. He had so much to do, mainly notes that he had to write down. There are so many things that he ought to remember later.

    Vien took her little purses and said, ¡°Let me secure these first, then I¡¯ll lead you to your suite.¡± She said it with another sly smile on her face. Why would this woman never smile in a normal way? Why should her smiles always be so scary to him?

    A few minutes later, Kanrel was following Vien into the back rooms; apparently, he wouldn¡¯t be spending his nights upstairs, which could only possibly mean that he would have to spend his night in a small room, perhaps a closet, instead of a ¡°suite¡±.

    The backrooms were where Vien lived; they were her living quarters, and all the most important things in the tavern were located there. Even if Kanrel would have to spend his night in a small closet, he still could appreciate that she had so much trust in him as to allow him to be so close to those important things, like her money. Or she had no trust in him at all.

    The interior of Vien¡¯s backrooms was probably homely and perhaps very relaxed; they were surely a lot more luxurious than the little dorm room that he had had to live in for multiple years. And the room that Vien ended up bringing him to was probably a lot more comfortable. Unless the bed was a magical torture device, one could never know.

    ¡°This is my guest-bedroom; I would normally give you a room upstairs, but that would mean that other people wouldn¡¯t be able to rent them, thus I would lose some possible profit.¡± She explained, ¡°So, this way I can both house you and keep the possibility of making more profit in the future.¡±

    ¡°Color me not surprised at all,¡± Kanrel muttered. He carried his backpack inside and placed it on the floor. He then observed the things that were inside the room more clearly. There was a soft-looking bed, a table with a chair, shelves with nothing on them, and a closet.

    ¡°This will do perfectly.¡± He said and turned toward the woman who was standing at the doorway.

    She gave a pleased nod. ¡°Do whatever you will; just don¡¯t make too much noise with whatever you might do.¡± Vien then gently closed the door, leaving Kanrel in a dark room with not a single source of light.

    He was tired, but there was still so much to do. He formed a code to bring light to the room. From his backpack, he got his writing equipment and all of the notebooks that he brought with him. They were all filled to a different degree; some were completely empty.

    He made sure that his ink was liquid enough, took one of his notebooks, and began first writing down all the people that he had encountered in the past day, their occupations if he had such knowledge, and the context of their encounter.

    After which, he began writing down all the codes that he had used impromptu during his little show, but suddenly stopped in the middle of it. The chairs and the codes that he had used. They were just so... familiar?

    He picked up another notebook¡ªthis one held codes from his times at the academy. He browsed through the pages as he found what he was looking for. He read through it multiple times, and each time he read through it, a wave of increasing sadness ran through him.

    A name was mentioned a few times. The moment in which that code was used; the words of Oidus, "creative". Everything that happened before, during, and after¡ªeverything¡ªflashed through his mind.

    He gritted his teeth, put the notebook down, and stared at the wall before him. If only Vien hadn''t asked him to not be noisy. Instead of screaming, he got back to the task at hand; there were the rest of the codes that he would have to write down. Not to mention points of interest¡ªthings that he ought to investigate first: the disappearance of Betty and what happened to the previous priest.

 Chapter Twenty-Seven: As Winter Goes By

    Rumors of a small village are mostly mundane. Though, of course, things like drama between lovers, friends, and family can happen quite often. Talks about who spends the night with whom, whose child is the least dumb, and which family ¡°stole¡± another¡¯s sheep.

    Things like ¡°the Otherkind¡±, ¡°true magic,", or "true God¡±, weren¡¯t points of conversation. The information he had gathered thus far was mostly about things that were useless to his mission but very useful to his job as a priest.

    A trend of rumors about priests was quite common recently, thus giving him information about the previous priest of the village. Although it was difficult to really say what was true and what was not, who had even met the priest when he was still here? Who remembered him? Over a decade had gone by, and only a select few could remember more objective things about him.

    Boran Walden was already in his fifties when he came to the village of Jersten. He spoke like an old man and behaved like such; his interests and wide collection of information also spoke of experience. Years of service to the Priesthood, yet he had spent his last days in a small village.

    Many would argue that such a thing was beneath his status. But a priest goes where he is willed to go; orders of the Priesthood are like a mandate from the Heavens. One does not simply say ¡°no¡± when they are commanded to a place far away from civilization.

    Maybe his scholarly nature and his wish to collect stories from different parts of the kingdom might have been the reason why he was sent here. Maybe through those stories he had found something out¡ªsomething that led him to his disappearance or death.

    This and more were some of the things Kanrel learned during the next month or so. He went around the town during the day, meeting new people and conversing with them about anything that might come to their minds. He was more or less there to accompany and listen to what the people had to say.

    He would also help with minor tasks when he saw fit to do so or when he was asked to help. Mostly, this meant that he had to remove snow¡ªeither melt it away or just move it with his magic. Neither was an issue and depending on the situation and the position of the snow, he would choose the option that would suit it the best. It wasn¡¯t always best to melt the snow. Creating dangerously slippery areas of ice didn¡¯t sound too safe.

    And when the evening came, he would return to Vein¡¯s tavern, where he would once a week hold a great showcase of his magical abilities, using codes that produced mostly harmless little tricks that might excite the audience.

    After every such night, Kanrel could observe how visibly Vein experienced joy, how she calculated the money received, and shared how pleased she was with the deal they had made.

    Kanrel had nothing to complain about, not really. He was well provided for; there was never a moment when he felt hungry, thirsty, or too cold. It was a complete reverse of the time he had to march his way here.

    Life, again, seemed to be mostly the same each day¡ªa mundane routine of doing the same things each day of the week. Life was easy. Yet no joy was granted. Only the plaintive thoughts that he would have as he observed those around him. After all, they were all capable of something that he had not felt for such a long time. Their varied emotions were probably beautiful and filled with life. Something that would feed their will for years to come.

    Of course, not all were happy. Not everyone experiences such joy every day. The lonely few of the village¡ªthose that had lost someone dear to them¡ªsome of them perhaps not too long ago. In a way, he felt himself at home with them; it was something more familiar, something similar to the academy and the many novices who shared his suffering.

    Dar quickly became someone he spoke to every day; he was always present at the tavern, as he had no work to do during the winter, so he would drink away the money he had earned during seasons much more suited for farming.

    He worked as a farmhand, so he himself didn¡¯t own any land, but there were many who would happily pay him to work on theirs. And oh, he got paid well, even if the treatment at times was cold and even incredulous. After all, Dar was not from here; he had moved here roughly six years ago to get away from the unfair treatment of greater cities.

    The life of the nameless was seldom easy; discrimination was apparently well and alive in the kingdom. So it was often best not to even mention the lack of a name, and sometimes one should make one up.

    At least here, mostly, the villagers didn''t really care if Dar had a name or not. Maybe in the beginning they might¡¯ve cared a little bit more, but now, as he had lived there for quite a while, even as an outsider, there was some trust they had for him.

    This begs the question: If six years is not enough to no longer be an ¡°outsider¡±, then at what point would one¡¯s status change? How many years? If ever.

    The end of winter was nearing. The sun no longer sets so early or rose so late; the wind¡¯s bite wasn¡¯t as cold, nor was the weather. And on the sunniest of days, the snow would slowly start melting away.

    This was one of those last days of winter, a sunny day during which Kanrel was finally allowed to enter the local temple and go through the things that the previous priest had left behind. The temple had living quarters, which would become Kanrel¡¯s during the spring, but the old building had some things that needed slight repairs, so before that day, he was allowed to at least remove things that had lost their usability, become broken, or been ruined by years of neglect.

    Apparently, no one had really entered the old temple in a few years, though there had already been talks of renovating it. Kanrel chose not to question the level of religiousness in the village; the villagers weren¡¯t to be blamed if they weren¡¯t aware of the scriptures or even if they had not prayed to the angels in recent times. After all, the villagers had multiple times during the decade requested a new priest be sent here, but the Priesthood had not sent a new one for one reason or another.

    The backdoor that led into the temple''s living quarters was barred with planks that were nailed to the door. The planks seemed like they had been there for years now. Without much hesitation, Kanrel formed a code to pull the planks with the nails from the doorway.

    Soon two planks fell on the ground; he moved them from his way and opened the unlocked door. He was greeted with damp air that had not left the room before him in many years; it smelled of old, unused things. The smell was similar to the academy cellars but not nearly as potent.

    He didn¡¯t mind it and just walked in, soaking in the interior of his new home¡ªor home to become: It wasn¡¯t large by any means, and surely it wasn¡¯t small either. Calling it medium-sized was sufficient and much more than what Kanrel was used to having.

    The first room mainly held things like the kitchen with its brick oven, a table that seemed to suffer from old age and from lack of use as each surface was covered with dust and webs; sometimes he could see a brave plant that had withered possibly during the winter.

    There were just two doors; he chose the one that led north, and he opened it, causing a loud protest by the hinges of the door to fill the quiet air around him. On the other side was what could be called a bedroom, an office, and a library at the same time.

    A bed with moldy, frozen bed sheets was on the western side of the room, with a table sat right next to it. A fragile-looking chair inhabited the space before the table, and a window, which was covered with more planks, was placed above the table and the bed.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    It would be cold during the winter to have the bed placed there, so he would probably move it closer to the furnace that was on the southern wall of the room when he actually moved in.

    The northern wall was completely filled with shelves, and many books of varying levels of wellness were placed on them. On the lower levels of the shelves, there were containers, jars, and other miscellaneous things, which suggested that it wasn¡¯t only a bedroom-office-library but also a storage room.

    He didn¡¯t mind that at all; it was just a curious decision made by either the previous resident of the building or someone else who had lived here a much longer time ago.

    The books¡­ He felt saddened to see their condition. The neglect that they had gone through Tens of books were just left here at the mercy of time, weather, insects, and possibly rodents. But then again, he believed that with time, he could salvage most of the books. During the years that he would end up spending in this village, he would go through all of them, try his utmost to restore them, or just copy them into another book.

    There must¡¯ve been so much important information that those books held. Things like the dates of birth for most of the people that had lived here a decade ago, not to mention similar records of the people that had lived here since the founding of this temple.

    But more importantly, the records¡ªthe books¡ªwere written by Boran Walden. They could make his mission here so much easier. It would also help in confirming or denying some of the rumors that were about him, or even things about the history of the village. He would find out for certain when the man had first arrived in this village, and perhaps even the day when he disappeared.

    There was so much reading to be done. There are so many books that he would have to possibly restore that one of the books in worse condition might hold all the vital information that he needed. But first, he would explore the rest of the temple.

    He left the room behind and opened the door that led east. After opening it, it soon became clear that there were a lot of repairs that needed to be done to the temple itself. The living quarters were mostly fine, but the temple... The holiest place in this village was in near ruins.

    Kanrel just stared at the mess that he would have to clean up; a chandelier that was once hung from the ceiling had fallen on the floor, crushing under multiple long benches.

    The door from which he came in was located in the middle of the temple itself. At the southern end, there would be the main doors, and at the northern end, there¡¯d be the altar. The interior was mostly plain; there was only one Angel seen. Right above the altar, right above all living things in this village.

    Its stare, pierced through him, even after a decade of negligence. A sensation found its way into his chest. How it looked at him; how it critiqued with its eyes; its stare that looked through everyone and all. The gaze that pierced through his very soul, his essence, his useless existence.

    ¡°Forgive me.¡± He whispered to the motionless creature with its grotesque facial features and wings of scales. The armor it wore, made from gold, and the sword it held were wide and great. It disregarded him and his plea for forgiveness.

    This was the first time he saw such a painting of an Angel; even in this temple left to ruins, the painting remained like it was untouched. Even insects and rodents, like mold and the cold, refused to touch it; they refused to corrupt its pristine condition.

    It was horrible in all of its magnificence. He dared not spend another moment under a gaze that gave him no regard; he was so worthless, so useless. Again, he was nothing. And he, who was nothing, returned to the living quarters, shutting the door behind him.

    The books. He had to go through the books. He had to follow his duty.

    The books held information that he had expected, but also many things he did not. Many of them were diaries, collections of stories, rumors, and things about the people who lived in the village; some were still alive, and some were dead. There were names he had heard during the past few months¡ªfamily names that were familiar, but not the people holding them.

    Life is tragic. This was made clear by some texts. How a child lost its life on the day of birth, and with him, her mother as well. How a young man died because of a fever left untreated. How another was lost in the woods, never to be seen again.

    But where there is death, there has to be life¡ªnew life. Those many that were born during the times that Boran had lived here. He was, after all, there at each and every single birth. He wrote down the approximate date of birth, the year, and the circumstances of his or her birth. He wrote down the name given to this newborn and the names of the child''s parents.

    The records the man had written were meticulous, something Kanrel believed to be the way he should do things. Even the most mundane of things, like a report about how a child threw a rock at a window, shattering it. The child then had to apologize and personally go ask for Boran¡¯s help in fixing the broken window.

    This information was precious. It told the story of a village and its people. Although the records mostly lacked color, they still gave a sense of history to a place so small.

    There were other books as well, those written by priests who had lived here a long time ago, much before the time of Boran Walden; these writings held similar information, only the choice of words and handwriting would differ.

    Sadly, there were a few books that were in such bad condition that he dared not touch them too much, for he would have to be extremely careful with them. He would have to create intricate codes as he feared that his own hands were too clumsy for normal repairs.

    It didn¡¯t take long to read or to at least figure out the contents of most of the books. All the information regarding the people and the history of the village was invaluable, so he wasn¡¯t disheartened by the lack of information about the man who had written them.

    In between reading, helping at the village, and performing magic shows at the tavern, he spent his free time in the temple, mostly cleaning rubble and other rubbish out and fixing the chandelier and the benches that had busted beneath it.

    He got rid of furniture that was too old or too fragile for him to actually use and placed orders for anything that could replace them. After each day, it was made clear that there were many things a ¡°homeowner¡± needed before one could move in.

    Such a thought had never even crossed his mind; prior to this, he had never had to really consider things like bed sheets and furniture¡ªgive or take a couch.

    And when spring would finally come, things like exterior repairs and such could be done; then it wouldn¡¯t take long until Kanrel could move in. It wouldn''t take much longer for him to live under one roof all alone.

    Such a thought was¡­ curious. It didn¡¯t bother him, per se. It really didn¡¯t give him any feeling, for now at least. His emotional experience regarding living alone versus living with someone didn¡¯t fluctuate at all as he thought about it.

    Time would tell, but Kanrel could already guess how he would feel, even if he at this moment felt as he usually did. He would feel lonely. He would feel so alone. He would feel disgusted by himself and the Angel he compared himself to. That Angel¡ªwhy did there have to be an Angel?

    Thus he knew there¡¯d only be despair¡ªa continuation of familiar suffering. It would never end.

    When was it allowed to end?

 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Then Came the First Days of Spring

    As you observe the passing of seasons, it is difficult to say when one season changes to another. At what point could one say where winter ends and where spring begins? It was obvious that during the winter there would be snow and that it would be very cold. But that could be true of spring as well.

    At what point does spring turn into summer? Or summer into autumn? Or autumn into winter?

    As you observe it very closely, it could become quite obvious. The very first flowers would pierce the dead ground and remind us that there is such life around us all. Colors other than the already more-than-familiar white would start to populate the areas where there was less snow from the slowly rising temperatures. These were the first signs of spring, which Kanrel observed.

    Though such signs of spring only became such because it was, for some reason, decided that they should be those signs.

    But in Kanrel¡¯s humble opinion, they were the clearest of signs that nature could give man¡ªthat it was alive and around us.

    Slowly, the village and its surroundings began shifting, snow slowly melting away, and birds returning from wherever they had been hiding. The world had such color in it. It was objectively there for those who could see color. Kanrel could see it. He was just unable to enjoy any of it.

    He only had memories of enjoying the re-arriving beauty of spring. There was much more¡­ gravity made clear as he observed the return of spring¡ªthe return of life. He missed that, which he could hardly touch or remember. He missed that feeling he had had so many times before.

    A memory so precious. Sitting in the campus courtyard, looking at the flowers that chose to defy the existence of winter, piercing through the snow, showcasing their defiance, their beauty, and their lives to him, calling for a child¡¯s smile¡ªhis smile.

    Memory can cause so much pain as you long for it, as you wish it was true once more, and as you pray to relive it again and again. Chasing for that memory, reaching toward it, trying to grasp it with your cold hands; perhaps repeating that memory, trying to relive it in a futile manner. Just to never truly touch it again; just to give up and slowly, ever so bitterly forget that beautiful memory.

    Now it slowly becomes more soiled¡ªyet another cause of pain, another moment ruined by the torturous existence that he had forced upon himself. Another regret. Another past self, he should have been. An innocent child with the ability to smile¡ªto truly smile.

    He sat in the tavern, peering out the window, observing the very first signs of spring and that memory, which he now sought to forget. Years from now, there¡¯d either be just a memory of that memory or another moment, like another regretful look inside, a condemnation of choices made thus far.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but let out a long sigh. Someone sat next to him, and he couldn¡¯t help but ignore them for a moment longer, but soon he was forced to interact with another human he was jealous of for a very simple reason: the ability to enjoy.

    ¡°Why the more than usual lack of expression on your face?¡± Vien asked. It had been a slow day at the tavern, which gave lots of time to do menial tasks like organizing things in the tavern and even refurnishing. But moving one chair a few centimeters to the left and then deciding that the previous position was better would, in the end, get quite boring. So, of course, the next best form of entertainment was a socially dull priest.

    ¡°Nothing, just remembering past springs and how I was back then.¡± Kanrel answered, finally breaking his deep ¡°eye contact¡± with the snowdrops outside.

    ¡°Ah, I can already imagine how you must have been.¡± Vien said, ¡°So I can totally understand your expression and that deep sigh of yours.¡±

    ¡°Are you bored?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And it has become my job to somehow entertain you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Why me?¡±

    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you a dear friend of mine and another one of the many suitors that I have in this village? Say, Do you happen to like ale?¡±

    Kanrel stared at the woman. He wondered if he¡¯d find such comments funny if he wasn¡¯t a priest. ¡°Not in particular; it is a drink that seems to make men attracted to women of ill-intent.¡±

    ¡°How clich¨¦ of you to blame the drink instead of the man,¡± Vien said after a slight chuckle. ¡°But alas, I have to leave you with your sorrows; I am, after all, a busy woman, as you can see.¡± She added and then gestured at the very empty seats in the tavern.

    She soon got up and left Kanrel alone. He just stared as she got up, walked behind the counter, and soon disappeared behind the curtains that worked as a border between the tavern and her home.

    He couldn¡¯t help but wonder: How does one court a woman? Was it all about confessions about ale or having a beard? He shook his head in denial, directed at himself. What was the point of wondering such things? It was either way unlikely that he would find himself in a situation where he would ever court anyone. It seemed rather pointless.

    He chose to get up as well; he should do something. Sitting here would do him no good; he again needed something to distract his thoughts. To make it so that he had no time for useless thoughts.

    He walked around the village, simply pondering what he ought to do; his direction was chosen at random, his way toward the western side, which he had not visited that often. The houses remained stylistically the same: one floor, fairly small, made out of mainly wood, while the foundation was stone, which might not be the material for insulation during the winter. But he assumed that they must¡¯ve filled the foundations with another material, perhaps hay.

    During his studies, he never had to familiarize himself with buildings and how to construct them, but he had a feeling that it was something that he ought to learn about sooner rather than later. By virtue of studying the writings of the previous priests, it was easy to recognize that the population of the village would gradually increase.

    And if his guesses were correct, the population would increase a lot more than one would think. Given that most of the population was fairly young and still capable of birthing more children, moving in from other nearby villages was also increasing.

    Ulken Reven was more or less right. The village was the size of a small town, and it would keep growing, and with that, his responsibilities would grow as well. Perhaps that would keep his mind preoccupied and thoughts filled with regret would not conquer him.

    It took almost thirty minutes to walk to the western edge of the village. To no one¡¯s surprise, there were more fields covered with snow, and beyond them was a forest that surrounded the village from all directions.

    He could see the tall mountains past them, their peaks piercing the clouds above, touching the heavens as if they were a bridge to them. Mountains felt sacred to most priests, as it was not a coincidence that the Angels inhabited the tallest of the mountains located hundreds of kilometers to the southeast of here.

    Three grand peaks that were apparently so imposing that anyone who saw them up close would feel the dread of their own, little existence. They were so tall that you couldn''t see the peaks of the mountains; many even questioned if there were peaks and if the mountains would continue all the way to the heavens, perhaps touching the moon as it went by.

    He wanted to visit those grand mountains¡ªnot just the ones where the Angels perhaps lived, but these ones as well.

    His thoughts were disturbed by laughter not far from him. Kanrel looked around, trying to find the cause of such joy, and soon discovered a group of children partaking in a snowfight. They were hiding behind man-made obstacles, mainly barriers and mounds dug into the snow.

    They threw snowballs at each other in rapid succession; most balls thrown flew past their targets, but at times one would hit, and after a few angry vows of revenge, a barrage of snowballs would be aimed at the direction where the hitting ball came from.

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    Kanrel was familiar with the practice, but he had never in his life taken part in such a thing. To his eyes, at first, it looked dangerous, but he soon realized that it really wasn¡¯t. What harm was there truly in children taking part in the joys of winter? It didn¡¯t matter if a child would get slightly hurt; either way, it would soon recover and, indeed, seek revenge.

    Perhaps this was one of the last days of spring when they could play in such a manner. The snow would melt, and there was nothing the kids could do about that. There would be so many months before there¡¯d be new snow on the ground again.

    He chose to approach them, as he did wonder whose children they were, if he had perhaps met their parents, or if he had met any of the children in passing.

    Kanrel stopped not too far away from them, waiting for one of the kids to notice him instead of demanding they stop playing just to give an adult their precious time.

    It didn¡¯t take long for one of the kids to notice and yell loudly, ¡°Truce! Let the training end for now; we have an adult here! We must not show our battle techniques to the enemies of all children!¡± The girl stood up with her hands up, only to duck back down when a barrage of snowballs was about to hit her.

    Even when Kanrel was slightly baffled by her words, he still quickly formed a code to stop the snowballs from hitting her in the face. They stopped in midair, floating with no motion whatsoever.

    The girl who had ducked looked up at the snowballs above her; her eyes could tell it all. At first, she was in utter confusion; such a thing wasn¡¯t very normal; then came wonder and excitement in all of its shades as a wide smile arrived on her face, her eyes sparking as she got up and ran toward Kanrel.

    ¡°He is the wizard my dad told me about! The one that has been performing at Vien¡¯s!¡± She announced loudly as she ran, soon causing at least six other children to peek from their hiding spots and follow her at least as eagerly.

    Kanrel took an alarmed step back as seven children ran toward him. He hadn¡¯t expected something like this to happen, but soon he found his composure, relaxed himself, and waited for the children to gather around him.

    They were kids, after all, not men wearing dark robes and grotesque masks.

    The group soon all stood before him, and he studied their faces: three girls and four boys. The girl who first noticed him was slightly older than the others, so without hesitation in his mind, Kanrel figured that she was the leader of this little army.

    ¡°Your dad told me that I am a wizard?¡± He couldn¡¯t help but ask, saying such a thing was more or less outrageous, but he wasn¡¯t too bothered about it.

    ¡°Yes, Dad said you use magic, so that would mean that you are a wizard, like in the fairy tales mom always tells!¡± She explained; she spoke rather quickly, even when she had just now run a good twenty meters, and had thrown snowballs for who knows how long, yet she wasn¡¯t out of breath at all.

    Kanrel knew that he would be.

    ¡°I see, and I understand the confusion, but I am actually a priest, not a wizard.¡±

    The girl looked slightly confused. ¡°But you use magic? Priests just walk around with a book in hand and hold sermons, or whatever."

    "Well, we do that as well. But we are really good at magic too!¡± Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but defend his occupation.

    ¡°Can you prove that you¡¯re a priest?¡± Another kid asked, he peered shyly at Kanrel from behind the first girl.

    Kanrel stared at the kids; he was at a loss. ¡°How can I? If you believe that only a wizard is capable of magic.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t much of an answer at first; the kids just peered at each other, and then the ever-so-clever girl said with the widest grin she could conjure, ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    After a long sigh, Kanrel took his notebook from his pocket and began to write. As he wrote, he spoke the words, ¡°Today I met a gang of children; they were practicing warfare with snowballs; the possibility of a revolt run by children is a great possibility.¡±

    He then stopped writing and peered at the children. He brought an awkward smile to his face and asked, ¡°Is this more like it?¡±

    The girl in front just shook her head and sighed. ¡°You¡¯re really not that funny, so it must be true that you¡¯re a priest."

    Kanrel just shrugged, as her statement was correct and acceptable; he really wasn¡¯t funny at all, and he really didn¡¯t know how to be funny. Such things seemed far too complicated to him.

    ¡°But the reason why I approached you is quite simple, for I have a question born from curiosity... What kind of stories have you heard about your home village, or perhaps the areas around it?¡±

    The girl crossed her hands and pondered for a few moments, only to ask a question in return: ¡°What will we get in return? Dad told me once that knowledge is valuable.¡± She had a slight smirk on her face.

    It was Kanrel¡¯s turn to sigh. Kids these days are too smart for their own good, but then again, he didn¡¯t really know any kids. ¡°How about a favor? Even though I am not a wizard, I still practice magic,¡± he suggested.

    The girl¡¯s slight smirk flourished and came into bloom; she had, in fact, bartered for the best thing that she could get from him: ¡°Deal!¡± Without even a moment of hesitation, she offered her small hand to Kanrel, who took it after cursing to himself. They shook hands, and Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but feel that he had made yet another mistake.

    Who knows what the girl was going to ask him in return?

    The information Kanrel received was mostly things he already knew, either from his studies at the academy or from the books that he had read in the village:

    It was known, or at least understood, that the kingdom did not always reach this far north, nor really that far from the southern coastal regions of the continent. In a way, the kingdom and its people were blessed by the immeasurable power that was given to them by the Angels.

    They would not have expanded as far as they did, lest it be for the Priesthood. And it is known that the kingdom would have perished under the tide of the Wildkin without the blessing and the Priesthood.

    If mankind was besieged and almost hunted into extinction by Wildkin, then how is it possible that other cultures, peoples, and nations would exist?

    Hunted into extinction was more or less a distorted understanding of the matter¡ªsomething blown out of proportion.

    Sure, it might be so that the Wildkin would end up hunting all of mankind until they no longer existed. But in reality, it would take hundreds of years for this tide to truly topple all of the human nations, cultures, tribes, and all that does exist. After all, the world is a lot larger than we think it to be.

    So the population of this village might¡¯ve once been that of a tribe that had always lived here, and it might be so for the majority of the places in the kingdom. But now they were mixed with the people of the kingdom. Or they did not exist at all, for it is shown by history that mankind isn¡¯t that much better than the Wildkin and their quest to devour the world.

    But the new information that he had either missed in the books that were in the village or just the adults of the village didn¡¯t really talk about was the ground. According to the story told by the children, the further you went into the northwestern forest, the ground would whisper; it would speak to those who traversed deep within.

    He thanked the children for the things that they told him and promised that they could ¡°cash in¡± the favor whenever they wanted to or needed to. With this new information, he walked back to the tavern. There were many more questions that he ought to ask. Perhaps some adults knew more about the ground and how it "spoke."

    Spring¡­ If only he could enjoy his time like those children could. If only he wasn¡¯t what he had become...

    The warm evening sun gently caressed his face, rekindling those memories he had of his childhood. If only one could forget and if only there was no regret. The warmth was cold on his face, and the sun brought no understanding of beauty to him. The flowers that defied the last snow that was left were just flowers. For him, there remained not even a speck of wonder.

 Chapter Twenty-Nine: Studies into New Theories of Coding and Magic

    If coding, the process that allows magic to happen, is mainly based on understanding the properties of things around you, even some physics. If all this is mainly just words and numbers, can¡¯t one create their own language to shorten and streamline coding itself?

    This was a thought that had entered Kanrel¡¯s mind recently while observing how some handymen, with the help of Isbit Jankse, would communicate with each other in shortened sentences, sometimes yelling just a word followed by some numbers, for example: ¡°Hammer, fifteen!¡±

    For the handymen, this meant ¡°a hammer and fifteen nails.¡± Sometimes just an action would be enough to receive a thing that was needed, like holding your hand upward, which was enough for another handyman to give him whatever he might¡¯ve needed.

    This, of course, was only possible when the people working together understood each other and the language they used. All this was just to make things quicker; there was no point in exclaiming long sentences since that would only be a waste of time.

    Kanrel had written down this idea of his and soon after began working on it. It would be complicated, as he would have to produce a new kind of vocabulary altogether. He started with fire and assigned it the very simple letter "F." Not only would this letter mean fire, but it would also have to mean the properties of fire; it had to hold within it all of the information that one would need to create fire.

    This ¡°F¡± would also have to have a base level of power. It could not be an explosive creation that would set your surroundings, or worse, yourself, on fire. It had to be something small, useful, and manageable.

    So the letter ¡°F¡± would basically mean fire that was equal to the fire produced by a match. And the magnitude, or power, of the fire could be decided with numbers. From one to 5, for now, each number would mean a slightly more potent speck of fire, from that of a match to a burning log.

    In theory, with enough practice, he should be able to form fire, suspended about a meter away from his face; the location would be decided by his vision, like always. But what about the shape? What if he wanted to create a ball of fire or even a long line of fire?

    This was something he would have to figure out later, so for now, he went out to test his new code.

    It had been about a week since he was able to move into the temple; most things inside were fixed, replaced, or moved to another location within the temple. Outside, there were still some minor things that the handymen had to work on, so Kanrel chose the evening to be his time for testing out the theory.

    He stood in front of the temple and carefully began forming a code and the location of a simple fire at level one. He could feel the familiar disgust go through his body in multiple waves; it was much more potent than when he used his usual codes.

    He stopped halfway through the code, as he did not feel like vomiting just yet.

    What would be the cause of this sensation? Of course, feeling disgusted while using magic and forming codes was normal; it was to be expected, but why was it suddenly so potent?

    The only reason for it that he could think of was his own unfamiliarity with this way of doing things. He had to get used to this way of feeling so disgusted.

    Kanrel grimaced because he knew what this meant in practice: he would have to produce a code using his new ¡°language¡±, fail, vomit, and then repeat until he succeeded. After which, he would have to keep practicing and keep vomiting until he was no longer affected by the disgusting feeling of using this unfamiliar code.

    At least he could use the same code to burn the vomit.

    As the evening turned into night and the sun was setting on the horizon, it quickly became clear how difficult changing your preferred way of coding and magic can be.

    Kanrel remembered how he had dinner; of course, the food didn¡¯t really taste like anything, but at least he wasn¡¯t hungry, nor was he puking out the things that he ate. But now... he felt weak; hungry even.

    Slowly, he had begun to master his new craft, although it was yet to be nearly as effective as his usual way of doing things.

    To burn the last vomit and thus finish his last test for the day, he used the old code that he had used at the beginning of his real experience with magic. One''s mind cannot help but look back at those times and how Oidus used to do this for him.

    He should write to them and to everyone. To his mother, to Yviev, to Wen, to Oidus, to Uanna, and to Yirn... Yirn?

    Kanrel stood still, motionless, and looked ahead, not seeing the things that were before him, just that one name endlessly rotating in his mind. Yirn.

    It had been months, and he had thought about him so much. He had wished that the things that had happened hadn''t happened. Perhaps he could have saved him; he could have helped him away from his choices that only brought him to his own demise.

    He gritted his teeth and went back inside. He¡¯d write down observations about his tests with his new codes, and perhaps then he¡¯d think about those letters, writing them to those he called his friends.

    Maybe they also had their regrets; he wasn¡¯t the only one who lost someone. They all lost a friend, but maybe the difference was how they now felt about that friend.

    He sat across the window in his room. Before him were a multitude of writing materials: notebooks, paper, ink, pens, and envelopes. Not to mention the Iduldian family seal.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    He held his pen and looked at an empty piece of paper; not a single word had found its way onto its naked surface. What would he even write? What could he ask? To whom should he write first? Where should he even send this letter?

    He set his pen back down and got up. He couldn¡¯t do it, not now. He would wait for anyone to send him a letter first; they¡¯d figure it out, and they¡¯d have things to say. He didn¡¯t have anything to say.

    In the candlelight of his dim room, he could see his face staring back at him in the window. A scruffy, dark beard had begun growing. He ran his fingers through this new thing, which he had never thought about.

    He was getting older. And to be quite precise, he didn¡¯t even know how old he was. Only that he was adopted by his mother sixteen summers ago. He could kind of remember that day and even some days prior.

    Lo¡¯ Gran, the great capital of this kingdom, is the seat of power for both the crown and the Priesthood. It is the richest city, the largest, and the most populated. He had once lived there alone, just another nameless street rat that polluted the beauty of the city.

    He had lived on the outskirts of the city, still within the walls but among the poorest population of the city. For his kind, there was no place, no orphanages, and no helping hands. As a child, he would beg, he would steal, and he would do anything to have something to eat. He would spend his nights under bridges during the summers; it wouldn¡¯t yet be so cold that he¡¯d freeze to death.

    The only winter he could remember was the one from which the Herald of the Gods saved him. Someone who is homeless and poor like him would have to break into a cellar or an unoccupied home to be able to survive the harsh, cold winter.

    But he had been unlucky, for the family that owned the cellar had found him there and then thrown him out into the cold. No one would want to house a rodent-like him, even if the rodent was a child.

    It was the evening, and the sun had not for the longest of times been up; so cold it was. A child walked through the night, from the outskirts of the city to near the center of it; each step was just pain; hunger was crawling inside, calling for him to eat; his tired body was ready to give up. What was the point of living if you had to try so hard just to have dinner?

    He still remembered how the houses got bigger, the doors more grand, and there were no people there¡ªnone to inhabit the cold streets. At random, he chose a door, one made out of dark oak. It and the building above were imposing compared to his small, malnourished frame.

    With the last of his strength, he used to knock on the door, then collapsed soon after, slowly drifting away and entering the lull of darkness. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, it wouldn''t be so cold anymore. Perhaps warmth would take him as its own, and peace could be brought to a nameless child.

    Kanrel blew the candle out and let there be just the darkness. He was not a child anymore; that was more than apparent; that child had died. That child brutally jumped to his own death. That child was nowhere to be seen on his face.

    He gritted his teeth and sat down on the floor. A man who lacks the ability to feel joy once thought that he was equally unable to love, yet here he was, on the brink of tears, just thinking about how much he loved his mother. How much he owed her.

    She hadn¡¯t even wanted him to take this path; she had advised against it, yet the son wanted to be like his mother¡ªsomeone so good, someone so warm, even with her lack of ability when it came to smiling. His smile was hers; they shared that same lack of talent for smiling.

    He missed her; he wanted to be back home in that house, which was warm and had saved him from the cold and death. She had tried so hard to be a normal mother, even when she had herself been a priest.

    Kanrel lay down and peered for a moment at the darkness of his own ceiling. Even with this pain, this constant cold within, and this bitter regret that held its grip around his throat, he would live. He would pay back what he owed her.

    He would be a son worth her time and sacrifice. Maybe there¡¯d be a day¡ªjust maybe one moment¡ªwhen he could feel all the emotions he once felt. Maybe he could confess just how much he loved her. How much he cared for her and how much he owed her.

    All this, just so that she could take him into her arms and say, ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡±

    That is all he needs; that is all that any man needs. For anyone, anyone at all, to say these simple words to him. To promise that it will indeed all be alright.

    As Kanrel closed his eyes and drifted into the night, he lulled into that darkness, hoping for its warmth, but only found more nightmares to keep company. The night was cold on the floor, and when he woke the next morning, that too, he had learned to regret.

    Kanrel got up and began the needed preparations for the day ahead; his job would be to walk around the village, seeking out people who might need his help. After all, spring was here, and with spring, the village would wake up from its slumber, preparing itself for the work that was ahead of itself.

    The fields would have to be prepared with toil, and soon the first plants would be sown. Finally, Kanrel would be able to see how the village and its people fed themselves throughout the year.

 Chapter Thirty: Moments Before and After Death

    What is there to say about the life of an old man? Surely great things; surely a story that goes through the ages, which seems unending, until it does end. Abruptly. As if there were no reason for his death. As if his life were supposed to continue forevermore.

    We all die. It is the only thing that is truly equal about humans; after all, it is the great equalizer.

    But was death truly equal? Perhaps the moment itself was when you¡¯d succumb to the awaiting eternal darkness. If, of course, one assumed that there was nothing afterward.

    But everything else about death wasn¡¯t so equal.

    The seemingly endless ways and moments in which a man could die¡ªthey could not be equal. For there were those who died with their loved ones near them; before their deaths, they could still hear them as they slowly drifted away. And enter a never-ending dream¡ªthe comfort of darkness.

    There¡¯d be no more pain; no more joy; there¡¯d be nothing.

    But if there were those who had someone there with them¡ªsomeone to keep watch over them¡ªsomeone to make death less scary and less lonely, then there would have to be those who had none. Those who were just lonely, completely alone, and afraid.

    So cold. So very cold.

    A man could die in the comfort of his own bed, by accident or in a trench, his heart pierced by a spear, his blood flowing down his armor, a soldier gasping for air, praying for anyone, anything at all, to release him. For there to be no more pain.

    So afraid, so lonely, and so cold.

    It was the beginning of the summer when Kanrel was called by Isbit Jankse to see his father for the last time. To converse with a man who was close to death.

    Rant¡¯s house had its familiar smell to it; everything inside seemed like it had always been. Only the old man himself was different. He lay on his bed, a man so small. His eyes could barely keep open, and his wrinkled face lacked the many expressions that Kanrel had once recognized.

    At first, Kanrel thought that he had been late but was soon proven wrong, for the old man tiredly opened his eyes and called for him to come closer. ¡°Don¡¯ worry, you ain¡¯t gonna get infected with old age, at least not from me¡­¡± His voice was like a whisper, yet there still remained a memory of the wit he once had.

    Kanrel sat on the chair that was pulled next to the bed; now he could see that the old man was still breathing as his chest slowly rose up and down. Death would not take him¡ªnot quite yet.

    ¡°Betty¡­ I¡­ I regret what happened to her¡­¡± Rant suddenly said, his words soon followed by a violent cough, ¡°She should¡¯ve never gone so deep; she should¡¯ve never gone there.¡± The old man mumbled and soon went quiet. He was still breathing.

    Kanrel peered at the old man, searching his face for reasons to say such things. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Rant coughed violently again; the bed shook, but he soon found his voice again. ¡°No one is allowed to enter,¡± he whispered, his voice so thin, almost nonexistent. Kanrel had to lean closer to hear and had to take a moment to comprehend the last words of a dying man.

    There was silence. There was no movement. Just half-closed eyes that looked somewhere¡ªsomewhere beyond.

    Kanrel¡¯s hands shook as he slowly placed his hand on Rant¡¯s neck and looked for a pulse. There was none, so he took out his notebook and carefully, despite his hands that refused to stop shaking, wrote down the moment of his death.

    He wrote down the last words that the man had spoken, and without thinking much of anything else, he stepped outside of the room and looked for the family that was left behind.

    Death, indeed, seems quite equal. But if the moments leading to death can be unequal, so can the moments after death. What is to be done with a corpse? What about the assets of a man who had just died? Where goes his house, his money, or his debt?

    Sometimes, close family members would come like scavengers, pecking for the things that were left behind. Pecking the corpse for more money. And other times, there might be nothing to share. Not even a single coin was to be shared with the family that was left behind; there was no property to give away.

    The now-dead man would be buried or burned. If this man was lucky enough to die in a place where his body was found. If he was lucky, he would have his own grave, and not one shared with many others¡ªthose killed by a plague or in a war.

    There was nothing equal about death; there was nothing equal about life. Either way, there¡¯d be someone who had things slightly better than someone else. But what could you do about that? We all have our own lives, which are so very different. We come from different places; some have wealthier parents, others do not.

    Some work hard to achieve great recognition and riches; others try all of their lives to have even a speck of such things, only to have nothing at the end of it all.

    Life was cruel, and so was death. The only good thing about death might¡¯ve been the fact that there¡¯d be nothing. No feeling, no pain¡ªjust nothing. But if one could regret while being dead, then they would regret not being alive. Or so Kanrel believed, not because his own life was much better than his thoughts of death, but because of the memory he had of his childhood. Of a time when life wasn¡¯t so cruel.

    Grief has many faces.

    Some would cry. Some would not. Some would become solemn. Some were confused as if denying what had happened. But we all grieve, no matter the preferred way of grieving.

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    Isbit had no words; his face was that of a statue. His children cried, and his wife cried, yet he held his composure. One might think that such a thing is useless, even heartless. But somehow, it felt so brave.

    The man hugged his wife and his children, being someone they could lean on. He did not cry so that the others could. He did not cry, for he refused to do so. For him, it felt like it wasn¡¯t the correct time or place.

    Different parts of the kingdom had their own ways of burial, different rites, and such, which needed to be done before the dead could be laid to rest.

    Here, it was simple. They would burn his body as fast as they could, for no one wanted their beloved family member to go cold. If you were to go here, you would not enter the ground below. The ground is cold, and the world is cold. So let him perish in fire; let him never be cold again.

    Isbit and his family said their goodbyes, and Kanrel used his magic to carry Rant¡¯s body outside. The corpse hovered before him as he walked away from the house, just forward, until he felt that he had found a suitable spot.

    He gritted his teeth, for he knew what he would have to do. He set the man down and began forming codes that would burn the body within seconds. A fire that would be like an inferno, a fire that would let only ash remain.

    He prayed to the Angels as he released it¡ªa great fire, so magnificent that it lit up like a second sun. Surely it could be seen kilometers away¡ªthis bright white fire that flashed for a moment, soon to allow the dusk back in. Enveloping Kanrel with his deed.

    On the ground, there was a black spot with smoke rising from it; ash covered the ground. He formed another code: a wind that would carry the ash far away from here; it would sprinkle itself on top of the fields, the forests, and the hills.

    From those ashes, life would begin anew.

    He closed his eyes as the wind came and went. He would not look where it would take the remains of an old man. Solemn were his thoughts as he prayed for the Angels to lay Rant to rest.

    After a while, Kanrel opened his eyes and returned to a house that would now be Isbit''s. The family stood on the terrace, looking at the priest who walked their way. It was clear that they had witnessed it all.

    They accepted him back into a dead man''s house. And for Kanrel, it was uncertain what he was supposed to do; what words could he offer to those who grieved? A question he had asked himself many times now during his time in the village.

    So he chose to listen instead. He chose to answer questions that they might have for him about death and what comes after. They talked about the man who was known as Rant, his life, his achievements, and all the things that were around him. Memories¡ªthey''re so powerful.

    A man might recount each encounter he had with his father from the beginning to the very end, perhaps thinking that he himself could not remember anything at all. All of those memories suddenly became so important¡ªthe only thing real. Evidence of the fact that the now-dead man once existed.

    Some of those memories might seem so insignificant, but when you look back at them before his death, you see a simple image of him working in the fields, toiling the hard ground, and sweating profusely. But now that image, that memory, becomes a vessel that brings understanding: He had worked so hard, even when it was tiring, even when it amounted to nothing; he worked hard just to make sure that his family might live. That they could eat, that they would have the things they needed.

    His rough hands at the end of the day, accepting his son into his arms, petting the hair of the young lad. His smell, his eyes, his presence. There was nothing fair about death¡ªnothing beautiful¡ªexcept the memories that would resurface. Memories like this and an understanding: He was important; I love him, and I still do.

    Soon they grew into silence, and Isbit went outside, muttering something about wanting to relieve himself. Kanrel stayed for a little while longer, until he decided that he should return to the temple. He bid farewell to Isbit¡¯s wife and children and stepped outside.

    As he walked, soon Kanrel could hear a silent sniffling, an ugly sound of someone trying to suppress their tears¡ªtheir own howling grief. He slowly looked for this sound and the creator of it, and soon he saw a familiar man sitting on the ground, his head buried into his hands.

    Kanrel backed off, as he wished to let the man grieve in his lonesomeness, as he so clearly had intended to do.

    It is so strong, this emotion. This complicated thing. This gut-wrenching emotion was so difficult to deal with.

    It is not easy for a son to cry after the death of his own father. After all, aren¡¯t all men supposed to be strong? Kanrel knew that it took considerable courage for Isbit to not cry before his own family, but to cry here, in his lonesome, was equally as brave. He had not known how brave a man could be.

    It was so dark when Kanrel reached the village, and the only spot that chose to produce light seemed to be Vien¡¯s tavern. It was an inviting sight¡ªa house filled with all kinds of people¡ªsome might be jovial, some sad, but most certainly most would be drunk.

    He had never had as great of an urge before to consume the liquid they called ale. Perhaps it would help him with these feelings and these painful realizations.

    Perhaps this was equality equated with death: a common sense of sadness among those who had lost someone.

 Chapter Thirty-One: Summer Months in a Forest and Childhood Sweethearts

    A soft breeze came in from the window, which made him wake up. Again, he forgot to close the damn thing last evening. By now, there must¡¯ve been at least a hundred mosquitoes that had defiled his body in his sleep.

    With prompt action and a quick code, he cast a spell, and the mosquitoes around the room dropped dead while the rays of the morning sun cast a beam of light on the floor of his room.

    It wasn¡¯t all bad living in a little village near the mountains; the world around was supposedly quite beautiful, and people were sometimes honest to others and seldom honest to themselves.

    Less people lived here than in the academy, so that was nice; it didn¡¯t feel crowded, yet somehow people bothered him here more than anywhere else. They would come to his door and knock until he opened the door for them.

    Sometimes they came to visit for actual reasons; sometimes it was a group of kids curious about magic, but most of the time there was someone wasting his time for no good reason.

    He understood that people saw him as someone useful and someone they should take advantage of; it was a lot easier if Kanrel used magic to remove a large boulder from the ground than it was to use manpower to do the same thing.

    He also understood that people were thankful for his help and might offer him food and other things. But he didn¡¯t understand why there had to be something for him to do every day of the week.

    And every time, he would get up and do as they wished him to do because that was his job in this little community. Life goes more smoothly this way. There really wasn¡¯t anyone who would discriminate against him or hate him for who he was, though that, again, was just his perception of things in this little village.

    Maybe they all hated him, which is why they thought of things that they could use to bother him with.

    Of course, all this time wasn¡¯t completely wasted, for when he had to come up with a code for a task, he would try different things just to test how it might work in different scenarios. And if the given test failed for one reason or another and the large rock remained in the ground, he would then use a code he knew would work. No harm done.

    This gave him many opportunities to test his new "coding language¡±.

    Because of this, everywhere he went, he had his notebook with him, and he would write down the codes he had tested and then used. And because it was part of his job, he also wrote down what was requested of him, who requested it from him, and why. And so forth.

    At first, he had been at a loss, but now, after a few months, it all came to him quite naturally. However, it did take a considerable amount of effort to deal with normal people. As in those who weren¡¯t priests.

    Their emotional experiences were much more varied, and it was often difficult for him to read the situation or read between the words. It had been almost two years by now since he last felt emotions normally. So there wasn¡¯t as much as he would¡¯ve liked to draw from.

    Despite all this and everything that he had done for those who lived here, he was still a stranger, just someone passing by, an outsider. To become part of a seemingly friendly village took considerably more effort than one might think.

    But it didn¡¯t matter; it wasn¡¯t allowed to matter. He would continue doing things the way he had done since the beginning, of course, made wiser by the wider variety of information he had, be it of the things he had done or the people he had to work with.

    All this paid off, for the people would have looser tongues with him about different matters. Most would, of course, be just useless rumors. But information about the ground, which apparently spoke, was now there for him to access.

    Before this village had become just another part of the kingdom, it had humans living here, perhaps a tribe of hunter-gatherers who had a close connection to the nature around them; they found the forests to be sacred, the rivers as well, and so were the mountains.

    But for them, the most sacred ground was somewhere within the forest, near the mountains that rose high in the northwest. The actions of Betty before her disappearance in the woods and then the words of a dying man, Rant, all lead into the forest.

    So he chose a day at random from the week that he would dedicate to exploring the forest and finding clues about anything that might relate to either of those things.

    Never is a forest silent; never is it without its inhabitants. Never is it truly safe. Not for most.

    The forest is thick with vegetation; its floor is covered with moss, and there are different types of berries. Ant nests can be found the further you traverse inward, and once you do, you can follow a great road created by those ants to another location, perhaps another colony.

    On their backs, they carry many things, mostly needles to construct more of their great cities and dead bugs to perhaps feast upon in great gatherings. There are many ants¡ªsurely more than there are humans in the world.

    They build, they expand, and they partake in warfare. Thus, they kill and conquer. Kanrel had always found ants to be interesting; such simple creatures had such great complexity to themselves.

    This complex yet simple existence made him wonder if they too had gods, if they too had such concepts, if they had thoughts, minds of sorts, to produce ideas, to partake in dialogue, in debates in their own quest to find truth. Whatever that truth might be.

    But alas, the forest is more than the kingdom of ants. A forest is a living, breathing organism. The great spruce and pine trees that pierced upward, overcasting the ground beneath, yet letting light enter this land of ants and berries.

    The wind would gently brush through the forest, through the many needles of the many branches, making a pleasant sound that brought more life to the forest. He could hear birds singing in their varied styles; he could not even begin to guess which species of bird there might be.

    As he walked, he could easily tell that he was ever so slightly going uphill. At times, he would scale a small hill just to descend it soon after, reaching further into the forest. He had heard many descriptions of things ahead from many different people.

    Many would enter, mainly to gather things during the different seasons, be it berries or mushrooms during late summer and early autumn, wood whenever, or to hunt when it was most convenient to do so. There is supposed to be plenty of game, mainly moose and deer, but also some rabbits as well. Wolves were only sometimes an issue, and bears seldom.

    But most would traverse only a few kilometers. Most would know not to enter too deep. For the ground spoke, they said. The ground was sacred to those who lived here long before them. The ground would eat them and swallow them.

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    After a few hours, Kanrel chose not to go any further in; along the way, he had made notes of the things that he had seen and how long it took for him to reach those locations. He should be able to easily return to the village.

    He went ahead and marked a tall pine tree with a cross, slightly burning its bark. He would turn around and return to the village, for he did not wish to spend his night so deep in a forest, nor would he like to try to navigate it in the dark.

    From that day onward, Kanrel would enter the forest twice a week, but this time more gradually so that he could investigate the area more thoroughly. He was trying to find anything at all that might give him an understanding of the little rumors that he had heard and of Betty¡¯s disappearance.

    But as the first summer had gone by, and then soon after that, the autumn, it was made clear that he would have to travel even deeper next year to find anything. But would an old woman travel so far into the woods just to pick mushrooms? Such a thing seemed unlikely, but he had no other clues to follow.

    It was late autumn when Kanrel gave up for now; he returned from his last exploration of the year and visited Vien¡¯s tavern. The place was as rowdy as ever, with many familiar faces gathered around tables and Vien¡¯s bar counter to drink, converse, and just kill time.

    The harvest had been good this year, and most were ready for the coming winter.

    Kanrel took a stool for himself and sat next to Dar, who sat silently peering into his drink. An eye unaccustomed to the man¡¯s facial expressions might think that he was contemplating something great or that he was somewhat sad, which would be wrong.

    Kanrel, who found himself spending more time than was perhaps necessary in his company, could easily tell whether the man was happy about something or just shy about another thing.

    As per usual, Kanrel ordered nothing to drink and nothing to eat; he would indulge himself in food when he got home later. Cooking was a new skill he had been practicing as of late, but it was difficult to tell if he had made any progress since all food tasted the same.

    ¡°Did something good happen? Or are you going to proclaim your undying love to Vien and ale?¡± Kanrel asked when he realized that Dar paid no attention to him but just kept looking into his drink.

    The man flinched noticeably, managing not to spill any of his precious ale on the wooden counter. Dar finally looked at Kanrel. ¡°Yes to the first question, and a big no to the second one,¡± he said. ¡°The second, I, like many others here, have tried so many times and gotten the same answer as those many before me and after, so there is really no point in asking when the answer is as clear as day¡­¡±

    ¡°Right, but I do distinctly remember you asking a week or so ago¡­¡±

    "Well, perhaps, but that is beside the point. For that time, and many other times before, I was most definitely drunk and absolutely out of my mind. So they really don¡¯t count, now do they?¡±

    Kanrel just shrugged. ¡°Then tell me, oh man of many drunken mistakes, what has made you so happy on this late autumn day?¡±

    A shy smile found its way onto the man''s face. ¡°You see, I had some friends left in Aucklyn, and I sometimes get letters from them, and I sometimes send some back.¡±

    ¡°You see when old Rant died, Isbit wanted to hire some more people to the farm, but in the village, there aren¡¯t really enough people for how much farming he wants to do next year.¡±

    ¡°So I suggested that he¡¯d hire people from Aucklyn, as I used to live there; Isbit agreed and asked me to ask, and well, those friends are already on their way here, with their families and all,¡± Dar explained.

    ¡°Oh, so some friends and the love of your life?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­ Wait¡­ No!¡± Various emotions that were seldom seen on Dar¡¯s face flashed in quick succession, starting with a shy smile, turning into a sweet soon, becoming horrified, and then awfully red with embarrassment.

    Kanrel patted Dar on the shoulder and said, ¡°I wish the best of luck on your attempts at seducing this person for yourself; I have no tips for you; frankly, there isn¡¯t any religious text that I could refer to when it comes to matters of love, lust, or whatever. So you¡¯re on your own.¡±

    ¡°But do tell me, what is this person like?¡± Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but ask; he had never really had such a talk in his life with anyone, and he did truly want to know what kind of people might soon be entering this village, which he too now calls home.

    Dar was silent at first, but soon opened his mind; to his memories of a loved one: ¡°She, Amer, is a childhood friend, a nameless like me; we both lived in Aucklyn since our early age, as people who were placed there in efforts to divide a ghetto in Lo¡¯ Gran.¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t want us there anymore, in the capital, so they placed us all around the kingdom, children and adults. There we were placed into either families or under priests so that we could become law-abiding citizens of the kingdom.¡±

    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know much about that, but I guess it kinda worked. I lived with a priest, and Amer with a family that couldn¡¯t have children of their own; we both knew since we were children what we are: nameless.¡±

    ¡°And I think that made us bond, so we always had each other''s backs. If she was bullied, I¡¯d fight back with her, and vice versa. I helped her learn to read and write, and she helped me learn more practical things, as having a priest as a father is quite ''academic'' for lack of a better description.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve been in love with her since my teens; I just never shared those feelings; I never spoke of ¡®em. There was no need, as we were friends, and I really didn¡¯t want to ruin something we already had¡­¡± Dar let out a long sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I regret it or not; the times we had together, as friends, are so precious, but the what-ifs sometimes make me feel all too dizzy.¡±

    Kanrel brought out his well-practiced smile and said, ¡°You never told me you had a priest as a father.¡±

    Dar shrugged. "I never thought to bring it up, nor did you ever ask, but it might explain why I find your presence kind of comforting.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, and I¡¯ve never told you that I have a priest as a mother.¡± Kanrel added, ¡°So I assume our upbringing isn¡¯t that different; I was just brought up in Lo¡¯ Gran instead.¡±

    Dar shook his head. "Iduldian... You have a name, and I am nameless; let¡¯s not forget that.¡±

    Kanrel just smiled and said nothing else about the matter; perhaps they¡¯d discuss such things at another time. Instead, he got up and patted Dar on the shoulder, saying, ¡°I¡¯ll be glad to meet this Amer of yours when she gets here.¡±

    He then bid him goodnight and left the tavern. Kanrel had a new hobby to attend to. The wonders of cooking and the many flavors of ash were his to unlock; someday he might find a flavor of ash with a better taste to it.

 Chapter Thirty-Two: A Year Gone By

    Witnessing the first meeting of two old friends is supposedly heartwarming, but it made Kanrel only think of the people he had seemingly forgotten about or just tried to move past. The people he had met at the academy weren¡¯t just people who were useful to him; they were his friends, and he missed them. The same way that he missed his mother and the childhood that was long past now.

    Maybe one day Dar will find the courage to share his feelings with Amer, even with the risk of those feelings being left unanswered. But it was clear which Dar would regret more; the way he spoke of her said enough about his own feelings toward her.

    Such things¡­ were alien to Kanrel before, but as he slowly healed and began accepting the things that had happened, even with all the regret and doubt he had, such things and such feelings became more understandable.

    He might not love his friends and family the same way Dar loved Amer, but it was similar enough for him to see, for him to understand, how difficult it could be to be separated from her and hold things in; words, which you so adamantly want to say out loud but feel like you can¡¯t.

    What does it take for a man to learn to truly open up and share what goes within? Could a man share his emotions without having to explain or justify them? Surely all, if not most, felt the same; they were unsure about what to say and when to say it, especially when it came to emotions.

    What are you allowed to say?

    Such thoughts plagued his mind as autumn crawled by, the darkest and most depressing months of the year; there was just rain and darkness. It was said that such months were the most deadly, not because nature interfered with the lives of humans but rather because the weather and darkness affected the minds of men.

    During these months, Kanrel first did nothing; he instead let those days crawl by, in his mind just the thoughts of what has been, what once was, instead of what there will be and what is there to come.

    One night, he got up from his bed, even though it might¡¯ve been a better idea to drift into sleep, but he had an urge to write a letter.

    To write about all the things that have happened to him and to the people in this village. To tell of the thoughts that he had and to share these emotions, which seemed to not subdue.

    He not only wrote one but several, each of them dedicated to the people he thought of as friends or just important to himself. A letter to her mother, a letter to Uanna, a letter to Yviev, a letter to Wen, a letter to Oidus, and lastly, a letter to Yirn.

    The last letter held the most truth in it. A naked exploration, shedding light into thoughts he would much rather not think of:

    It has been almost a year since you died. A year of bitter memories and feelings. A year during which I¡¯ve felt lost; I¡¯ve felt uncomfortable with how I am, with what I feel, and with how I exist.

    A year of shifting blame first onto you, but soon after finding that all this blame belongs to me. All this regret comes from within. All these emotions and lost months. For everything that has ever happened, I find that I can only blame myself.

    Not only am I a fool, but I''ve also found that I am nothing more than a child lost in a world for which he was not prepared.

    I wish I could start from the beginning. I wish I could better cherish the life I had before all of this. I wish I could accept the regret brought by the choices I¡¯ve made. I wish I could escape, leave all of this behind, forget everything that has ever happened, and begin anew.

    But I cannot. Those memories, I¡¯ve found, are so precious. New ones can¡¯t and will not fix or replace them; they will never be better than the ones I already had.

    I cannot forgive you. And I cannot forgive myself. With this, I shall live until the end of my days, perhaps trying to forgive not only you but myself. In the end, I shall regret all that I have ever done, what I ever will do, what I will become, what I have become, what I once was, and everything that there is that I am.

    But I will not regret the feelings I had. The friendship we shared. I hope to one day forgive you, for it is so painful to live with my heart tense with bitterness.

    Kanrel stared at the letter¡ªall the letters that were written; the others were already in envelopes with names attached to them, with a wax seal, and ready to be sent out. But the last one would be left without a name, without a seal, without a destination.

    He gritted his teeth, folded it, and placed it somewhere he could not look at it, where he could forget it. In between an old book on the shelf, one that might be opened one day, perhaps decades from now, by another soul, most likely a priest like him. But Kanrel would not unfold it; he would not read it. He would forget its existence. But he would try to forgive, even when he believed that he could not.

    Memories are, in fact, powerful; they are proof of a life lived. To be without them would make the journey a pointless, empty passage with no meaning. All this¡ªthe pain, the good, the bad, the ugly¡ªevery memory brings a man into existence. The outcome might be painful, devoid of reason, and a depressed individual with no future in sight. Yet, would it not all still be worth it?

    Life, after all, is just that. Events, painful and wonderful, formed a story of sorts. This story might end in tragedy¡ªdeath¡ªbut there will be things left behind¡ªmore memories. A remembrance of a simple fact of existence, a small fire in ever-beckoning darkness...

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    This winter was much more pleasant than the previous one. There was no life-threatening journey through a harsh winter landscape; there was no constant hunger or cold. Here, in this village, which he could now call home, he found peace and safety.

    He found people he could depend on; he found friends that he could extend his love to. Here he found time to reflect on himself, his actions, and what had happened. Who he had become, and perhaps who he might one day be.

    Tomorrow isn¡¯t just a dark corridor with no light at the end of it; hope might not exist, but at least there was a glimmer of it, a purpose for his actions and responsibilities that he needed to fulfill.

    Conversations with people who came to visit him at the temple and those with whom he had at the tavern gave him much insight into how complicated people truly were. How difficult life was for most. What it meant to love and then to lose that love.

    It was clear that he had had it much easier than most people who lived here, perhaps much easier than most who live in this world. It would be foolish to argue otherwise. Not many had the privilege of an education, and even fewer people had the privilege of a rich and powerful parent.

    Surely he had his own difficulties, and surely they were valid as well, but it was difficult not to purposefully compare his own experiences and his own life to those of others.

    It made him realize that he ought to be more thankful for the things he had as a child and the privileges he still held. But it did not make him feel any better; it did not make the things that had happened hurt any less. But supposedly, life goes on and things might get better.

    It was a winter evening at the temple, one of the days when someone had come to him and just wanted to talk, pray, and share the ailments that they might have. Usually, Kanrel would speak to a visitor in his own living quarters, but this person insisted that they speak in the temple itself.

    So they sat down on a long bench across from the altar and the painting of the Angel, which looked down on them. Perhaps observing and listening to the conversation that would unfold.

    A man who every day sat at the bar counter, drinking ale; a man in his forties who always looked so jovial, until he didn¡¯t; until his expression became solemn and ale lost its taste.

    His name was Joor, and he looked up at the Angel, with curious wonder in his eyes as he spoke, ¡°I¡¯ve not visited here for over ten years now; ever since Boran disappeared." His voice was much softer than Kanrel had anticipated, and his eyes were bright blue just looking at an Angel.

    ¡°I remember he once told me that he found it difficult to be here; in this temple, across that Angel.¡±

    ¡°He told me that he felt their judgment and their disregard for his existence."

    ¡°Do you feel the same way as he once did?¡±

    Kanrel nodded his head; there was no reason to lie, nor was there a reason to speak out loud these words, for the man continued without even looking at Kanrel.

    ¡°I¡¯ve always found it so beautifully dreadful, that painting... It has something to it; something wrong; I feel like I should not look, yet I cannot look away.¡± The man placed his hand on his chest, above his heart. ¡°It is like that Angel will one day set us all free; they will save us, not the others, just that one specific Angel.¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but look at the painting, feeling dread and disgust as his eyes met the painting''s eyes and as he witnessed, again, this strange Angel and the imposing way it held its sword, as if ready to strike, to smite evil away from this world.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen many paintings, murals, engravings, and statues; this one surely is the one that has left the most lasting impression on me,¡± Kanrel said and lowered his gaze; he just couldn¡¯t look at it again.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen this one since I was a child... I¡¯ve always lived here; the woman I... married is¡ªwas¡ªfrom here." The man went silent and kept his gaze pointed at the Angel, his expression filled with wonder withering away, and soon a melancholic question was brought to his face.

    ¡°Tell me¡­ Can I meet her again? Can I one day see her just for a moment? Can I love her when I am no longer here? Is there nothing after death?¡± Joor broke his gaze from the painting and stared at the priest at his side; his blue eyes dug into Kanrel¡¯s. There was pain, there was grief, and a wish was engraved on his face.

    Kanrel stared at the man, not breaking his gaze or blinking. What was that wish? To meet once more? ¡°I have no answer, for I don¡¯t know; if there is something, no one has told me; if there is nothing, that too remains unknown.¡±

    Joor visibly gritted his teeth and soon swallowed; his brows quivered slightly, and then he shifted his gaze and looked past Kanrel. ¡°So love just dies?¡±

    He slowly grabbed Joor¡¯s hand and placed it on his chest. ¡°It does not; even when you no longer can see her, she still remains; she is here. You love her, and that is what hurts the most.¡±

    ¡°And if there is a place or anything after death, you will surely meet her, and you may surely confess your love to her once more.¡±

    ¡°And if there is nothing, then at least you loved each other; at least you have the many, many memories; the moments you shared with her.¡±

    Joor, with all his courage, met Kanrel¡¯s gaze again; his eyes were watery. ¡°But I am all alone now; I cannot touch her; I cannot hear her; she is now just ash; those memories are present, but all they do is make me long for her more.¡±

    Kanrel brought a slight smile to his face. He shifted his gaze toward the painting of an Angel, ¡°Then cry not because of the memory of her loss; cry because of the wonder you shared; look at those cherished memories and ask yourself this: Would she want you to regret the memories, the life you had together?¡±

    ¡°Would she not want you to rejoice and to realize what longing for her means?¡±

    Joor kept continuously swallowing, and his voice trembled when he asked, ¡°What does it mean?¡±

    Kanrel got up and offered his hand to the man. He helped him up from the bench. ¡°If you have to ask me that, then I advise you to first look into your heart and find the answer for yourself.¡±

    ¡°Come now; let me brew you some tea.¡±

    Later, after they drank a cup of tea in Kanrel¡¯s kitchen, and when Joor finally bid goodnight to the priest, Kanrel was left sitting at his kitchen table, wondering if all the things he had just said made any sense, if any of them could give any solace, or if he was lying through his own teeth.

    What can one say to a man who has lost his wife? Really? What can you say to anyone who has lost someone?

    The first year in the village crawled by; he was the same man that had entered it, yet he was ever so slightly wiser about how difficult life was and how much suffering existed.

 Chapter Thirty-Three: The God Who Hung

    The second year at the village had begun, and one could quickly take notice that all things have a schedule of sorts, one which everyone has to abide by. Be it the simple schedule we call the seasons of the year, in a village, that schedule is the most important, for it decides when the fields can be worked and when they would have to be huddled up inside all day to be out of the way of snow and cold.

    As the snow melted, Kanrel again found himself in the nearby woods. This time, traveling further and deeper into them while trying to find things out of the ordinary. But the forest seemed endless, as he found himself there almost every other day. It didn¡¯t seem to matter, for the woods would continue all the way to the mountains. And if there was something, he could easily miss it. He could easily not notice things that should be noticed.

    It might be that he would not find anything there; it might be that there was nothing in this village that was related to ¡°true magic" or ¡°true god¡± other than a mention of the land being sacred. His quest might be a failure; his mission was to find any substantial information about these things, but did it really matter? He was contributing to the village; he helped the people here who were in need. And that should be enough; that is the true mission of any priest.

    So he found for himself other ventures, not just traversing the woods while finding nothing.

    Education was something dearly needed in this village; most people were unable to read or write. Mathematics was more common, but not to a level where everyone could benefit from it in their everyday lives.

    Things like history and religion might not matter as much, but if one learns about these things, it might inspire them; perhaps one day the next Herald could be chosen from this village. Perhaps the next great historian would emerge from here¡ªthe next great writer, musician, and scientist. There was so much potential, even in this small population of people.

    All that was really needed was some education so that those people might find this passion and, in the future, change the world.

    So Kanrel took it as something he could provide. After all, he was the most educated person in this village; he could teach the basics of these things, and everything after would be up to them. So, each household was notified that at the temple they might partake in various lessons. From writing and reading to mathematics and history.

    Many would attend, many more than Kanrel had anticipated; especially children who were sent to him. Again, he would see the girl that he had spoken with over a year ago; she and her little gang had yet to ask him for that favor Kanrel had promised them.

    And Kanrel did hope that they might forget about it all together.

    Deciding what to teach wasn¡¯t that difficult; all he had to do was look back in time at the things he learned as a child. He was mainly privately tutored by his mother and other tutors who were sent his way.

    In his mind, the most important thing that he could teach anyone was reading and writing. This would allow anyone to express their thoughts on any surface and to much more easily share those thoughts and other information with anyone who might be able to read.

    One could also learn by themselves by visiting the temple at any time to borrow one of the books that were there. Kanrel provided many of the books that he had written during his time at the academy, and he even wrote new ones holding further information, mainly about things that he remembered about history and medicine.

    Things were going smoothly, and it felt like there was always something to do¡ªsomething that Kanrel could contribute to. He decided to finally send out the letters that he had written at the end of autumn, but before doing so, he revised some of them, adding new things that came to his mind.

    He also made sure that the letter that went to his mother would contain some basic information about the village and the troubles that people there have had to deal with. This way, he would not break his agreement with Ulken Reven, the ¡°mayor¡± of the village.

    It was late spring when Kanrel finally found a clue. Though he himself did not find it. It was rather provided by Isbit, who had begun transforming his childhood home into a living space for the people who would work the lands around it.

    He came to the temple holding a mask, one that was far too familiar to Kanrel: A grotesque thing, its dark gray material unknown.

    Isbit placed it on the kitchen table. He seemed to be troubled as if he knew what this mask meant or what it was. He observed Kanrel, who stood still and stared at the mask.

    His mind was filled with things that happened that night. The ambush, Yirn¡¯s betrayal, and his transformation into a creature that could not be named: ¡°Where did you find this?¡±

    Isbit cleared his throat. ¡°Under the bed, there was a trapdoor; it led into a secret cellar with this mask and some other things. I think you should explore it for yourself."

    ¡°Do you perhaps recognize this mask?¡± Kanrel asked, but he didn¡¯t look at the man; in his mind, he could see how he was stabbed again and again by those men with masks.

    ¡°I don¡¯t, but I remember something my father once said: ¡®Beware of the men who wear masks; never go too far into the woods.''"

    Silence was between them for a while, then at last Kanrel looked at Isbit and asked, ¡°And why have you not shared this information with me before?¡±

    Isbit stared back for a while before daring to reply, ¡°He said to never speak of it to anyone.¡±

    Kanrel gritted his teeth and took the mask. ¡°Show me this cellar." And he walked out swiftly; he wanted to know; he needed to understand; to figure out this whole damn thing.

    The hidden cellar was tiny; it only had a few things inside: a stone formation that looked like an altar and a rope that formed a knot and hung from atop it. On the altar, there was an old book.

    In the cellar, there was also a shelf that had many books on it, as well as stacks of paper and notes. It was clear that some of the writings were much newer than the rest; this was made apparent by the things that these notes talked about, for example, Kanrel¡¯s arrival.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Isbit was with Kanrel in the cellar, and he held a lantern as the only source of light in the small interior.

    ¡°Could your father read and write?¡± Kanrel asked him while reading through some of the notes that it was basically a diary; most of the things written were of the mundane kind, about the longing the old man had for his wife.

    ¡°Yes, he was the one who taught me to read and write.¡±

    ¡°Funny; he told me that he could not do either."

    ¡°My father always liked to pretend to be much dumber than he actually was.¡±

    ¡°Sure, but it does not explain the mask or the other things that are here; have you perhaps read through any of the things that are here?¡±

    "No, I have not.¡±

    ¡°It is better that you don¡¯t.¡±

    Some of the older notes carefully explained rituals and how to sacrifice to the ¡°God Who Hung,¡± who was the god of the Athaian: decapitation, removal of eyes, the tongue, ears, the heart, etc. Kanrel had seen or at least heard of all this but one.

    One note was written with clear regret: how a man denounces ¡°the Believers¡± for the death of his own wife. How before he had tried to leave the believers and their faith, how this was the payback for his own actions.

    ¡°I will be taking everything that is inside¡ªall of it. No one else can touch them or read them.¡±

    Isbit was silent but soon agreed; he must have had his own worries about the things he saw here, things he might have heard about, and things he might not want to further learn about.

    Kanrel was provided with a wooden wheelbarrow; he carefully took everything out of the cellar and placed them into it: the books, the notes, even the knot. He used a few codes to make sure that the things inside of it would not move and then began transporting them back to the temple.

    His mind was racing as he was walking back. The old man was a liar; his words were deceitful, and his actions were questionable. Thus, he had to read through all of it; he had to learn and understand the reasons behind those lies.

    The book that had been on top of the altar was of a religious kind; it told the story of the God Who Hung:

    In the lands of the far west lie the kingdoms of great knowledge; though their people are uncivilized and poor, just slaves to their masters. There and for them, a rule of war is always present, and fear is their truth.

    In the lands of the far west, they pray to the Hanged God.

    A man who hung for his crimes¡ªthose crimes were that he spoke the words of peace and goodness; he spoke of freedom for the enslaved and of wealth for those who were poor.

    Thus he was hanged, for such words are not allowed. Yet in the lands of the far west, they pray to such a god. Even though war is all they know...

    Even the Athaians know that only peace can save them from war.

    But all these tales are lies; the God Who Hung was not so merciful; his crimes were far greater, and so was his wisdom: freedom is only for those who are ready to fight for it and ready to die for it.

    The true crime of the God Who Hung is the revolution that he began, trying to bring an end to slavery and topple the tyranny of the council. For his crimes, he was hanged, and his body was laid to rest after a week of hanging. It was placed in a crypt in the Holy City of Terea, and in that crypt, the true god still resides. His body still intact, yet to rot; waiting for the day of reckoning...

    There were many more details within; it went into the great deeds of this God, the revolution that he had begun: for how long it lasted, how many died, the many martyrs of that war, and the end to that war¡ªthe execution of thousands of revolutionaries. Their bodies were left hanging from the walls of Terea, and the aftermath of such a war was more tyranny.

    It was clear that the Athaians, whoever these people may have been, had an intricate caste system where the lowest and most populous of the peoples there were made out of slaves.

    It was the case with all human societies; this complicated history with slavery was present, and it was always horrible, no matter how it was formed or the people who had to suffer through it. Thankfully, in the Kingdom, they had managed to get rid of such a way of doing things, but if you go back a few hundred years, you would find that the last people who fell victim to slavery were the Nameless.

    The ¡°diary¡± of Rant and older texts, which were written long before him, went more in-depth with what was inside the hidden cellar: it was practically a hideout for a follower of the God Who Hung, a place of worship built to hide a secret of the Jenkse family and their deep connections to this cult.

    Some of the older texts elaborated on the rituals, including how they would find people who traveled too deep into the forest; they would hunt them and perform their sacrifice near a holy place, a temple left in ruins near the mountains, deep in the forests.

    The head would be cut off and placed near or within the residence of the person who had been killed for their god. They believed that this would appease the voice of God, who spoke to them near the ruins.

    How it wished for someone to ¡°enter¡± and ¡°set it free"...

    There were mentions of old artifacts found near the ruins and how they would give access to powers that not even the priests could use. But to use one, one would have to sacrifice blood to use them and access them, and often, using such powers might lead to loss of control or even death.

    But those who died were ¡°unworthy¡±.

    The last note, which Kanrel presumed to be the newest one, read as follows:

    My son, the regret that I have for the death of your mother cannot be explained with words. I am the reason for all of this; all this could have been avoided if I had just told everything to her, to you, and to the people who live here.

    I should have told them to never enter the woods; I should have told them of the men who wear masks, of the man that was my father and his father, and so forth. This disgusting cult that we have harbored, which he has allowed to exist so close to a place where people live who have no wish to harm anyone.

    I was naive to think that they would just forget about us¡ªabout the ruins. I should have known that they would return here, that they would begin the hunts once more, and that they would try to release him.

    My son¡­ If you ever find these words, if you ever read what I have written¡ªthe things I have done, what my father and his father have done¡ªyou would never be able to forgive me; you would denounce my name, the name that you carry. And in my heart, I wish that you would do so.

    But I am afraid that these words would inspire you to become something so evil. If they would make you want to forgive me, when forgiveness is better not to be given, I wish that you never find this letter nor any of the things that are hidden; I wish they stay in the shadows.

    I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that you are allowed to live a life where your father isn¡¯t the one to blame for the death of your mother. Where your family isn¡¯t the reason for the deaths of perhaps hundreds...

    I wish that the words of a coward would never see the light of day, and if you ever find what is here, burn it. Burn it all; do not read further. Let the truth remain hidden. Let there be no more words of the True God or of True Magic.

    A coward indeed. A family of them and only one of them had the decency of regret, of realizing the wrongs of the things that were committed. Only one had the decency to now allow his son to become a part of it.

    Kanrel wished that he could burn all these writings, but he could not. He would send a message to his mother, who would send someone to pick all of this up, but before, he would have read through it all many times. To the point where he could recite it almost from memory.

    After a year of staying in this village, he finally had some answers. It was just that the answers weren¡¯t to his liking; nothing of it was. It was all horrible; it was all so disgusting to read about.

    Just how far would a man go for power?

 Chapter Thirty-Four: A Survey of the Village

    In a letter, Yviev shared all the things that happened during the past year or so; for her, things remained more or less the same, though her time was spent in deep study at all times. The hospital and her work there consumed most of her time.

    It was difficult, not less so than before; by now, it was possibly even more difficult. Since as one works at a hospital, death becomes an impending reality and a great possibility for all those around you.

    Most of the time, surely your patient will survive through the process of healing, but it could not; it would not happen each time. Thus, one becomes far too familiar with death. No matter how hard she tried at times, death was what would claim some of her patients, so it was up to her to deal with that death and share such news with the family of the one who was now lost.

    At times, one would feel like a murderer for being unable to save a life; sometimes, she would blame only herself for the outcome that was predetermined. The reality was that there would be times when you could do nothing but witness as life ended. Stops.

    Professor Forsvarn did offer some guidance with the matter, but her words were always harsh and lacking in understanding of another human: ¡°You will get used to it.¡±

    Sure, it might be so. One might become numb to death¡ªnumb to the grief and feelings of failure that one would have to go through over and over again. But for Yviev, it had been just the first year or so. To develop such numbness, it takes time.

    Otherwise, her life was the same, though now her living quarters were in a different part of the campus, near the hospital, and her room was no better than during her time as a student. But it did not matter, as she slowly but surely learned more of the things that she wanted to learn.

    Truthfully, she knew nothing¡ªnot enough. More time is needed. Perhaps decades to first understand and know at least a little, and then to master her craft; all would take time. To become numb; to become a master; to fulfill one¡¯s own foolish decisions.

    Reading through her letter, there were no mentions of Yirn or the things that had transpired¡ªthe death of her fiancee, everything. The same was true of Kanrel¡¯s letter; he felt that there was no reason to bring up this topic¡ªto let memories flaunt their way through and cause even more pain. Yet she probably suffered through such thoughts as much as Kanrel did; she just chose not to share those feelings. It was her right not to.

    In Kanrel¡¯s understanding, Yviev was a brave woman and a talented priest, perhaps more so than he was. And her choice to continue working and learning at the hospital was noble; perhaps through this, she had arbitrarily proved that she would not break, that she would defy the suffering, the torment that she carried on her shoulders and in her heart.

    Kanrel wished that she would be here with him. He wished that there would be someone more brave than him to help him carry this burden¡ªthis truth that had begun unraveling itself before him.

    The Cult of the Hanged God and the new information that he had begun reading through held things that were not for the faintest of hearts. It wasn¡¯t the belief itself that was evil, but the actions committed by those who believed.

    Is it not a choice a man has to make¡ªthe choice between obvious evil and good? In which world is murder for the righteous? And if that world was this one, why was it allowed? Why did it become so?

    As a man who was familiar with history and how and why that history was written, it was apparent that there was no kingdom, no people, no human, or anything else that could be far above anyone when it came to the deeds that had been committed. Be it for peace, for desire, for power, for love, or for anything that has ever been done.

    Murder, war, torture, and tyranny¡ªall these things were at the centerfold of all history. Humans were by nature neither good nor evil; they just were. In nature, there is no such thing as evil or good. Therefore, humans have to choose good over evil, lest they become monsters, no better than the Wildkin thousands of years before.

    Sometimes it might be so difficult to differentiate between the two; evil can be so alluring and so beautiful; this one lie produced by another. And goodness can seem hard¡ªmore difficult than that which seems easy at first.

    And the members of this cult chose evil. To justify this evil, they quote the evils committed by the Priesthood, blaming them for corruption, for falsifying records, and adamantly claiming that their god was the true god.

    Surely, such rhetoric was correct then, but not anymore. Surely, the Priesthood and the Kingdom which both support each other, have changed for the better as times have changed. There was no more slavery, there were no more witch hunts, and the people were more equal than they had ever been.

    There were no more wars, no more tyranny. Of course, things are not perfect, but that is only because things can never become perfect. Humanity could only strive for that perfection¡ªto try building a utopia for all of mankind. But to achieve such a thing, it could only be possible if the Angels themselves came down from the heavens and forced it upon humanity through tyranny.

    And the Angels would never do such a thing, for they were the only things with inherent goodness to them, for they were above nature. Or so Kanrel believed.

    Thus spring came and went as he read and traveled through the forests, trying to find these ruins but not once seeing anything related to them. There were no more masks, no more hunts¡ªjust the writings that spoke of these things.

    But it did make sense, for most of the records describing such events were from decades ago. The last time a ¡°hunt¡± had happened was when Rant¡¯s wife, Betty, had lost her head.

    In early autumn, during the first harvest, officials from the Kingdom and the Priesthood conducted a survey and brought four letters: one for the mayor, one for Kanrel, and the last two as potential mandates to be given after the survey.

    First, they came to meet Kanrel, for even if Ulken Reven was the self-proclaimed mayor of Jersten, he remained above him in station and importance.

    The guards surrounded the temple, not allowing anyone uninvolved to enter, while the officials all entered. They stood valiantly, holding their swords, without moving even an inch. It made one wonder: when was the last time anyone in this village had seen a real soldier?

    The two priests and the two officials who came with him were unknown to him. They seated themselves on the table while Kanrel served what little tea he could produce in such a short period of time.

    The two priests didn¡¯t even take a sip out of their teas, for obvious reasons, and the two officials looked around the room in great curiosity. Perhaps it was to wonder in what kind of living conditions the son of the Herald lives.

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    ¡°It is assumed that we can skip pleasantries?¡± Asked one of the priests; she had taken out a notebook and pen, which she carefully placed on the table. She opened the notebook on an empty set of pages, pressing down on the paper so it would not close on itself.

    She was an older woman and one who probably frequented such expeditions to different parts of the kingdom. She seemed to have a pedantic way of doing things.

    Kanrel took out his own notebook, perhaps in retaliation, and prepared to write things down as well. ¡°If I might at least receive your names,¡± he said, looking at the woman who was across him.

    ¡°I am Jenru Kirdia, and my colleagues for this survey are as follows: Erik Uksio, Terent Oldurian, and Resha Kairen,¡± she said, introducing each of them with a point of her finger.

    Erik was a younger man, another priest, and one who seemed not less pedantic than his co-worker. Terent was a noble of the Oldurian family, perhaps the oldest person in the room and the one who held the most authority and knowledge when it came to investing and the economics of the Kingdom.

    Resha seemed to be Terent¡¯s aid, either way, an official.

    Kanrel wrote down their names. ¡°A survey, you say? I did not expect such a thing so early.¡±

    Jenru scoffed. ¡°You may blame the Herald; they had wished for us to take action the same day they had received a letter from you.¡± She carefully observed Kanrel as he wrote things into his notes.

    ¡°Alas, we don¡¯t have much time, so we will go through with the survey; this will take perhaps a week, perhaps more, depending on our findings. No one is to intrude or get in our way; all such things will be taken into account after the fact.¡± Jenru explained.

    ¡°Any questions?¡±

    Kanrel stared at his notes for a moment, then looked up. ¡°How is she? I¡¯ve not seen her for over a year.¡±

    Jenru scoffed once more. ¡°They seem fine, and they sent a letter with us. Is this all?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Jenru got up and picked up her things. ¡°Then we will begin our mission here; you can find us at the local tavern if you have further questions. This is all.¡±

    And as quickly as they had entered, they departed. There wasn¡¯t much regard given to him, but it was no wonder; they would not have much time to go through with their survey and then make it back to the capital before the winter arrived.

    On the table, there were now many things he would have to deal with: four cups of tea left with their contents; his notebook and pen; and lastly, a letter that he would have to go through and then write a reply to before the end of the week.

    He let out a long sigh and got to it. There was no reason not to, so he cleaned the cups and soon read through the letter.

    It was mostly his mother asking about his well-being, commenting on the things he had gone through, and agreeing with the problems of a village that had been neglected for over a decade. She expressed that she was to be partially blamed for this neglect, but what is she to do when resources are being spread far more thinly than one might think?

    Neither the Priesthood nor the Kingdom have unlimited supplies or wealth, and one would always have to decide where to spend more of their budget and where to spend less.

    In the end, people would suffer, and some areas would receive less help. This was something they would not be able to change. Only with unlimited wealth could they maybe try achieving a utopia where no one would be left behind and where everyone was equal. And even then, they would not have enough people with the adequate set of skills and education to take care of the many positions that would try to guarantee this utopia.

    Sadly, Kanrel could only agree with this. Most would, for even with such thoughts of utopia, even if humanity reached such a utopia, it would surely slowly dwindle, slowly becoming the opposite of the thing it sought to become. Corruption is the law supreme, and people will always find it difficult to choose good over evil.

    Life would continue even then. And everything would happen again; there would be a desire for a utopia; people would fight for it and try earnestly to reach it; then some, in the end, would choose evil over good. Corruption comes at the cost of others.

    The survey sought to understand and map out the possibilities of new industries entering the area by tapping untapped resources that were around the village. The forests, with their wood and things one might forage, the fertile land, which produced plenty of grain and other things to feed the village.

    The stone and the different types that could be found around the area, and even the possibility of mining. The area had not been searched before, so there was a possibility of finding rare ores such as copper, iron, and silver, and maybe even gold.

    Finding ore was something that might happen gradually, so first one had to investigate the possibilities of other industries and for how long they could produce things during the year or cycle of harvest. They were far up north, after all.

    During the next two weeks, Kanrel found himself again frequenting Vien¡¯s tavern, taking part in interviews with many of the villagers, mainly as someone who could provide further knowledge about the people, their property, and so forth. His words, at least, had some value, and even his surprising knowledge of the forests around the village was welcomed.

    Jenru and her colleagues and aides go to witness a part of the harvest, including how their crop rotations were set up and which crops worked best on the land they toiled on. This was all valuable information, as Terent had a far greater understanding of such things than even some of the villagers who worked on the fields.

    The old nobleman gave some tips to the local farmers on how they could further enhance their crop production and the fertility of the land. He seemed like an outstanding man, and he seemed not to care much if he got dirty while inspecting the lands or that which the lands produced.

    He was the total opposite of a noble that Kanrel had learned about during his time at the academy. There seemed to be a reason why he had worked for multiple monarchs in his lifetime as an important advisor.

    But things remained uncertain as the two weeks went by; there had been lots of data collected and conclusions drawn from said data, yet not a word muttered or shared from the priests and officials that had surveyed the lands and its people.

    Kanrel could only hope that this village, which he could almost call home, would receive the funding it needed and the status of a town, which would benefit it for years to come.

 Chapter Thirty-Five: Future Prospects

    In the temple, they had gathered; looking down on them was an angel with its sword out, ready to smite evil wherever it may see it. It was there to witness and listen to the mandate written by the Herald, with the right given by the King.

    Terent Oldurian stood before them as the representative of the Kingdom. He unsealed the letter handed to him and cleared his throat. ¡°On this day, let it be known that the village of Jersten shall enter a trial period of two to three years, after which, if all goes well, it will be given the title, laws, and responsibilities of a town.¡±

    ¡°A constant presence of the Priesthood and the Kingdom will be appointed; these officials and priests alike will see through this process and stay after the fact.

    ¡°But, for this trial period to be successful, an issue with lack of population will first be addressed: starting next year, new settlers will be sent here, and those who already live here must accept them, help them, and provide for them if such is necessary.¡±

    ¡°All such actions will be rewarded handsomely with land.¡± Teren read the mandate loudly and clearly, his voice echoing through the temple hall grandly.

    Kanrel was pleased. All that he had hoped for had become a reality. He had privately spoken with Terent about the prospects of the village and its future; he had shown great interest in the possibilities of mining, agriculture, and quarries that could be set up around the area.

    The untapped natural resources around were plenty, and this was for the good of the village and for the good of the kingdom.

    Terent envisioned that the village could, in their lifetime, become an important commercial hub in the future when the Kingdom could sooner or later harness the northern parts of its territory much more efficiently.

    The possibilities of making Jersten the central hub for all the trade, resources, and riches that come from the north to the south. But it was yet to be seen if this would ever happen or if his grand visions for the future could ever become a reality. Life was, after all, uncertain, and so was the fickle nature of the Kingdom and its economy. It was difficult to predict how things would go, for one could only guess, and only ever so accurately at that.

    With all of this, new plans had to be decided upon. Turning a village into a town is a question of population, and population is a question of the possibility of work and a bright future so that the area would attract people to move there. The Kingdom would, in its own way, push people to move there, but the effectiveness of it all was to be seen.

    Soon after, the officials and priests, along with their guards, left the village behind. It was the middle of autumn, and constant rains had returned with the ever-so-familiar darkness that would refuse to leave until the beginning of spring.

    Kanrel gave up on investigating the forests for the rest of the year, even though he did want to make another breakthrough to find something relevant. It just seemed so unlikely to find anything in such a large area. To find a needle in a stack of hay.

    Accepting that it would be so, he returned to reading through the notes that he had found. Maybe he could have sent them with the priests, but he was not sure if they could be entirely trusted with such a task, for they might want to read through them just to find out what they were about.

    In the letter he had sent with them, he had asked for assistance with the transportation of the notes to the capital or any place the Herald would wish to have them. But for another priest to arrive here, it could only be possible after winter.

    So he would wait, and he would continue through the end of his second year at the village the same way he had gone through the previous one.

    Magic could only be described as ¡°wonderful¡± by those who felt ¡°wonder¡±, an emotion like any other. One filled with surprise and curiosity, for is magic not rare and its effects quite often unexpected for the untrained eye?

    It was a late winter evening when a knock could be heard at his door¡ªa sound of three quick knocks echoing through the door, past the kitchen, and through to his bedroom. Kanrel finished the sentence he was writing and put down his pen. He quickly walked to the front door and opened it.

    The light from inside pierced through the darkness of the outside and laid itself on the snow that covered the grounds around the temple. A figure stood before him now, a small frame with a rather familiar face.

    A girl with whom Kanrel had made a deal almost two years ago, a girl who often came to study at the temple under Kanrel¡¯s tutelage like many of the other children in the village, a girl with a name he knew, by now, all too well: Roslyn Hergen.

    A girl who had grown a lot since they first met, she must¡¯ve been thirteen or fourteen by now. Her stature was much taller than back then, and it was quite possible that she would not gain that much more height in the future.

    Thick robes covered her, and even still, she seemed to be slightly cold, as if she had spent hours outside beforehand.

    They just stared at each other for a moment. The girl with her deep blue eyes had something in them¡ªa feeling, an emotion¡ªthat Kanrel could not quite put his finger on.

    ¡°Do come in,¡± he encouraged her, and he stepped out of her way. After a moment of hesitation, Roslyn stepped inside the already familiar interior of Kanrel¡¯s kitchen. With her, the snow came inside. Kanrel quickly made it melt away and closed the door after Roslyn had entered.

    Without much word at first, she looked around the room, as if looking for something. Kanrel in turn observed her, trying to figure out what that feeling was¡ªthat something that made her come here during a winter evening, at a time so dark and cold.

    She stopped and turned toward Kanrel, staring straight into his eyes. With utter confidence, she voiced what she came here for: ¡°I want to become a priest; I want to learn magic.¡±

    A silence followed her words as Kanrel blinked his eyes, not out of wonder but out of confusion.

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    ¡°Sure, and that you can do if you can enter the academy.¡± Kanrel said, more or less thinking out loud what he soon realized, ¡°And I suppose you want my help with that.¡±

    A firm nod was given as an answer, and the girl brazenly took a seat, as if her wish were to be followed. Because it would be. They both knew that it would be.

    He still stood there for a while, at the entrance to his own home, staring at the girl who now sat at his table, on his chair, asking for a favor he could not deny. He let out a long sigh and sat across from her. ¡°Out of all the things in the world¡ªthe many possibilities that there are¡ªyou wish to enter the Academy of the Heavenly? You wish to become a priest?¡±

    ¡°Is there a world in which I could talk you out of this, or would you much rather save my sermons for another soul and another time? Are you set on this specific demand?¡±

    ¡°Father Kanrel, there is nothing I want more... Do you know how wonderful it is? How beautiful? Just so... magical!¡± Roslyn exclaimed; she could barely hide her excitement. The stars in her eyes shone so brightly at the idea of magic and at the memories she had of magic. The many times she had secretly and not-so-secretly observed how Kanrel performed magic. For her, there was nothing more wonderful than magic.

    This was the feeling he could not recognize at first¡ªa feeling he could barely relate to¡ªone that he had seldom felt before, and now he could never feel it again. Her words, her face, her emotions¡ªall of it once more reminded him of what he had lost. What he had not felt for so long. What he had never felt¡ªfor the idea of magic nor for the manifestation of magic¡ªnor for witnessing other priests performing it during his studies.

    ¡°Very well. If this is what you really want, then who am I to deny you? I cannot go back on a promise I made, and I cannot ruin a fantasy you have of magic; therefore, I will support you.¡±

    ¡°But do understand that this will be difficult and something you will need to get permission for; you do have parents after all. I can plead for you; in your stead, I can do my best that your parents might give you permission, but it will be mostly your job to get their blessing for this desire of yours.¡±

    ¡°Magic, I cannot teach you; I can only teach you basic information that you will need to know to be able to even think of enlisting at the Academy of the Heavenly. Studying will become your life; it will consume all of your time."

    "Magic is a thing a priest can practice, one that a priest has to study... but only as a tool used to achieve the true goals of a priest¡ªthe mission of a priest; the job of a priest.¡±

    Roslyn stared at Kanrel, who sat across her; she had never seen him so animated¡ªnever use so many words; never had he much talked about such things as the goals of a priest. A wide grin found its way on the face of a girl who had seemed so innocent barely a moment ago.

    ¡°Father Kanrel¡­ What if I told you that I already had the permission of my parents?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You see¡­ They said that they would only allow me to go if you would deem me ¡®priest enough¡¯.¡±

    Kanrel muttered a few curse words under his breath. He had not expected such a thing, but soon he found other words that should not be addressed to children. ¡°Well now¡­ I suppose you¡¯ll have to prove yourself to me then.¡±

    It was Kanrel¡¯s turn to find a smile to arrive on his face. ¡°You ought to become ¡®priest enough¡¯ so that you can proudly say so to your parents."

    A grin can be so fickle; it can go as easily as it comes. ¡°Can¡¯t you just get me to the academy?¡±

    Kanrel¡¯s emotionless smile widened. "Sure, I can, but you have to think of my position as a priest; it would not be right of me to use my connections to get you into an academy that has fierce competition for the limited slots it can offer.¡±

    It was Roslyn¡¯s turn to curse under her breath; surely a child can learn many words from the adults around them. ¡°Fine. If you want me to study, then study I shall."

    Studying, there was nothing Kanrel knew more about; there were once so many thrilling hours spent lost on the pages of history, trying to figure out and understand why that which has happened, happened.

    All this is accompanied by constant writing, often just copying the text that he just read, and sometimes coming to conclusions about said text. Writing happened either way, and there was no running away from it. Your wrist would, at the end of the day, remind you of the fact¡ªthe torturous hours spent creating symbols on a piece of paper in a way that anyone could read them.

    Writing was the first thing he wanted Roslyn to learn. Not just any writing, but writing in an aesthetic way¡ªin a way that would suit any priest. The pace had to be quick; there was no reason to spend multiple hours on just a few pages when one should be able to write that much in just a few minutes. Almost as quickly as reading fairly slowly.

    Kanrel advised Roslyn to return the next morrow while he himself spent a few hours of the already late evening preparing for this great event. He brought out hundreds of pages of paper and set them on the kitchen table. Then he went ahead and placed the Book of the Herald next to these papers; before going to bed, he read through the last few pages of it, trying to figure out when it had last been updated.

    Surely it had been a decade. Thankfully, he had a personal version that was more or less up-to-date, unless there had been many new passages during the couple of years he had spent here.

    He sat down and baptized his pen in ink; a familiar feeling went through him. He had done so many times¡ªwritten so many words, spent so much time producing text that could be read by anyone capable of reading.

    This was a blessing of sorts to be able to share thoughts, some of which might be profound and some perhaps less so. But that didn¡¯t matter, for he was allowed to do what he had always wanted to do.

    There was just no emotion attached to it all. He felt no glory or success for what he had achieved. He had become a full-fledged priest; he was about to write words on the holiest of books that there were. And it would not be a simple doodle or the musings of a love-sick poet. But the very words of the Herald¡ªthe one who heard the whispers of the Angels, the one who shared them with her flock and the people¡ªthe many believers that lived on this earth.

    He wrote down the words as they had been on the great tome at the cathedral:

    ¡°Locked; imprisoned those you know as the other. Waiting for the lock to open; waiting for their ascension; to breach the surface; to usurp those above.

    Punished for betrayal; conquered and then enslaved by the shadows; those within, around, and above.

    Bloodshed; famine; death. An ending from and for below.¡±

    Such unsettling words¡ªwords that he had pondered about so much. Their meaning remains unknown; their prophetic nature is perhaps just a figment of the imagination of those far more foolish than the Angels.

    Such words, which he would allow Roslyn to read through over and over again¡ªshe would read, then she would copy. Until her penmanship was perfect¡ªnearing the artistic style of a calligraphist.

    Cold ran through his spine, like the cold hands of a winter morning, reminding him of the uncertainty that the words gave him.

    He finished writing and put down his pen, leaving the words to dry on the paper. He got up and left it all behind. The temple called for him; tonight he had to see an Angel; tonight he needed the comfort of judgment.

    He stood before the painting, feeling naked and blind to a truth he ought to know, as the Angel observed him with no regard, his never-changing expression showcasing perhaps a slight of mockery, a toothy smile that was not there, yet he could feel it. He could sense it.

    With not much thought, he sat on his knees, perhaps just to feel smaller than he was¡ªjust to feel lesser than those that were above him. The words... they echo in the head of a fool, repeating themselves with no regard for the sanity of their beholder.

    The night was long, and the morning gave no relief.

 Chapter Thirty-Six: An Apprentice to a Priest

    As a master, he was no less gentle than those who taught him. Years ago, he followed to a tee the commands of his teachers, not once directly questioning their methods or the material that they provided to them.

    Now that he looked back on it, there were obviously problems with such authoritarian teaching methods. Yet he would hold true to them, at least to a level where clear discipline could be formed. A priest ought to be disciplined and well-mannered, at least in the face of those who are of greater hierarchy.

    One had to be modest yet truthful, polite but ready to question the methods and the creed of his or her master, lest evil be done in the name of goodness. Question everything and all, lest you become blind to lies and truths; question all, or be doomed to commit acts to which you don¡¯t know all of the truths related.

    Here, at this moment, Kanrel began forming the ways he saw how the Priesthood ought to teach its acolytes¡ªhow it should teach its disciplines to think.

    Surely he used the ways his masters used when they had taught him, but for different reasons. If a priest never questions his or her deeds, nor the deeds of those before and after him, then perhaps there is nothing one has learned from those actions or from the deed of not making an action. Everything has a reason.

    A murderer will not kill for the sake of murder; behind it, there must be a reason. Be it revenge, be it any other twisted psychological reason, be it done because of the perversion of one''s body and mind. Either way, there must be a reason why a murderer commits his or her act of murder; there must be a reason why a murderer murders.

    After all, there is a reason why someone doesn¡¯t murder.

    Of course, it was unlikely that Roslyn would ever have to think of such things; it was unlikely that most would ever have to think of anything like such. And if so, then the world is as it should be.

    But a similar line of thought could be applied to most things. Why does a man eat? Because he has to. Why does he have to? And so forth...

    Such unraveling of things and an analytical view of the world and the people that inhabit said world is, either way, something a priest ought to learn. It is something they go through during their seven or so years of study before the ritual.

    To ingrain this way of looking at the world in a priest was useful, but to allow them the freedom to pursue any and all lines of thought, not limited by religious dogma, would be a blessing for any human.

    Progress begins with a thought, and a thought is usually followed by an action, and that action will undeniably have a reaction. Or, at least, this was how Kanrel saw it. This was the conclusion he was brought to. Yet he could be wrong; he was just unable to find the incorrect line of reasoning in his ¡°code¡±.

    Thus, he would teach Roslyn many things, and one of those things was the way in which a priest ought to think. Then, perhaps, she could one day be the one who points out the incorrect parts of Kanrel¡¯s conclusion. Perhaps she will be the one to rewrite the code, maybe from the very beginning.

    It does not take long for a human to begin complaining about unnecessary suffering.

    ¡°I do understand your great passion for writing and how priests need it for their ¡®great purpose¡¯ or whatever, but I cannot, for the life of me, understand the usefulness of this when you have magic!¡± Roslyn voiced her grievances with the very idea of writing.

    Indeed, what was the use of using your hands to write when, technically, you could do it with magic?

    Kanrel scoffed. ¡°Just keep writing; you¡¯ll find out the reasons for your reasoning from the very first moment you use magic for yourself." He did not raise his eyes from the text that he was reading; there was no point; he knew that she would continue writing. After all, she was as stubborn, or perhaps even more stubborn, as he was.

    He could hear her mumbling some very uncalled-for things about his mother, but soon after he could hear the pleasant sound of writing, though a slightly angrier version of it. Thus, he did not make a comment about her mumblings or make jest about her pains.

    In the past few weeks, they have made considerable progress in her ability to write. Sure, there were often times when her penmanship was only readable by those who spent all of their lives solving and translating dead languages or codes that were created by sadistic bastards to be ¡°unsolvable¡±.

    In the winter, under the light of candles, they spent their time writing and reading, often bickering just for the sake of it and sometimes partaking in arguments that had some substance to them.

    Roslyn had the great talent of being extremely annoying whenever she wanted to. Then again, this must have been an innate talent for most teenagers, especially when they were in the presence of adults. But Kanrel was no better, for he dove headfirst into every argument that they might have, but with the lack of emotional grace that would always lead to silent treatment by the pissed-off teenager.

    When Kanrel was more or less happy with Roslyn¡¯s ability to copy and write, he held a test to see how much information she had retained after nearly a month of copying the Book of the Heralds.

    To his surprise, Roslyn seemed to have a great memory, and she could recount some of the important parts of the book; she also seemed to remember weird details that most would not notice or not pay much attention to.

    Like how the only consistent word used to describe an angel was their grotesque outlook, their personality if ever described, seemed to be mostly a subjective understanding of a specific Herald of the time. This, of course, makes sense, but it is a minor detail that Kanrel has never paid much attention to.

    She also found the newer additions to be more ¡°exciting¡± and "enticing¡±. In her words, it seemed that the current Herald ¡°didn¡¯t seem to fear the Angels as much¡± and based on her surface-level analysis, this seemed like a ¡°good thing¡±.

    Kanrel felt that she was more or less familiar enough with the Book of the Heralds, and her penmanship was ¡°passing¡±, thus they would delve deeper into other topics of interest, mostly the Priesthood, the Kingdom, and the hierarchies of these two entities and how they interacted with each other.

    ¡°A priest is the basic rank of any member of the Priesthood; you¡¯re looking at one, and they do work similar to the work that I do¡ªmostly in villages and towns as healers, teachers, and chroniclers. Our duty to knowledge is often seen as the one value and oath above all; this does, of course, depend on the priest whom you ask, as we all have our own views, and the oath that we all take is more lenient than one might think.¡°

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    ¡°The Priesthood is mostly formed out of priests, but there are other minor factions within the Priesthood, and all these factions perform a certain task within the Priesthood and the Kingdom.¡±

    ¡°There are the inquisitors, who work in law enforcement; their primary task is to capture dangerous criminals and bring them to justice. Of course, their methods are at times more brutal than one would think of a priest, but they see that all is accepted if it is done in the name of goodness.¡±

    ¡°There is also a more militaristic side to the Priesthood, the Order of War, which is a highly trained order of priests who call themselves ¡®paladins¡¯. They mostly work with the Kingdom and the military; they are an elite force of soldiers. The last time they were called to service was during the Revolution of the Nameless, and if one is to believe historical records, they are very effective and a force to be reckoned with.¡±

    ¡°Even with these three main bodies of the Priesthood, all priests are equal, and there is only one above all: the Herald, always a devout female priest selected by the Angels to serve them as their messenger. She is our voice, for she is the voice of the Angels. Her status is comparable to that of the King, though at times she has had greater power.¡±

    Roslyn had to take notes during every lecture Kanrel gave her, and at times her boredom was apparent. And that was fine; not everyone would enjoy finding such details interesting, but the least he could do was sort of spice it up.

    ¡°All of the ¡®orders¡¯ or ¡®creeds¡¯ have their own training grounds, though they all have to begin their journey at the Academy of the Heavenly; from there they might get an invitation to the Order of Truth at Lo''Gran to serve the Inquisition under the Grand Inquisitor.¡±

    ¡°Or to the edge of the Kingdom, near the great desert south where the Wildkin invaded so long ago.¡±

    Roslyn seemed to slightly spark up: ¡°You¡¯ve mentioned them multiple times by now, ¡®Wildkin¡¯¡­ What even are they?¡±

    ¡°They were large beast-like men who invaded the many kingdoms of men; they came from the southern wastelands, desert where men have not lived since the beginning of time as we know of; they came in hordes which we could not defeat, with just mission as far as we know: devour, eat, consume.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°We just don¡¯t know; we might never know.¡±

    ¡°Then why would the Angels help humanity instead of the Wildkin? If all they wanted was to consume?¡±

    Kanrel had to think for a moment, for there was no theory accepted by most scholars, so he had to present a thought he had had, ¡°Perhaps out of pity, if one reads through even a small fraction of history that we have available to ourselves, we are presented with one simple fact: we are pitiful, yet somehow we remain.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps just by the grace of the Angels¡­¡± Kanrel furrowed his brows. ¡°There is much we do not know... the Otherkind¡­¡±

    He had an urge¡ªa wish¡ªto finish what he had come here for. To find answers to that which had none. The forests called for him, and they urged him to return to them. A whisper of sorts¡ªone not heard outside but one heard within.

    But such a wish could not be sated, for it would remain this feeling, and it would stay. It would gnaw at him even when he found out what he sought. The whisper would be there, this little voice beckoning him to know more and to never be happy with that which you have.

    Kanrel shook his head and returned to matters at hand: ¡°Either way, one could get an invitation to the Fortress at the edge of the Kingdom, where the Order of War resides and trains their new paladins.¡±

    ¡°With options like the Inquisition and the Order of War, why would you ever choose to remain just a normal priest? Why didn¡¯t you pick any of the other options?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t get to pick; we never had the option to. Sure, we can plead and ask, but that does not guarantee that we get to go where we wish to go... And at that point, none cares.¡±

    With a slight smile, Kanrel added, ¡°And if one wants the most time to hone their skills at magic in general, then this path, which I have, is perhaps the best.¡±

    ¡°Then I will ¡®plead¡¯ and beg that I might become a boring old priest and nothing more,¡± Roslyn muttered with a dry tone.

    Throughout the end of winter, they had many such lectures where Kanrel spewed out as much raw information in as detailed a form that he could remember. Roslyn would sit through them while taking notes as he spoke, and after each week they would review how much she had written and how much she had learned. Based on that, Kanrel would try to plan how much time he would have to go over the same thing or how much they could advance.

    And when spring arrived, she would follow him more around the village, helping people and seeing for herself what a true priest would do most of the time. Studying was only the first step in a priest''s life¡ªa theory of things they would have to do. The month she followed him around the village was more or less a reality. The only difference was her inability to use magic as of now, but less than ten years from now, she would be able to use it. And this time would hopefully give her a non-romantic view of magic and of the life of a priest.

    After only a few months, Kanrel could not deny what the facts were. She was more than suitable to become a priest¡ªperhaps with a few months she would be qualified enough to study at the Academy of the Heavenly.

    And he was unable to talk her out of it; thus, there remained only one option for him: to draft a letter of recommendation to a certain Professor Oidus, whom he so closely knew. It was unlikely that she would hold much against him after all the time that had passed and the couple of letters that he had already sent her.

    He should be proud of the young girl who had come to him because of a dream she had. But he could not, for he knew the many disappointments that would follow her. How her view of magic and the wonderful sides of it would disappear as she touched it for the very first time.

    She would feel how unjust life was in a place that barely welcomed those who weren¡¯t wealthy. At least, she had a name for herself. At least, she had someone to back her up.

    And Kanrel hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that she would not come to bitterly regret the time that she would spend at the academy; he hoped that her dreams would not become soiled. He hoped that she would remain the person that she was and not become someone that she truly wasn''t¡ªjust for the sake of a dream that could become just another nightmare.

    Now that spring had again gone by and summer was in bloom, he had just one more week to give her as much as he could before she would leave with a caravan that had arrived a few weeks ago.

 Chapter Thirty-Seven: As the Forest Grows Silent

    With a letter in hand and a few belongings with her, she left. Not saying many words, not of gratitude or emotion. She left, and she did not look back. But as she slowly began disappearing behind the hill populated with forest, she did look, for a moment, behind her. And on her face, Kanrel could imagine tears flowing, perhaps as an earnest goodbye to those who lived in the village.

    A goodbye to her family; a goodbye to her friends; a goodbye to home. And a goodbye to her master.

    Perhaps such tears existed on her face as she turned, at last, leaving home behind. Perhaps there are no such tears, but rather a face of determination. A promise that there would be no regret behind her decision.

    Only she would stand at the end of all of life, and when questioned, she could proudly smirk, as she had lived a life with no regret. Perhaps it could be so. To that and all of that, which Kanrel thought about, he held no answers.

    All he could hope was that it would be so. She would have no regret at the end of her life, nor at the end of this first part of her journey in life.

    Summer, to him, had grown so cold. To him, he felt that there were no birds around; they weren¡¯t here for him; they weren¡¯t here to bring life to the nature around him. To him, summer had grown so silent.

    Even when there were so many who spoke to him and came to visit, it still remained so.

    Funny is this world: you do a thing expecting something, and that which you get in return is regret. It was not he who was supposed to regret the action of another, nor the action of giving flight to someone else''s dreams. Yet here he was, regretting the months he had spent teaching Roslyn.

    To him, this could only mean one thing: all the effort he had put into her had been worth it. For him, she had become someone of importance, not just another face that he would soon forget.

    Either way, he would regret it; this feeling would remain, and it would remain even when he would be able to meet her again. This was just a part of the suffering that he had accepted into his life¡ªthis regret, which would endure through each and every single decision he had made and that he would end up making.

    Thus, the forest was silent, even when it called for him to return. And, after a week of her not being under his tutelage, he returned to the forest and kept looking for a clue to follow; he kept looking for the ruins mentioned.

    The further one goes into the forest, the less there can be seen the touch of men, and for there to be no marks at all, it won''t take long. And if there are any marks that seem like they are done by men, then most likely they aren¡¯t and are instead done by other animals that roam the woods, yet somehow Kanrel missed his chance of seeing them almost every time.

    But it was no wonder; this was their domain. And to think that men inhabited forests like these on a regular basis thousands of years ago, they could be seen sticking out like a sore thumb. Men seldom felt safe in the woods, and even less, they felt like they belonged.

    Kanrel did not belong, even though the woods did not make him scared; the uncertainty was there for him to discover, not for him to be afraid of. And if he were to come across an animal¡ªa bear or wolf¡ªhe would be able to defend himself quite easily.

    Fire is what most are afraid of, and animals know to be wary of it. Even they know to run away from the fireballs of a priest.

    Many days, which felt so meaningless, went by. It was so difficult to figure out if he had made any progress, for there were no signs of such a thing. He wasn¡¯t, most of the time, aware of where he was relative to the mountains or the village. He didn¡¯t know when he would find anything that would be different from the same trees or the landscape that was around throughout his journeys into the woods.

    After those days, he began carrying around things he might need to spend the night in the woods. He would travel further into the woods, further than he had ever traversed before. He would travel all the way to the mountains if he had to, just to find something that differs from the things that are around and present at most times.

    He spent multiple days away, not finding anything. Just waking up during another morrow, just knowing that yesterday he had found nothing, that today he would find nothing, and so it would be tomorrow as well.

    He still got up, packed his things, and traveled further ahead. Always thinking that there might be something around the next meadow of trees, or the next hill, or the next stream, or the next whatever. There had to be something, but not today or tomorrow. In just one of the days that would follow, there¡¯d be something, and that something would most definitely be just the mountains.

    Insanity is what this is. Slowly, the things he had packed with him began dwindling away¡ªthe food he ate and the water he drank. Those things were, of course, around, but the time he would have to spend finding them was much better spent exploring the forest that had no end.

    After a week, he had nothing. Just an empty backpack that he uselessly carried with him when he woke up on another day, just to mindlessly continue deeper and deeper, not minding that there was nothing; not minding that there would be nothing.

    Let there be nothing. It would be better this way. Logically, nothing would be best. Nothing means that there is no issue with the cult or that there is no temple where they might gather.

    No. Nothing means that if there is something, then he has not found it. If there is nothing, then he has failed. If there is nothing, then there is nothing to report. If there is nothing to report, then he could be sent away. If he is sent away, then if there is something¡ªhere, in this forest¡ªif there is a temple, then he would not clear it. Then the cult could remain here; they would be able to continue their evil ways, and the good people who lived in the village would remain unsafe.

    Thus, there had to be something, or else his time here had been wasted, or worse, he would have spent too little time when he should have spent more.

    Either way, the silent forest calls for another fool to explore it. Silence must¡¯ve been the voice of that god, the one who speaks from under the forest floor. Silence must be that deafening sound the villagers had spoken of.

    Kanrel stopped in sudden realization. Silence is not natural in a forest.

    And if there is no sound in a forest, then there must be something ahead¡ªthen there must be something wrong. A beast hunts the fool who walks in a silent forest.

    He looks around and sees nothing; he hears nothing; he feels just that familiar torment inside. The forest is silent, and he knows that it should not be. The forest is silent, and from it comes panic; it floods one from within. It makes you sink to its level, and as you slowly drown and contemplate what might be ahead, you find fear has found its way in.

    Should he take another step? Should he run until there, again, can be found a sound in this forest? When had he felt fear? When had he ever been afraid?

    Everything seems like it has always been: just trees and hills occupied by more trees. No paths, and sure as hell, no marks from men or animals alike. There is nothing in the forest. Except for him and the silence that refuses to unwind and release its tension, to release sound.

    Kanrel prepared himself; he was ready to launch fire at anything that moves, at anything that comes across him, at anything that is alive and is hunting him, at anything that is the cause of this silence.

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    He walked forward, more careful now¡ªthe only true noise is not the sound of the forest, but the sound of his heavy breath and the gentle noise of the forest as he lifts his foot and puts it after the other. Minutes go by as he walks slowly. Kanrel looked here and there at the things that might be ahead, for any and all movement. There just remains nothing other than the trees, which sway with the wind, almost waiving at him, welcoming him further in.

    He climbs the hill, blocking his view further. On that hill, there are birch trees. Carefully, he leaned closer to them and peeked past that, which had blocked his view. First, it seems the same; first, it is just more trees: more birch, more pine, and more spruce. And more hills.

    Under a veil of green, that which looks like it belongs is more alien to this place than a man walking toward it. Beneath the veil of green, of trees and moss, of that which is like a hill, there remains what perhaps was once a building or many.

    His heart, which kept on beating faster and faster, can now take a moment to rest. Sweat, which had trenched his back, could now slowly go cold. He had found what he was looking for. He was not insane for going further; he would not have to live in doubt.

    The forest was still silent, and the reason for its silence remained unknown, but at least he had found something¡ªanything.

    Now was the time when he should somehow mark his findings and make his way back, mapping the areas that were in between this and the village. He should turn back; he should get more materials. He should have had other people come with him to explore what he had found.

    What if he can¡¯t find it anymore? What if he would have to find another year to find this place? What if this place was nothing, just something that looked like the thing that he was looking for? He braced himself as he took another step, past the birch trees that covered him, slowly descending the hill.

    He was still ready for anything; his codes were there if he ever got attacked. There just seemed to be no movement in the large complex of covered ruins. And as he got closer, he at least confirmed that there was no one here.

    Yet there had been, just unsure of when.

    The ruins had been called a ¡°temple¡± in the notes that Isbit found in Rant¡¯s hidden cellar. The place, mostly covered by moss and with parts seemingly buried under the earth or hills, certainly deserved to be described in that manner. It truly was a temple¡ªone that had been left in ruins for who knows how long.

    When it was built, or when it was last inhabited by those who built it. All this was a mystery to him and perhaps to those who rediscovered it perhaps a few hundred years ago. And the last time this place had seen another human visit, it was mostly less than a decade ago.

    With his hands, he removed a part of the moss covering that, which seemed like a pillar; underneath, there was marble. Material that was not native to this place, or at least that he knew of. On this round marble pillar, there were engravings; they went around the pillar, and they most likely were of a scripture whose users must have died long ago, for there was nothing in this scripture that he could recognize when comparing them to the ancient scriptures that he had learned of.

    But when one considers the place where all of this was found and all the things that were connected to this place¡ªthe things his mother had mentioned about the Otherkind, or perhaps, the many things she wasn¡¯t allowed to share.

    If humans had not built this thousands of years ago, then only a race that lived here long before them could have constructed it. During a time of that great empire that he had seen engraved on the walls of the chamber that he had seen for himself beneath the academy.

    Perhaps this was the true reason why the Herald had tasked him here: to find this temple, for he was the only one that she could trust with such a task.

    He ventured deeper into an area that had either been beneath a roof, transforming it into another large room or had once functioned as one of the many possible courtyards within the continuous temple.

    A place for a campfire, one that had recently been afire, perhaps the previous night, perhaps days or weeks ago, and supplies scattered around in pouches and bags. He could feel his heart rate quickening as he went closer, inspecting the things he had found.

    There was a wall blocking his sight; it faced the hill he came from, which is why he had not been able to see signs of people being here in more recent times. Now, more than ever, it had become apparent how silent it truly is.

    Each pouch and bag he went through, he made sure to leave it in a state it had previously been in¡ªthey mostly had things that could be found around the forests in them, but also clothes and tools, knives, hammers, and such.

    In another bag, he found a mask. He stared at the thing that had so often brought him nightmares. The thing, which in a way, was the thing that had soiled so many memories for him. His hands trembled as he took it out, slowly tracing his fingers over the grotesque details of it. The gray mask that promised death; the gray mask that was to blame for everything wrong that had ever happened to him. He gritted his teeth and put it away. He wanted to shatter it, yet he was careful with the damn thing, making sure that no scratch would soil its pristine surface.

    He got up and looked around the camp more; it was hidden from all angles except the one that he had entered from. There seemed to be no more things of interest. He could not handle it anymore. This tension and this silence, there had to be something to truly break them and set him free.

    All he could do was one of three: one, he could leave this place and return to the village; two, he could explore some more and find other clues; and three, he could hide and wait for those who had set up camp.

    He chose to explore further; perhaps this way he could at least make an educated guess of the number of people that could have possibly held camp here. He went around and entered even deeper into the temple ruins.

    Kanrel mostly found nothing, just more pillars, and walls made out of marble; only the pillars were filled with the same script. On the walls, there had perhaps once been something, maybe murals, but there seemed to be no more signs of such things.

    The ruins were massive, as most of them were buried beneath the ground, and some parts seemed to form hills that populated the already hilly location of the temple. There was only one other thing that indicated human life around, and that was a small entryway into one of the hills.

    Inside, he found more materials placed in bags and a ladder that descended into the darkness below. He could go down, and at some point in the future, he knew that he would go down. But that time was not now.

    He would return to the village and come back here with more people with him, for he had no idea how many had spent the night at that camp. He left the building that had seemed like a hill and found that there was once again sound in the forest. But a sound in a forest and a sound in the ruins could only mean two different things.

    Those who had camped here had returned, and they were aware of the fact that someone had entered their camp and gone through their things.

 Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Ruins and Those Who Dwell In Them

    Perhaps there was no clear action that would save him from possible danger. Quickly, he turned around and returned to the damp and old tower hidden beneath that, which looked like a hill. In the complete darkness of it, he prepared codes that he would use to demolish any threat that might show itself before him.

    The silence of the forest had been broken, and it did not take long for a man to yell loudly, ¡°Come out! We know you¡¯re there; we¡¯ve seen your trails on the ground!¡± There was no anger in this voice, just a simple demand, and no threat attached to it.

    It made Kanrel question if he truly was in danger or if this was just another trap¡ªanother lie¡ªto lure him out into the open and make him an easy target for well-timed arrows.

    In the end, he knew that he would have to walk out, and he would have to hope that they had no ill intent toward him. Because he could not know for sure if they were part of the cult¡ªif they had his demise in their minds. All he knew was that they had a mask and might be part of some cult.

    Those outside could be just hunters that had found such a mask, and even if they were cultists, he could not just kill them without being attacked first.

    This was a dilemma that he weighted heavily in his mind before walking out of the tower ruins, still prepared to stop arrows and launch balls of fire at any threat directed at him. To his surprise, no arrows flew at him, and no sword or similar thing was ready to pierce him. Just a group of men who peered at Kanrel suspiciously.

    ¡°You¡¯ve not taken anything that is ours, right?¡± The same man asked; he seemed like someone who often spent his time in the woods, a ranger of sorts.

    As Kanrel observed the men, it became obvious that they hunted for a living, but why hunt so far north? These faces were so unknown to him; not one of them had he seen around the village.

    ¡°I have not; I am merely exploring these ruins and hid myself as I thought that I might be in danger... One can never be too careful when traversing the woods alone.¡± Kanrel quickly explained, he walked slightly closer but remained at a comfortable distance.

    ¡°What brings you lot so deep into the forests? Game? Ruins?¡± He then asked and gestured around, loosly pointing at the ruins around him.

    "Bears roam around here, and selling fur makes a man a great profit. The ruins are just a safe location to camp at; we''ve been doing so for a good decade.¡± The man explained and slowly approached, ¡°You¡¯ve come to explore these ruins? Why and from where? Not many settlements anywhere near this place."

    ¡°From Jersten, less than a fortnight travels southeast. I read some old records that suggest that there might be old ruins in these parts of the forest. I spent two years looking, and this is the first time I found anything.¡±

    ¡°I see, nothing much to see here, but be our quest and explore as much as you wish¡ªnot like we own the damn ruins.¡± He stopped in front of Kanrel and offered his hand. ¡°Petyr, a surprise, but a great pleasure to meet anyone in these man-forsaken woods.¡± The man introduced himself with a slight smile on his face.

    Kanrel shook his hand. "Name''s Kanrel, and I¡¯ve not seen another man for almost two weeks, so company, at this point, is always welcome.¡± He could feel relief go through him in waves. These men might not be as dangerous as he had first believed, but he would still have to remain careful around them. He should not outright declare what his business was, nor should he trust these men completely.

    The huntsmen accepted him into their camp, offering him goods and asking how things were at the village he had come from: ¡°Does that beautiful wench still run the local tavern?¡± Asked one of the men, he had a glimmer in his eyes as he seemed to be reminiscing about times from long ago.

    ¡°I think I visited that place six or seven years ago, and there was this fiery woman serving ale to me at the tavern; during lonely nights, my mind always returns to her visage, and oh, how it soothes a man in his nightly dreams."

    ¡°Jared¡­ Shouldn¡¯t you remember your wife instead? I hear she¡¯s quite lonely these days; I might go give her a visit the next time in town.

    The man called Jared scoffed, ¡°We are barely married. And if I was ever given the chance, I would marry that wench from Jersten in a heartbeat!¡± He declared and peered at Kanrel with a grin on his face, ¡°Is she perhaps married?¡±

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°She is still looking for a husband; I hear she prefers a man with wealth and a manly beard.¡±

    ¡°Too bad you have neither.¡± Petyr pointed out and patted Jared on the back, ¡°Our new friend at least has a beard, but not sure how manly is manly enough for her... Sorry, Kanrel, it would seem that I shall be the first in line at her feet; you all can attest that I am surely rich, and my beard is just manly enough to woo any lady in these lands."

    Franc was the name of the third man, and he seemed to roll his eyes quite dramatically. ¡°You see what kind of fuckers I have to deal with every day? Both believe that they would have any chance with her; when the heavens be my witness, I surely am the most suitable man for any woman as lonely as her.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you more interested in Jared¡¯s wife?¡± Kanrel asked; the conversation was not one he had imagined that he would have to take part in.

    Franc got up and bowed very curtiously. ¡°A true gentleman would never leave a lonely woman in distress; there is more than enough of me for them all.¡±

    ¡°And as you can see, he is not any better than the rest of us... Pity, I for one had expectations for him.¡± Jared exclaimed and soon offered Kanrel some dried meat and a loaf of bread. ¡°Sorry about the food; I haven¡¯t had much luck with game in a while.¡±

    ¡°I am not sure if it is the area we hunt in or just a lack of luck, but this is all we have to offer for now.¡±

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    Kanrel took the meat and the loaf of bread with a simple thank-you and got to eating. The ever-so-familiar taste of ash filled his mouth as he ate to get rid of the hunger that had become more and more apparent as the day had gone by. At least the company was talkative, and he learned interesting things about his new friends and the area that they had hunted around for some time now.

    Enter.

    He heard a whisper, a demand.

    Enter.

    A voice begged. He looked around, and the world spun; the ruins became one with the trees, and the trees turned into darkness. Whispers, demands, wants, and laughter. Men with their grotesque masks leering over him, their eyes dark, and grins wide.

    They laughed as he entered the darkness. Enter. Was the final whisper he heard before there was nothing.

    ¡°¡­ foolish men come and they go, thinking we don¡¯t recognize a priest when we see one¡­¡±

    ¡°His heart for the god..." ¡°There is still time¡­¡± ¡°Let us speak to him first.¡± ¡°Let us make him one of us.¡± ¡°Let him enter first.¡± ¡°He calls for all, not just for us; let him enter first.¡±

    Voices, so many, gather around in his dreams, in which he battles against their hands. They touch him; they investigate him. Everything moves around and becomes one with the ground. They touch him, and he goes from warm to cold, from light to dark.

    Enter! Begs the voice as if its life depended on it, as if without him there¡¯d be nothing but loneliness from hence forth.

    His head hurt when he woke up. Darkness was around, and he could not see. There was something blocking his view¡ªa rag or a piece of cloth¡ªsomething tied around his head. Kanrel tried to remove this thing, but his hands were tied as well. He used all the strength that he could muster, but he could not move his hands¡ªhe was unable to remove his blinds.

    He lay somewhere, and all he knew was that he could not see. He was awake, or so he thought¡ªfor if he were not awake, then there¡¯d be no thoughts that he could form. He had to be awake. He could hear the wind and nothing else; it traversed inside to a place he might be in.

    His mouth was not gagged, so there was at least that. ¡°Hello? Is there anybody here?¡± His voice sounded strange, confirming at least that he was indoors, but wherever he may be, it was not very warm.

    No reply came¡ªnot a whisper, not a word. Just silence, which gave no answers.

    He tried moving side to side, and he could do just that, but he did not know where he would end up if he decided to roll around. What if there was a ledge? What if he had again found himself on that staircase? What if the fall continues? What if it had never ended?

    He could form codes, but they would be useless, as he was unable to see. All magic was useless if he could not see the things that he would want to interact with. All he could do was wait for anyone to come here¡ªto make one mistake and let him see again; let light once more enter his world.

    So in silence, he awaited, thinking through the things that had led him here. The mistakes that he had committed. Was he truly a man incapable of learning from his previous mistakes? He had seen the mask, yet he accepted the food that they had to offer¡ªwithout any sense of danger, he had let the food enter his mouth. Poison¡ªsomething that made him hear things, that made his world twist and turn, that made him fall asleep.

    It wasn''t quite the same thing that had happened with Yirn, but either way, this blind trust or his own, perhaps foolish, sense of right and wrong had brought him here. On a cold floor, his hands tied and his eyes bound, with nowhere to go. With no one to help. With death perhaps awaiting, beckoning him to join the many that had died a foolish death.

    Thoughts¡ªnot those of others, but the thoughts that you have within¡ªcan, at times, be your greatest enemy or a savior of sorts. Here, where there was no savior, at least he could think over the things that had brought him here¡ªhow he had failed and how he should have gone through things.

    A repetition, a new mantra. One most familiar to a priest. ¡°A fool. A useless fool.¡± That is what he was, and that is what he would be until the day that he died. Unless, during this time, he somehow figures out how to rid himself of these binds. Or when he could somehow realize, perhaps manifest, the answer to a simple question: When does a man learn from his mistakes?

    If history were to be believed, then simply never. The collective, which is humanity, was more or less incapable of learning from the mistakes made perhaps only a few years ago. But forget that and question this instead: When does a singular man learn from his mistakes?

    All this time, he had thought that he could, but here he was, blinded and bound, ready to be killed by his captors. He had not so deeply aquinted with anyone during his time at the village, but the first moment he walked out of its close proximity, he was on the ground, blinded, bound, and ready to be killed.

    Surely there was humor in this situation. Surely the outcome would make anyone laugh loudly as they witnessed the ending of a miserable man! The man is killed, and the final curtain comes down. Laughter ensues. With a roaring applause, the actor wakes up and receives roses as the audience rises with him, screaming his name and begging for an encore.

    What a waste of time to even form thoughts! Can¡¯t he just hit his own head on the ground until there was the realease of death? Kanrel gritted his teeth. He wasn¡¯t allowed, or was he? Were the vows there only as a lie to keep him alive, just for another useless day to go by?

    Though at last he heard steps coming closer, from above it seemed. The sounds of someone decending ladders, one at a time, perhaps observing the man laying awkwardly on the ground. With them, they brought a faint light, which brought the most feeble of changes in seeing things.

    As the man came of that which Kanrel thought to be ladders and approached, he could ever so slightly, if he looked down, see. He saw his own nose, and when he slightly angled his head, he could see the light reflected on the stone floor.

    There was a way out, but he would have to be careful not to burn his own face off.

    ¡°The last time we saw one of your kind was over a decade ago... He came here like you did, no worries whatsoever¡ªwe killed that bastard, cut his heart from his chest when he was still alive.¡± A voice spoke to him, and it was one that was rather familiar. It was the voice of Jared, the man who had offered him bread and dried meat.

    ¡°I suppose that old bastard, Rant, finally shared his dark secret with another soul... Losing a wife wasn¡¯t enough, I suppose.

    ¡°If I remember correctly, he had a son... To lose another loved one must be rough on an old man with an old heart.¡± Jared muttered and spat on Kanrel, ¡°But I pity no traitor, and I don¡¯t pity you, priest."

    ¡°There is a question I want answers for, one related to your vows... What was it, ¡®to carry the suffering of the weak¡¯ or whatever?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to put that to the test, you know? What if you suffered in place of that old fool and just told us everything you knew? And don¡¯t you leave anything out... We¡¯ll figure out your lies sooner rather than later.¡±

    Pain exploded in Kanrel¡¯s stomach as a powerful kick landed on it. Then a coarse hand lifted him from the neck, and an equally coarse voice asked a simple question: ¡°Who told you of this place? Speak now or we¡¯ll see how devout you are to your ¡®oaths¡¯¡­¡±

 Chapter Thirty-Nine: Torture

    Why does it hurt so much? He wanted to ask, but only a guttural scream could be heard. With a simple kick, he was thrown toward something hard, perhaps the wall of this small room, as he could see nothing but that small glimmer of light that shifted around as he was already picked up.

    Jared had lifted him again and asked the same question he had asked before: ¡°Who knows of this place?¡±

    With waves of pain still running through him, he managed to grin and spit in the direction he thought the man to be.

    Silence ensued. Wish was broken with his own screams as he collided with the wall again and then the floor.

    ¡°Come on, bastard! You can save at least a few of those who live in that shitstain of a village!¡±

    Again he was lifted, and again he was possibly faced with Jared, the huntsman who now played with his prey.

    Kanrel was breathing heavily; he just needed a moment to not be tossed around. One moment in which he could burn these blinds away. He began forming a code, as the only position that he could burn was the bridge of his own nose. A small price to pay.

    ¡°Have you gone, deaf? Or perhaps mute!?¡± The man screamed loudly and prepared to launch Kanrel toward another wall with all of his strength.

    As he was about to do so, his movement stuttered as he saw flames that suddenly burst around his captive''s eyes. ¡°Bastard!¡± He screamed as he lunged Kanrel away from him and went for his belt, trying to take out his axe.

    It was too late. As sight was all Kanrel needed, even if one of his eyes was blinded by the light of the flames, the other worked just fine.

    Jared was left standing still as multiple small flames were around him, most of them harmless, but he wouldn¡¯t know that. The huntsman only knew that if he made a sudden move, all hell would be let loose.

    Kanrel took his time, burned away his binds, got up, dusted his clothes, and soon stood across Jared. His face was slightly burned, but nothing a session with a mirror and magic couldn¡¯t fix.

    ¡°So¡­ Is this now my turn to ask some questions?¡± Kanrel asked and forced a smile on his face. He was in pain, but this was one of those moments when he should not show weakness. He had to be in control of the situation, lest he have to just kill the bastard and get no answers.

    Jared gave no answer; he just stared at the priest who stood before him, his mind perhaps racing with thoughts¡ªanything that could get him out of this predicament.

    ¡°Paint, torment, agony, suffering¡ªall words I know all too well... Have you ever heard of the Inquisition? You must have! Such things are their forte¡ªthis, which one could barely call torture.¡±

    ¡°Jared, my new friend. You know nothing of such things, so answer my following questions, or I will let you see what an inquisitor excels at."

    The man gave a slight nod as an answer. It was difficult to say if he was afraid or not, but one good look into his eyes was enough. Jared was more than afraid; he was terrified. Perhaps he did not shake, but would anyone want to even shake if they were about to make contact with fire?

    ¡°Wonderful¡­ You and your friends¡ªhow many of you are there?¡± Kanrel asked his first question.

    ¡°Here? Only three, but there were more. In this kingdom? I am not sure, but surely thousands."

    ¡°And those ''more''¡­ Where are they?¡±

    ¡°They went below¡ªmonths ago! We¡¯ve not heard from them since... No one ever returns from below¡­¡±

    ¡°What is there below?¡±

    Jared shook his head slightly; a tint of despair was apparent on his face now. ¡°I don¡¯t know; we don¡¯t know. Only they would know, but they aren¡¯t here!¡± He hissed his answer as the flames around him slowly but surely approached him.

    Kanrel stopped the flames from approaching. ¡°Do you have any records here? Perhaps any more of your sacred texts?¡±

    Jared nodded enthusiastically. ¡°There are many! So many! We would always record the most important knowledge! And then there is the diary! Yes, from that old priest! He had one! Do you need that one? I can bring it to you!¡±

    He gritted his teeth. ¡°And where is this diary?¡±

    ¡°In the pit! With all the bodies! We threw him into the pit!¡±

    Kanrel grinned. ¡°Now tell me... You ripped out his heart when he was still alive?¡±

    The man did not move; he did not give an answer.

    ¡°So now you refuse to answer my questions? Well, you¡¯ve served your purpose more than well. At least now I get an answer to a question I had once pondered many times before: At which point does a man stop screaming when they¡¯re slowly burned alive?¡±

    With these words, the flames engulfed Jared and his body, and the small room in which Kanrel found himself was now filled with screams of agony and lights that danced upon the walls. Jared ran without direction, perhaps to the ladder from which he had come down, but instead tripped over and fell down. His body disappeared over the ledge, his screams echoing through the air, and the flames that had engulfed him slowly dispersed out of his vision.

    Soon he could hear how a body hit the ground somewhere below, but the glow of flames could still be slightly seen, so he looked down only to see the flames and the ladders, which seemed to connect multiple levels of the ruins.

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    With a simple code, he smothered the flames as the smoke slowly rose from below, reaching the higher levels of the ruins. With another code, he forced all of the smoke out. He wanted to see when going up and down the ladder, and the smoke would only block his view.

    He did quickly eye the room in which he had found himself but only found multiple different instruments that could be used for further torment. Such things didn¡¯t interest him. He let them be and readied a bunch of codes to be ready when he would have his way with Petyr and Franc, wherever they might be.

    The ladder led up to the tower room, which he had found earlier; it still held the things it had held before, so there was no point in going through them any further. All he had to find were two men, some notes written by these fools, and the pit that might hold the bodies of Betty Jenkse and Boran Walden. And hopefully the latter''s diary.

    It was early morning outside, and he could not see any signs of the duo, so he did the only sensible thing that he could; he went back into the tower and looked for a suitable position. One from where those entering could not see him, and began the long wait for his prey.

    In the meantime, he used the little light he had and healed his wounds with the help of a mirror. Implementing codes in such a way was more time-consuming than directly seeing the location, which he would try to alter with magic, but with considerable effort, his face was back to normal.

    With all the time he now had, something dawned on him. He had killed a man. Not directly, not with a sword, but with the fire that had blinded Jared¡¯s vision. He might have killed someone before when he had been ambushed all those years ago, but it was never really the same.

    He had not seen the bodies that lay dead after the magic he had continuously thrown at his attackers. The only body that he really saw was for a moment¡ªthe massive carcass of Yirn, the eldritch transformation he had gone through.

    Jared¡¯s burned body, which he could see from above, didn''t feel real to him. No emotion lay behind his actions. He felt the same. He had not lost anything. Had he even truly killed him? Based on his emotional state, it was difficult to say. What would he have felt if he were the man he was before the Ritual? Satisfaction? Guilt? Or just nothing, like now?

    Hours went by as hunger gnawed at him and as his own thoughts bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The two men finally returned to the camp; he did not see them at first, but he could hear them¡ªhow they discussed how their hunt had gone¡ªa deer that they had caught.

    ¡°Jared! You were supposed to prepare the fire!¡± A shout soon came from around the area where they held their camp. This shout was also Kanrel¡¯s cue; he prepared his codes, got up, and walked out of the tower, into the open, toward the two men who carried a deer on their shoulders.

    Without hesitation, sharp ice spikes formed in the air and, in quick succession, flew toward the two fazed men. The sound of them hitting flesh was heard; it was so loud. And Kanrel stopped in midway as he saw how Franc stood there, utterly confused, with a spike running through his chest. Blood spattered from his mouth as he fell to the ground.

    Petyr was left alone. His shocked expression told the whole story¡ªnone of this was supposed to happen. None of this was real. His confused eyes met those of Kanrel''s, and it seemed like he could not move. He could not speak. He had no words¡ªnot even a scream¡ªto offer in that moment. Just silence, which had the loudest of meanings. Fear.

    Kanrel collected his thoughts and formed a few more ice spikes in the air, but he did not launch them at Petyr¡ªnot yet, at least.

    ¡°Tell me, where do you hold all of your records, and where have you hidden the bodies of those that you hunted?¡± Kanrel asked as he tried to keep his voice from shaking.

    After a long while of just silence, Petyr found his voice again: ¡°They are below. Everything is below.¡± His answer was simple. He was now staring directly at the spikes that were aimed at him.

    ¡°Do I get to go now?¡± He then asked.

    ¡°No.¡±

    The ice spikes pierced the man from multiple directions, and he was left standing in an awkward position. He would stand in such a manner until the ice would crack or melt away. Kanrel dared not look at what he had done and just returned to the tower and went down the ladders.

    Beneath, he would find answers; there¡¯d be no time for regret; he¡¯d regret everything either way, but let it be later.

    He climbed past the second floor, as he had already explored it, and straight to the one below that. There, with a light that he himself produced, he could see a formation of shelves that formed a small library. One with less than a hundred books or so.

    Most of the books were fairly old; some of the books that had had more hands-on them were slightly damaged, and there were pages missing. There were also books that were much newer, and one specifically that lay open on a stone table.

    The pages left open read as follows:

    Years have gone by since we¡¯ve let anyone go through, yet none have returned. I begin to doubt my faith. I doubt all that I have ever done so far. But deep inside, my heart is in flames, and I can feel it; I can hear it¡ªit calls for me. It whispers to me in my sleep; in dreams, it embraces me; it manifests itself in me as desire.

    I want to enter, but I am afraid.

    As Kanrel read through some of the pages, he figured that the book was Petyr¡¯s private journal, and the last entry was on the pages left open. Most of the entries were about an ¡°entrance¡± and this weird desire of his to enter it.

    Mentions about people who went inside but never returned, and mentions of the hunts they had conducted, mostly on random people that entered the forest too deep. Only a short mention¡ªa momentary remark as a sidenote¡ªrevealed that they had killed Betty and placed her head inside her own home¡ªall this during a visit they made to the village of Jersten.

    The trio mostly lived in solitude, deep within this forest, waiting for anyone to wander near their hunting grounds and waiting for those who had entered to return to them. Perhaps with words from their savior, from their god.

    Kanrel picked up the book; it would serve as valuable proof, which he would study through and then send to the Herald. The same he would do to the other books that he had found; there were just so many of them that he could not read through them all now. They would have to wait as he climbed another level down.

    The next level was mostly empty, but he figured that the area was used for other people who might have camped here or as another prison to keep hold of any possible prisoners that they might have.

    The next few levels were similar; there was nothing of interest, just proof of people living there. But the further down he went, the less the areas were used. Until he reached the bottom. A body lay burned in his way, so he moved it out of his way¡ªwithout looking at the eyes of the person that had once existed, not truly witnessing the man that he had set on fire.

    At the bottom, there was more space. At the bottom, there were halls, rooms, and corridors. At the bottom of this tower were the true ruins¡ªproof of a great civilization that once built this complex.

    There was a stench. The stench of the man who had died because of a fall, his charred body that remained behind him, as he went deeper ahead. Perhaps this is when he ought to return to the village and form a party to explore these ruins.

    But he had to find the ¡°pit¡± they had mentioned and the diary of a priest long dead. Thus, he went further, with the light that was of his own creation leading the way.

 Chapter Forty: Those Who Lay Below

    In a light so dim, it is uncertain to an unaccustomed eye to see what is ahead. It was unlikely that he would have another encounter with the living in these corridors, yet there was a possibility of it. So each step had to be a careful one; when there was an intersection or a doorway, he would slowly approach it. Listen ahead, and always be prepared that there might be something that could attack.

    But every time he did so, there was nothing¡ªjust an empty room or the continuation of an empty corridor. There truly were no more people around here, at least not alive. At times, he would hear something and even see something ahead; he''d slowly approach it, just to find out that it was a mouse or a rat.

    After an hour of endless roaming in seemingly endless corridors and rooms, he felt like he could relax. He could spend some of his time having a closer look at the walls and their inscriptions. Here, below, there were no words like there were above on the columns. The engravings below seemed to be mostly a stylistic choice made at the time of building.

    It didn¡¯t say much about the people who had built these ruins, only that they too enjoyed the beauty and had an understanding of aestheticism; perhaps they had a need for it. Perhaps there was a deeper meaning related to the engravings and even to the material of their choice and the architecture in general.

    As he went ahead, one question kept ringing in his head; it swam around looking for an answer, but it was left unanswered as the surroundings gave no answer to it. What was the purpose of these ruins? Not those that were above, but those that were below.

    It was unlikely that they were meant as living quarters, nor was their purpose to store things. The corridors and the subsequent rooms had nothing in them that indicated such possibilities. And if, according to his own theory, the ruins above were a temple, then one could only imagine that these seemingly endless corridors and rooms served a purpose related to that.

    Usually beneath a temple, there might be a mausoleum or catacombs where they might bury the dead. But there was nothing that suggested such a thing. The purpose remained an uncertain question as he went ahead with only dim light as his company.

    The corridors and the rooms kept the same, unified style: bricks of marble garnished with similar engravings as if none of the rooms were supposed to have their own personality or their own characteristics.

    Dust, mold, and web covered the floors, walls, and ceilings of the corridors, that he explored, but it was clear to see that each direction, each corridor, and each room had had visitors more recently. Most likely, the three huntsmen regularly walked these corridors, and the diary left by Petyr suggested as much.

    Their reason for doing so was mostly to keep the way open and to make sure that the corridors and rooms would not cave on them or those who were below. Perhaps they did so also to see if they could find their brethren who had "entered."

    The ruins, as Kanrel started to understand them, formed a circle if one would observe them from above¡ªnot the ruins that were above, but those that were below. They formed a massive circle, where each corridor and room tried to lead the person away from the middle.

    It was practically a maze of rooms and corridors, forming a circle that tried to keep people from entering its center. He could, at random, try to reach that circle, but that would take more time than the solution. Why not just measure how large the circle was and then figure out where its center would be based on that? Of course, it would not ¡°solve¡± the mazelike structure of the ruins, but it would help him map them out.

    So he spent perhaps more than an hour walking around in circles, marking different parts of the ruins and numbering them so that he could first calculate the circumference of it all and then figure out which corridor led to which room and where might be the center of it all.

    He was unaware of the time, but he could feel his hunger rising and the exhaustion caused by the events of the day taking its toll on him. He could not do this all night; at some point, he had to eat. At some point, he had to go to sleep. Thus, after an unknown amount of time, he decided to return above¡ªfind something to eat and then sleep. He could also go through the belongings of the now-deceased huntsmen and find a map.

    Perhaps there was already a map, and he had wasted practically the whole day on a mission that had no point, for the answer to it would have been easily available. But he did not wish to go back up. He had no wish to return. Going back up meant making contact with the deeds that he had committed.

    Three bodies. Three separate actions led to the deaths of three humans. Why would he want to witness the outcome of his own deeds? Why would he torment himself with such things? Such visions would taint his memories for the rest of his life. No one should witness something akin to that. And no one should have to commit murder, even in self-defense.

    Yet as he walked back, slowly battling this thought altogether, he chose against it. He would not go back up; he would not set foot above. He would not claim those actions, for if he did not see them, then have they truly happened? Had he truly set a man on fire and then proceeded to watch as he screamed in agony and soon fell to his own death? Had he pierced those men with shards of ice? Had he just left them outside with no one to attend to them? Was this who he was? Was this what a man was? Is this who I am?

    A hundred and many more questions lay claim to his mind, yet he answered none of them. There¡¯d be regret either way. If he killed, or if he did not kill, either way, he would regret the action or the lack of action. He would always suffer; there was no other option. Everything leads to suffering. Everything and all caused him pain. Everything and all that had happened had brought him here.

    Here.

    The center.

    Here.

    At the doorway to a massive room. He walked forth with no thought. He took a step inside to see what it was about. Over the doorway, the floor began sloping down, as did the walls, and so did the ceiling.

    It was all around. It was a sphere in the middle of it all. The dim light he carried wasn¡¯t enough to light the whole room, so he formed multiple little fires, which he then let out into the room ahead of him.

    The fires lit the room; they lit that, which was a sphere. A sphere with one singular door, and at the center of the room, a rope hung from the ceiling, with a noose at the end of it. It hung there freely, with no movement at all. Underneath, it was a pit. A pit which was at the floor of it all. He peered down, even took a step toward it; a few more, and soon he was at the edge of it.

    There was darkness, nothing to be seen, yet when he let the little fires descend, the darkness swayed, it ran away, it was gone from the way of the light, and the sight was one to behold.

    At the bottom of the pit, there lay bodies. Mostly with no flesh left to cover them, some surely without their skulls, some with their ribcages broken, mauled and ripped apart. They lay at the bottom of the pit.

    There were other things as well. Things of those who lay at the bottom; things that were once owned by those who now lay among them.

    From his bag, Kanrel took out a rope, and he formed a code with which he would connect his own rope to that of the noose that was above. He made sure that the knot was tight enough and would hold the weight of a grown man. He braced himself and slowly climbed down with the help of the rope.

    Corpses, shoes, boots, clothing, books, pens, empty pouches, even coins¡ªso many things lay at the bottom of the pit. And when one got down, it became apparent how foul the stench of death truly was. How it had been allowed to live and grow down in the pit.

    As he looked around, it was certain that it was not just a pit. From above, it had been one, but at the bottom, he could see that it was a cave, and the pit was nothing more than an entrance to this cave. From the bottom of the pit, there went a narrow staircase; in the darkness, it was so difficult to say where except down.

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    The stench was unbearable, and he was forced to lift his robes so that he could cover his face so that most of the stench would not be allowed to enter his nostrils. He went ahead and began inspecting the many fleshless corpses that lay on the ground.

    He counted at least twelve skulls; that, in itself, was tragic, but there were far more hipbones than there were skulls. Most corpses weren¡¯t intact; either there was a skull missing, or if not, their ribcage was in shambles, presumably so that the bastards could dig out the heart of their poor victim.

    There were no words to describe it. There would never be just one word to describe deeds that should never be committed. Here he was, trying to find one specific body from a pile that had at least fifty different people in it.

    He was no different from those who had birthed this grave. The only difference was that he hadn¡¯t had the shame to hide it, to bury it beneath. At least he felt no pride in his deeds, yet here there was more than enough cause to be proud of murder. He had put an end to this.

    This would not continue, and there wouldn''t be a single body that would find its way here.

    A realization that gave no solace. His own judgment of his own actions would remain the same. He was no better, but at least he wasn¡¯t worse. But that, too, was to be seen.

    A corpse that lay atop another wore familiar robes; although the chest of it was ripped apart and his ribcage and sternum were both shattered and broken into many pieces, the corpse still grasped at something against its stomach.

    At first, when he tried removing the bony hands from that which they held, they would not budge, so he lifted the corpse from the pile with his magic and moved it nearer to the staircase. There, with force, he removed the item from its hands: an old and very dusty book that had been left otherwise untouched.

    There was no blood on it, even when the robes were soiled and dirtied with it. There was no blood on it, even when the owner had his heart ripped out of his chest. There was no blood, even when those who had done it showed no respect or regard toward the one who had held it.

    Kanrel¡¯s hands shook as he carefully dusted the book and soon opened the first pages, the pages that held the name of the person who had owned it: Boran Walden, a member of the Priesthood and one who once loved the taste of tea.

    He felt a sudden sense of loss. This is what he had come here for, truly. Everything else was more or less a side mission, even the one that his mother had given him. For him, it was more important to figure out and understand what had happened to this man.

    This corpse, which now lay at his feet... Dead.

    These words. These simple words¡ªa memory¡ªhad such power in them. This corpse had become a man; before him lay not a nameless corpse but a man¡ªa human¡ªwho had a name, an occupation, and something that he had once enjoyed and had once loved.

    This man was no more. And in his hands were the only vivid memories of the things that had happened to this man before his unfair passing.

    So he braced himself and read further, and it read as follows:

    For reasons behest to most, and specifically myself, I, a collector of tales and stories, find myself here¡ªin this little village with nothing much to offer.

    On a mission, which apparently is quite important, yet I can¡¯t seem to see it as such myself... Either way, I was assigned by my superiors to hold this journal to keep track of all the things surrounding my investigation regarding the ¡°Masked Believers¡± (as I have duped them myself), a somewhat secretive ¡°terrorist¡± organization that has no other mentions by those given to me by my superiors.

    And, as the command regarding this journal mentions ¡°to keep account of all the things surrounding my investigation,¡± I believe it is only fair that I am as direct as I can, and for me to be as direct, I have to confess that all of this will most definitely be a waste of my precious time.

    I have arrived, and I can already tell, after a few conversations, that there is no such presence here. No one has ever heard of things like ¡°true magic," ¡°true god," or whatever nonsense I was briefed about.

    So, when my superiors (Hello!) get their hands on this journal, do not be afraid of my shown dismay here, for I will go through with the given mission as I always have: to the end...

    Such was the first entry of many in a journal designated for the investigation of the very same thing that Kanrel had been sent here for.

    The first half of the entries mostly shared things about his daily life and the people of the village, whom he investigated one way or another. For each person, he had a dedicated page; it would describe the person, his occupation, his personality, his wealth, his beliefs, his family, and his friends. Everything that was there to be known about this specific person, he would have written on these pages.

    On Ulken Raven, he wrote: A man with great desire, someone who will one way or another find his way to become part of the delicate system of governance in our Kingdom. Apparently, the tea he brews has a magnificent taste.

    And on Rant Jenkse, he wrote as follows: A curious man, who I have not much to say about; other than that, he likes to pretend to be more uneducated than he actually is. He is married to Betty, and they have one son, Isbit.

    There¡¯d be something written about everyone, and this just showed how hard Boran worked on this investigation. Yet he found nothing suspicious of the people that lived in the village; even Rant seemed nothing more than a ¡°curious man¡± to him. Thus, he was not a suspect.

    The last entries read as follows:

    According to the information I¡¯ve gathered about the village thus far, it is apparent that there are unverified ruins northwest of the village, somewhere near the mountains. Because of the ongoing winter, which has been much harsher than previous winters, if I may add, I will begin the hunt for these ruins as soon as spring begins.

    - - -

    The ruins are of unknown origin, for they do not match any of the previously found ruins around the kingdom. The only way to describe them is "alien," but I must theorize that this new finding is of human origin, possibly of a civilization now long gone¡ªone where human architectural abilities reached a peak. It is possible that the great war against extinction, i.e., the genocidal Wildkin, was possibly the cause of this civilization''s end.

    I will return to the ruins another day so that I might explore them further; there are signs that the ruins continue further below.

    - - -

    I¡¯ve found it beneath the ruins. It calls for me to enter... I do not know how... There must be a way to enter.

    - - -

    A voice beckons me to return, for me to open it, for me to enter...

    I must return.

    - - -

    No matter how much I try not to go, I know that I must go; it calls for me; it begs for me; it wishes me to enter... I¡¯ve tried again and again; why can¡¯t it just open for me? Let me enter.

    I will not leave until I succeed.

    - - -

    It is an entrance to my dreams, yet there is no door. There is an entrance, but it won''t open. Why doesn¡¯t it let me in if it wishes me to do so?

    Let me enter.

    - - -

    Do not try to enter it. Do not approach it, lest the whispers come to you. They would come with their demands; they beg you to come back to it; they beg for me to enter. I don¡¯t want to, but there is a desire.

    Let me enter.

    Let me enter.

    Let me enter.

    Let me enter.

    The last few pages are filled with writings that make no sense; they resemble no known language; they¡¯re mostly just random dots, dashes, and lines; they form no picture that would make sense. They have no reason, as far as Kanrel could tell.

    He read the last few entries over and over again and tried to figure out from them which entrance he meant, but Boran had not been specific. The last entries were not of the same quality as those written before he found the ruins and the entrance.

    He packed the journal and turned toward the stairs. With the many dim lights that he now had with him, he traversed further into the caves. All around him was darkness; below him, there was more of it, and above was just the ceiling and nothing else.

    As he went down, carefully taking each step, a lonely sound echoed. His steps and dim lights were now his only company, as the darkness was all around¡ªit was all-encompassing. Here it was, everything... Sanity would tell any man to return to the light that awaited those who lived under the sun. And he would return, but he just wanted to seek out this entrance to at least confirm its existence. Then he could return above, and then he could bask in the light. So he continued the descent, and the staircase seemed to not have an end.

 Part Two, Epilogue: Enter

    The steps were narrow, and a slip or a simple miss-step would be a step into nothingness¡ªa great fall after which you would not wake up on the floor of a cathedral. Such thoughts sometimes bothered him.

    The Ritual and how it worked¡ªhow it had worked with him. Because of a simple slip, he had been the first to awake; a mistake was the reason why he got so far ahead of everyone else. The answer the Ritual was looking for was suicide.

    It looked for those who were ready to give their everything to reach the bottom and find out what there could be. It was no wonder that it was so rare for those who took part in the ritual to awaken on the first day. There wouldn¡¯t be many that¡¯d be ready to take such a leap of faith¡ªor were clumsy enough to miss a step.

    Such circumstances were absurd, and he had reaped the benefits of such an absurd event. Yet it was felt. Again, going down narrow stairs, a journey beneath to a destination unknown. He should be afraid. And he was, but not because of the possibility of death, but because of the possibility of not finding the entrance. He needed to find it and inspect it. To be someone who could truly understand the words of another priest, one who had clearly gone insane in his final moments. He had to observe that which made a priest have desire.

    A desire to enter.

    Desire, for a priest, was unheard of. That which he had was not desire; Kanrel had despair, surely just a different color of desire, yet they come from two different places. A desire is what you long for. For him, there was the absence of something that needed to be filled.

    But in Boran¡¯s words, he had had something that he desired, something that he needed so much that he reached toward it, only to find despair and insanity at the end of it.

    It is cold, but barely. It is warm, but not warm enough. It is dark, but the dim lights spoil even that. And the darkness that is alluring you as you go by. After all, you could take a step and find out just how long a fall can last until you hit the ground. It might be that there is no fall and that the darkness around is but an illusion. But what if it wasn¡¯t?

    What if the fall never ends? What if everything that had happened happened again? Would he wake up? Was this just another part of the Ritual? All these things that happened surely happened for a reason, and not just because they could happen.

    None of this was real. Everything that had happened so far had to be an illusion. So the darkness beckons you. It feeds you with thoughts¡ªwith ideas. And it calls for you to take a leap¡ªjust a step¡ªand to find out if you would, at the end of the fall, wake up or keep falling, or if you would hit the ground and be veiled by the dark for all of time. To finally rest, as part of that which had saved you. Which took you from those who love you.

    Kanrel gritted his teeth. A priest should not think of such things; a priest should not toy with the idea of such a call. A call of the void ought to never take over a priest; it should never be the answer to a world that has given nothing but different forms of torment and suffering.

    Instead, he realigned his mind and thought only of one thing: the entrance. Where it might be, and if it were at the end of this staircase if there ever was an end to this staircase.

    But as one walks the dimly lit steps, it is truly impossible to see for yourself if you are truly moving or if you are just taking the same step over and over again. And if there is an ending to this that might not have one, then that ending could be minutes, hours, days, or years away.

    He could not see far enough to be certain. All he had was just the possibility that there might be something. Truly, a shot in the dark, and nothing else. Through a thousand mundane steps, all accompanied by the silent sound of his foot hitting step after step after step...

    A thousand and a thousand more, and an hour and an hour more. Then, and only then, was there an ending to that, which seemed like it could never end. A platform was suspended in the middle of darkness against a wall, and on that wall, there was not a door but a framed black surface. One where he could see his own reflection.

    But this reflection was not one he recognized. It was a young boy with a smile on his face, holding in his hands something that Kanrel did recognize. A black street cat he had adopted, his name was Deft, a more than fitting name for a cat that was swift and agile.

    Deft had died during his time at the academy. All cats die; he had sadly passed away when he was not there to look after it. That was so long ago, that he could barely say how many years ago it was. That child, then, had to be him.

    A vision of something that he once was; with him, something that he loved. Still loved. One does not easily forget a living thing that you loved, even if it was just a cat. But it was never just a cat. Deft was, after all, an orphan like he was. Someone who first lived on the streets before getting saved by a mere accident.

    Neither the cat nor the boy moved. They just stared ahead. This was a reminder of what was lost. The smile that he might have once had but now could never fake in a manner that could be convincing to himself. Never had he since smiled in a way that held the truth. Everything after was another well-crafted lie.

    He was no better than the three huntsmen, but he was not worse; he was no better than Yirn, and Yirn was not worse than he was. They both had lied; they both had killed. He was gone, and so was Kanrel. Just in a very different way.

    When does one find it within himself to dream again? No. When does one find the ability to dream again? How do you reclaim something that is lost? A skill that we all had once, but some of us, for foolish reasons, decide to compromise this ability. To give it away, and for what? Power?

    Who the hell does anything with power if you are unable to enjoy it? Who does anything with power if you aren¡¯t allowed to enjoy anything? Anything at all. All that he has is nothing. All that he feels is nothing. Everything is nothing.

    And that which he once had was in that mirror. Before him was an unmoving child holding a cat in his hands. A smile on his face; one who could dream, one that dared to dream. A child who thought that the world maybe wasn¡¯t so bad.

    A reflection of a past self that you could imagine with a smile on his face.

    Not this, which is now left. The reflection behind the reflection. The outcome of dreams gone sour and choices that became mistakes from the moment of their actualization

    As far as he saw it, there were three options: one, dedicate your life to priesthood and find solace in belief; two, give up and accept the call of the void.

    Kanrel began forming a code. For him, there was just one option that he could make: one that did not break the vows that he had made, only where he would not abandon his mother, his friends, or the people that he had grown to love in his own way.

    Hundreds of ice spikes formed around him, all of them pointed at one target. The little boy with a cat in his hands¡ªthe boy who could smile even when he had experienced things a child should not.

    He released it. A thousand spikes of ice began in rapid succession, moving toward the dark surface, which showed a reflection of his past self. First, they were quite slow, and the next moment, you could only see their impact.

    Each hit produced a sound that echoed through the darkness; it echoed all around, and it repeated over and over again, always returning here. The surface of the moving darkness was covered with dust and ice, and smoke would rise, covering the area that had been hit a thousand times.

    At last, there was silence. And Kanrel stood there, on the dimly lit platform, where there was a frame of darkness and a reflection, now covered by smoke and rubble. He did not wait; instead, he went ahead and formed another code; this one pushed the smoke debris away into the darkness that accepted it all down below.

    The surface was now shattered, and the reflection was imperfect. He could now see himself as he was. A man with no smile, yet in the imperfection of the reflection, there was still that cat, which he held. After all, he had never lost his ability to love.

    Perhaps he should be cautious. Perhaps now was the time to return above ground and leave this place, which only brought him more torment. But it was right there. So why not touch it? Why not try to understand this thing that mocks him?

    So he took a step closer and closer and touched that which should perhaps be left untouched. A wave of nausea hit him, and a scream exploded in his head: ENTER!

    ENTER! ENTER! ENTER! ENTER! ENTER!

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    Over and over again, until he did all he could, he ran forward. He pushed toward the darkness on a frame, the shattered reflection of himself. He pushed, and he pushed. He wanted to enter. He needed to enter. Tears began running down his face. All he wanted was here. He needed this. This was all that he desired.

    ¡°LET ME ENTER!¡± He screamed as the voice kept repeating the same word in his head.

    Until¡­

    It was quiet.

    And it was so dark as if one were submerged in the deepest part of the sea. It felt like it as well; there was pressure all around. Floating, it felt like that. Yet he could not move. He could not breathe; he could not scream; he could see. Hear. Speak. Dream. Move. Nothing; he could do nothing.

    Slow suffocation, a pressure first in his mouth, then his throat, and soon in his lungs, and then all around. Silence, surely, was there a moment ago, only to return as a drum¡ªthe sound of your own blood flowing in your own body, the sound of your heart beating. Quickly, then soon quicker.

    Enter.

    A voice first whispered. It was even and lacked emotion, yet it was comforting; it was something he could anchor himself into. He was no longer lost in the deepest and darkest part of the sea.

    Enter; do not be afraid.

    The voice soothed him. He was not afraid.

    Open your eyes.

    And he opened his eyes. He was in a room that was in the shape of a globe. There were no doors, there were no windows, just the globe, and he was suspended in the middle of it, not touching the walls of the globe.

    Breathe.

    And he could breathe the air; so precious was that he was devoid of just a moment ago; he could feel his heart stop the race it had begun.

    You are safe here with me.

    The voice promised, and he believed it. Now he could relax; now he could breathe. He didn¡¯t need to move or speak. Here he was safe, as the voice had promised.

    There was silence as all he did for a while was breathe, relax, and stare straight ahead at the walls of the globe.

    Now¡­ I have allowed you in, perhaps against my better judgment, but not once have I had the experience of anyone trying to destroy me in these... Thousands? Hundreds? Either way, in many years...

    Kanrel looked around in panic, trying to find the source of this voice, but there was no physical object that could make a sound in this small space; there was nothing. Only himself.

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    Me? I am¡­ just a voice for now.

    And it doesn¡¯t matter who I am; it matters more who you are. So, tell me: Who are you?

    ¡°I¡­ I am Kanrel Iduldian, a priest of the Priesthood.¡±

    Wonderful; I have your name and your occupation. Perhaps a more important question would be: What are you?

    ¡°Me? What am I?¡±

    Yes.

    Kanrel thought for a while, ¡°I am a human.¡±

    A human? I see¡­ One of those: I have met a few of your kind before; a few of them have entered recently; before that, there were none to enter; they had not found me quite yet.

    I do believe that the Atheians called your people the "Darshi," those who came from the islands. I remember that you were a more advanced species of monkey and nothing more. The times have certainly changed.

    I, on the other hand, am a guardian in a prison. So, I suppose, I am the warden of a prison.

    ¡°Who are your prisoners?¡±

    I don¡¯t think it matters who my prisoners are, as you probably have never heard of them, but I¡¯ll tell you either way.

    The prisoners in this prison I guard are the Atheians; they were the people who populated this earth long before your arrival.

    ¡°I have heard of them, and I know that they are somehow related to the Angels, but I was not allowed more information about them since the Angels consider the topic to be taboo.¡±

    There was a momentary silence after his words.

    Interesting. The Angels you speak of... I suppose they are the ones who tasked me with this job. Maybe they have learned to regret the actions they have committed¡ªthat wouldn¡¯t be the first time...

    I¡¯ve always seen their ways as unjust and reactionary. Their reasons for imprisoning a whole race of beings were simply out of a desire to do so. Well, there were some things about slavery and such, but is it for them to dictate how a different species of people mandate their own culture?

    I digress¡­ What are you doing here, then?

    ¡°Well¡­ I heard a voice, and that voice beckoned me to enter. So I did.¡±

    Most curious, because no one can communicate from here to the outside world. Everything is blocked; no one can leave, and only those whom I allow to enter can enter.

    ¡°Why did you let those people enter then?¡±

    After thousands of years, I was curious about what was happening outside, so when a person came, performed the correct ritual, and touched the surface of the portal, I of course accepted them; I had supposed that they had contact with my masters, so I allowed them entrance.

    But sadly, none of them survived.

    ¡°Why not? Why did they not survive when I did?¡±

    They lacked magic, quite simply to put it. And you, even though you technically don¡¯t have it, I can still feel it in you. After all, this prison was crafted with the same magic. Yours is just slightly different; it lacks something¡ªa characteristic, perhaps originality. I am not quite sure; I¡¯ve never run into someone with magic like yours.

    ¡°We, humanity, were blessed by the Angels, and they gave a select few magic as a gift.¡±

    Interesting¡­ And I suppose you had to give something for it; the Angels, as you call them, never give "gifts."

    ¡°We, who have the gift, gave away the ability to enjoy things so that the power would not corrupt us.¡±

    What!? Who in their right mind would ever take such a trade? It is completely repulsive for an angel to make such an offer!

    Well¡­ At least it is not permanent, so there is no reason to cry over it, I suppose.

    The words the voice said sparked his interest instantly: ¡°What do you mean? It is not permanent?"

    Well, you can just ask the Angels to take away their filthy trade, can¡¯t you?

    ¡°Ah¡­ Well¡­¡±

    Oh yeah. I did forget that there is no going out from here.

    Well, there is a way.

    ¡°Is there? If there is no going out, only in, then how does anyone ever leave this place?¡±

    It is a bit complicated, but there is a way¡ªjust one way.

    The magic that the Angels used for the creation of this prison holds a complicated lock: levels, which one has to pass to be able to reach the level where first the Atheians are kept, and then the last level, where the lock can be opened.

    ¡°If it is so, why have the Atheians not left this prison long ago?¡±

    They don¡¯t know about it. To them, there is no way out.

    ¡°Then how?¡±

    First, you would have to go through the levels for me to even explain ¡°the how¡± of it all.

    ¡°Then explain to me how to pass these ¡®levels¡¯ of yours."

    The levels are visions, or perhaps a maze, or maybe a dimension of a city that once existed. It is the place where the Angels came from, their domain, their greatest achievement, and their greatest regret. Everything related to them began there. It is the beginning of everything.

    ¡°Sure, but how do I enter this city of yours?¡±

    That is the easy part; I¡¯ll just let you enter. But the true difficulty remains in the act of leaving the said city.

    I can sustain you for only so long until you perish from visions or from a lack of food and water. You will certainly die, either here, in this globe, or within the city; it is your choice; I will be there for you either way. I am bored, after all.

    Now, there were a lot of things to think about. This overwhelming amount of information, which he could hardly process, This new information about the Angels, and the Atheians. The possibility of being rid of the gift and gaining the ability to feel enjoyment once more.

    The city from which the Angels came from. Everything. All of this was too much for one man to understand in such a short amount of time.

    I wouldn¡¯t want to rush you, but I honestly can¡¯t say for how long I am able to sustain a human in these conditions. So no pressure.

    May the Angels bless us with safety, good health, and patience.

    ¡°Yet you leave me no options." He muttered, which was not left unheard but instead unanswered.

    He would not be able to dedicate his life to the priesthood, for he wanted to feel again, and he would fight for his ability to live until the very end; thus, the second option was never the correct one for him, nor was the first. The third one, on the other hand...

    ¡°Sent me to that city of yours... And I will try my best to show you just how alike humans and roaches are."

    Very well, have it your way.

    He would fight; he would not give up. If he gave up, the people who were far away from him would never see him again. His mother; Yviev; Roslyn; Uanna; Wen; and everyone that he had learned to love. Even the memory of Yirn and the little cat that was Deft... He would rather fight for one more chance than to give up.

    As the voice said his words with not a care in the world, the world became dark and cold.

    Why had it grown so cold?

 Part Three: Nâ€™Sharanâ€”Prologue: In the City of Angels

    In the first dawn of the Sharan, there was no freedom; there was just slavery and the desire to be free. The annals tell of a time when the tyrant, known as Kalma, ruled over the Sharan with no regard for their lives or for their freedoms.

    Before the city that was N¡¯Sharan, the enslaved people worked the bountiful lands that were all around the world; they lived in great cities, towns, and villages, yet in the end, they were never free.

    An empire that lasted a thousand years, all under the omnipotent tyrant Kalma, came to an end when the great Kalma demanded his people to perform a sacrifice¡ªa hundred thousand women, a hundred thousand men, and a hundred thousand children¡ªbeheaded to construct a temple for his magnificence.

    The people rose and brought about a war that led to the deaths of more than those demanded. First, they fought against the armies of Kalma, who had no interest in the futile actions of the Sharan; only when his armies were defeated did he fight against those who had risen in revolt.

    The great magics that he used to slaughter his enemies are now called the Great Calamities. With each spell he let loose, thousands died, and their blood fed his desire for more. For the Sharan, there seemed to be no way out; no possibility to defeat the one who ruled the world.

    So they gathered all of those who still remained and pooled their magics into the chosen few, the leaders of their revolt; with this, they created nine powerful magi, who pooled their forces together and destroyed Kalma; they scarred not only his mortal body but his soul as well. They ripped apart the world that they lived in, thus ending the Empire of the Dragon.

    With those who remained, the Nine Magi vowed that they would carry them all to a promised land, where there¡¯d be no more war, where there¡¯d be no more slavery, and where they¡¯d all be free.

    With the powers that they were granted, they formed a powerful spell, gathered all of the Sharan that still remained, and summoned a portal to another world. There they began the construction of their utopia, a paradise for those who had suffered for thousands of years.

    N¡¯Sharan, the City of Angels.

    In the City of Angels, there are no slaves; in the City of Angels, there is no freedom.

    The Nine Great Magi took control of the city and molded it into one that would never leave their control; each of them chose something to rule over, and thus the nine domains were created.

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    The Domain of Lies and Truths; the Domain of Order and Entropy; the Domain of Light and Dark; the Domain of Judgement; the Domain of Love and Hatred; the Domain of Joy and Suffering; the Domain of Life and Death; and the Domain of War and Peace, and finally, the Domain of Time.

    In N¡¯Sharan, in the city of our creation, there is only deceit and fraud. In N¡¯Sharan, the city of our dreams, order is that which suits the needs of the powerful. In N¡¯Sharan, darkness rules over the city, and no light can vanquish it. In N¡¯Sharan, the city that we love, hatred rules the hearts of those who accept no other vision than their own. In N¡¯Sharan, joy can only be born from the suffering of others. In N¡¯Sharan, the city where we all lived, where we thought that only death could free us, life was good only for the select few. In N¡¯Sharan, a city birthed by war, the hope of peace could only be freed the same way it was created. And it was known from the beginning of its rise and fall, that the city would not have a future, for the Sharan would not have one either.

    In N¡¯Sharan, there are no slaves; in N''Sharan, there is no freedom.

    N¡¯Sharan, the city of our regrets¡­

    <hr>

    Fragile, so fragile is an ideal, one that so many shared, one for which so many gave their lives to. Fragile were the lives that inhabit the city, so fragile, this city of marble, built to be a reflection of the people that inhabit it.

    Fragile is the life that was given to it, and death is the only future foreseen for it, no matter how many possibilities there are or were; the war would come, the war would come and end it all; it would force itself to the peaceful lives of many, it would become the only reality for all of those innocent souls that never wanted anything like it, they too would be forced to give for the city, and they would have to give it all. It was demanded, it was necessary¡­

    But to blame this collection of objects, these buildings, and the ideals that they were built upon, and to not blame those who brought its ruin, would not be right.

    Death is for all. It is for the people of this city; it is for the corrupt, it is for the innocent; it is for all that lives within it and outside; death is what rules over all; it is the end of all life; it is the end of all.

    Even those who claim to transcend death still are slaves to it; they too have to become one with it; they too have to enter eternity, to enter death, to submerge beneath the waves that come crashing in, from all sides, they will swallow even those that wish to live forever. Death will claim all, for nothing is to last.

    Death rules all, as it did rule those that were before the time of N¡¯Sharan when Kalma ruled the Sharan.

    These burning ideas, these truths as they claim themselves to be, they enter this mind, they become one with it. These false memories of the world as it was, the people who inhabited that world, their dreams and their wishes, their fears, and their tribulations.

    Submerged in the great darkness¡ªthis unknown substance¡ªcold ruled, and he shivered with no hope of warmth. A gnawing pain, that of a migraine, constantly hit his temples, his head, his eyes, and all of his senses.

    All that was to be known about the city of N¡¯Sharan.

    Agony¡ªthe agony of those who had lived there. Torment¡ªthe torment of those who succumbed to the corruption of it all. Suffering¡ªthe suffering of those who perished at the end of its cycle; at the end of N¡¯Sharan.

    The city that was laid in ash¡­

    Enter the Domain of Lies and Truths... Enter, N¡¯Sharan¡­

 Chapter Forty-One: From an Ivory Tower

    Enter the Domain of Lies and Truths¡­ Enter, N¡¯Sharan¡­ The Voice awoke him.

    As the darkness subdued, there was no sight of the spherical room where he had spent an amount of time most unknown. He laid his eyes on the clean marbled streets, the many people who walked on them, going about their own lives¡ªsome carrying things, others pushing through the crowds in haste. This was all he could see from the balcony where he was¡ªin a city he had never seen before.

    A sigh filled with a bundle of mixed feelings was let out: ¡°N¡¯Sharan, the city where my love remains... In your language, one would perhaps call it ¡°the City of Sharans¡± or ¡°the City of Angels."

    ¡°Look around and see through the eyes of those who once lived here the beauty of this masterpiece... and how it was then soiled, broken, and left in the ashes of time..."

    The Voice touched him and filled his mind with nostalgia and then regret, leaving him soon to experience it all alone. A city, which he would have to navigate, as someone who only had the memories of another to help in his quest to find the truth, or perhaps just a truth.

    N¡¯Sharan¡­ A city of hopes and dreams, as fragile and as nonexistent as the concept of freedom. A city that was once built by those who aspired to be different from tyrants¡ªdifferent from those they deemed evil. A city where they all could be, where they could all exist as equals.

    The garments he wore were of great quality; even he could notice such a thing among all these things of grandeur. The people below did not have what he had on him; most of them were poor, yet he would observe them from above a tower, which represented the very difference between those who had something and those who didn¡¯t have enough. The one who had built this house and looked down on those below was someone of great wealth.

    He looked beyond the people¡ªbeyond the orange roofs that were around him, that were all around this great city. All he knew was that he was in a place where those who had wealth could dine, drink, and spend their nights.

    The buildings across did not only have those orange roofs that seemed to be on top of every building in this city, but their facades were sometimes gilded, with red flags made out of silk garnishing that, which was already far too extravagant¡ªfar too expensive for most to own.

    N¡¯Sharan¡ªthe city where people were divided by wealth and power. Surely, wealth was just another word for power, but there were those, like he who he was now, who were above the many people below in status.

    Although this body he was given was not one that had a past, it was still given considerable wealth and a position that gave him inherent power¡ªeven if among the so-called powerful, his power remained insignificant.

    He was a journalist¡ªone who worked for the Times of N¡¯Sharan, the oldest and most respected news source in all of N¡¯Sharan. One that was completely mandated by his now master, the Sharan of Lies and Truths, under their domain.

    His master was someone who ruled over the matters of the truth and the false¡ªthe lies. So, they invented something¡ªa way for people to receive information that could be trusted. The newspaper¡ªa simple piece or a bundle of paper that had the most important information of the past day and night that any citizen would need to know.

    And his job was to provide that truthful information, to tell the truth¡ªto expose that which was false, the lies¡ªbut only the truth that was agreed upon. All information had to, of course, be fact-checked, lest there be lies that would poison the minds of the many citizens of the great city of N¡¯Sharan.

    N''Sharan, a city where the truth remains a question left unanswered, and to find an answer from the lackluster memories received or from the newspapers or any other piece of literature, was nigh impossible. Why would he trust the memories of someone who had not given him their name but instead just their occupation? And why would he trust the information he already knew to be poisoned by the Sharan of Lies and Truths?

    But if he were to follow the given memories, then there was a memory more bright than the others. The memory of a murderer¡ªor someone blamed for murder. He left the balcony behind and returned to the large lobby. There were cushioned divans and chairs around tables, and people sat around them, reading from papers that were called The News and sipping from small porcelain cups a drink they called coffee.

    The Sharans have no gender, as through their magics, there was no use for it; the birth of a child was conceived through the combination of the magics of the Sharans who wanted a child. As an outcome, there would be born a child who had no gender, one who was the combination of two parents of the child.

    The Sharan were of all shapes and sizes, but on average they were taller than humans were, and on their skin grew scales, and depending on the magical ability of the person, they would have more scales.

    Through the eyes of a human, the Sharan could be at times beautiful or ugly, even horrific, but truly, they were wonderful creatures. Yet there wasn¡¯t even one Sharan that had the outlook of the grotesque angels that Kanrel knew of. But then again, he had not seen one of the Magi.

    The person he had become had no memories of childhood or that of a normal person, yet curiously, they had information about not only the history of the city and the Sharan but also general information that any Sharan would know almost by heart.

    One such thing was the fact that most of the magi chose not to show their faces in public; they remained hidden in their homes. Some even believed that the nine magi had died ages ago; it was hard to believe that any of them would live for thousands of years.

    Age and how long a Sharan could live were connected to their magical ability. One who had more would live a longer time, and one who had less would succumb sooner rather than later.

    Most did not live longer than fifty years. It was said that the first settlers might have lived a hundred years or even longer, but as time passed, they all seemed to live shorter lives. A thousand years of regression, they say.

    The reasons for such a thing were lost on Kanrel; he could not even begin to guess what had caused such an effect. But it did not seem to matter to most, for life went on. And the millions of people who lived in this city were a testament to that.

    Alas, the people in this little cafe were cultured, and they all came here for a simple reason¡ªthe very same reason that he had coincidentally given for himself.

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    Kanrel chose a table at random, one that was free, and took the paper that was laid on the low table in front of him. The headlines on the paper read:

    Times of N¡¯Sharan No. 12

    Hartar Agna: a loyalist or a murderer?

    Corruption¡ªa tale as old as time itself; the reason why one cannot get the job they had an interview for; why bread is too expensive; and the reason why the winner of the Sharan Awards was the same as the previous year.

    Corruption, the name we call at night, the one we pray to... and, apparently, something Hartar Agna can blame for murder?

    On the 23rd day of the 9th month in the 1207th year of the Common Times, we were presented with a murder in Olruan Street, one of the poorest neighborhoods of the city. A civil servant, a city guard, to be precise, was found dead in a small alleyway.

    And after a week-long investigation, we are finally presented with answers: a murderer is presented: Hartar Agna, the child of a local baker, and someone who works at their parent''s bakery.

    At first, the motive given was uncertain, but the local police of the District of Copper, in their interview, proclaimed that the murderer was most likely a terrorist of sorts.

    But now, with new information received through our sources in the police, after they arrested the assumed perpetrator on the 30th, the perpetrator, in an interrogation, accused the victim of attacking and demanding money for "safety."

    Therefore, the victim is not a victim but rather another perpetrator, this time of the foul crime of corruption.

    But is there any truth behind this accusation thrown at the dead? The good people at the Office of Peace loudly acclaim a simple response given to such accusations: ¡°There is no corruption in the Office of Peace, and if there were, everyone could quite easily see it.¡±

    This is but the beginning of further investigation, both by the city guard and by us, The Times of N¡¯Sharan.

    He read through the article multiple times, mainly to remember the key points and to compare the information with the memories that he was given. They were accurate because memories told of a murderer who was not a murderer but rather someone framed for murder, as Hartar Agna had been just at the wrong place at the wrong time, for he had witnessed the execution of Wiltem Torna, a city guard who tried to report information about the corruption at the Office of Peace.

    But was it really the case? This was, after all, all the information that he actually had about these two people. Information that was received in the form of a memory, given by a mysterious voice that seemed to have something against the Angels. And then an article written mostly to ridicule the suspect.

    He carefully placed the paper back on the table and looked around, peering at the faces of those who had gathered there. These people, like him, had come here for this¡ªan article. They had come here to discuss the article in groups and then mingle with each other. They were writers and hobbyists, some of the richer folk of the city, but those who were out of the ¡°ins and outs¡± of how their beloved city truly worked.

    Of course, there were those who greatly doubted the printed words in the article, questioning if the person who had written it truly had any sources at the police or if the person had actually killed anyone. Some believed the tale of the person suspected of murder, and some did not.

    It didn¡¯t matter if they did or didn¡¯t. None of them would do anything about it either way. They were here just to discuss the matter, to gossip, to mingle, and, often or not, to make things up about the things they read. Perhaps not out of ill will, but just out of the fact that they could. Who would question them other than those that were here?

    It was all to kill time.

    But why was he here then? Why had the Voice given this place and this time to experience the city and its people? Was it to show the juxtaposition of those who had wealth and power yet did nothing with it and those who had neither and could do nothing about the circumstances that they found themselves in?

    What was the point of it all?

    He got up and, from the pocket of his vest, took out a coin, which he placed on top of the newspaper, as was customary. In an establishment like this, one didn¡¯t have to pay for anything, per se, but they would have to tip for the services; he had not experienced any of them, yet he partook in this strange custom they had here.

    He walked past the tables and the people who crowded them, hearing snippets of conversation about the topic of the hour, and navigated his way to the elevators. A wondrous achievement of engineering and magic. And knowing how scarce magic was as a resource in this world, made him question how many people had given all that they had left to build such an elaborate piece of technology. How many were drained out of their powers until there was nothing left but a husk of the person that once lived?

    He pressed the button that would allow him to return to the first floor and then out of the building. The doors closed, and a humming sound filled his ears, and the machine jerked and began ascending. Such an experience made him sick to the stomach¡ªnot because of all the magic that was around him or the possible deaths of those who had built it, but rather the journey itself.

    Even with memories about such things, they could never be as true as the experience itself.

    He left behind the extravagant experience of the hotel and all the things that it could offer those who had the wealth. Instead, he went outside to experience the street view of things¡ªa world from the eyes of those who had less wealth and far less power.

    Here, the city was made out of wonders. Out of magic and technology greater than the sum of all human history, there was none of that to be seen on the streets. The memories given by the Voice showed great achievements. Carts that would move on their own, entirely powered by magic, even flying vessels and such.

    But from below, he could only look up to see things of wonder. The tall towers that reigned the city¡ªhousing such technology and magic, yet mostly just ordinary people. In the tight space that was the city, it was far easier to build vertically than horizontally.

    The people crowded the streets. Not once had he seen so many people in one place. This city had millions of people living in it¡ªthe total population of the Kingdom as a whole¡ªlocated in a small, cramped space.

    A city that was surrounded by walls that were taller than most buildings. There were many districts that had different purposes and housed different kinds of people¡ªof different crafts and of different levels of power in society.

    Here, he was smaller than he had ever been. Here, he had less meaning than ever before. Here, he truly was nothing¡ªsomeone out of place¡ªnot just in the tower but also in the streets. Most of those who lived here would not live as long as he would.

    Even when he had nothing, the people here seemed to have less. Somehow, in a city far wealthier than all of the riches of the Kingdom combined, they still didn¡¯t have enough to provide for their people. Homelessness was a rampant issue, and disease was another, for not just any regular citizen could afford the services of an expensive doctor.

    There was starvation, even when more food was thrown away than eaten. How could a city of such considerable wealth not provide for its people? And why would the people not rise up? Why would they accept how they were treated¡ªhow they were all treated?

    He looked back. He looked back up at the tower that pierced the heavens. Somewhere in that building lived one of the Sharan¡ªone of the great magi who had constructed this city and promised that they all could be equal here.

    And he could do nothing about it. Nothing at all. This was just a memory, or a vision, or a dream, that he had to experience. And why? Just to see how much suffering the Angels had caused?

    He walked into the crowd, becoming just another face you¡¯d forget in mere moments, and slowly began navigating his way toward Olruan Street and the District of Copper.

 Chapter Forty-Two: The District of Copper

    It was like trying to run against the stream or against the wind, for there seemed to be no end to the migration of people on the streets of N¡¯Sharan. He could barely look around and truly observe his surroundings, since if he stopped moving, then the crowd would force him to move with it. One man could not stop the flow of people, like one man swimming in a channel would not block it¡ªthe water would still keep flowing and the approaching boat would crush him either way.

    It was a morbid picture, but one that could happen to him, as he heard of people who had died in stampedes. Mind you, those stampedes were caused by people and with people. Getting crushed by another person was not on his list today, so he kept the pace of the crowd and continued to find his way in this labyrinth of a city.

    If he would close his eyes, then he could believe that he would be in the streets of Lo¡¯ Gran during a festival. Eyes open, that was nigh impossible, for every face that he saw had a different variance of scales, of different colors and shapes. Truly, there was not a single human in this crowd. And if he were to look in a mirror, there would be another scaley face to greet him.

    That did not matter, for he felt the same as he always did. Only that which was outside was different. And the things that were outside of him didn¡¯t truly matter as much as the things that were within. That was, of course, related only to things like his physical appearance; everything else that was outside was filled with meaning. Other people were outside; they all were, but what mattered the most was what he thought of those people and what those people thought of him.

    If, in his eyes, those people were nothing as well, then he¡¯d be a greater fool than what he thought of himself already. Each life had meaning to it; people were meaningful, even if they found it difficult to see it for themselves. There¡¯d always be someone who¡¯d be sad for your departure; there¡¯d be someone who¡¯d laugh with you at the follies of life; and there¡¯d always be those who¡¯d cry with you at those same follies.

    One just had to be brave enough to seek those people. Some were lucky to be born with such people around. Some had already found such people. Some might never find them, yet that would not mean that those people would not exist.

    The world was funny in that way. It rarely gives anything with or without a reason; things just happen, as long as they can happen.

    But here, no matter how much he¡¯d scream at those who were around him, he would go unnoticed. No matter how he¡¯d pull at the sleeve of another, he¡¯d still be left unnoticed. The reason for this was unknown. It was as if only those that were ¡°important¡± to finding the truth could be interacted with. As if the many people who were part of this great wave weren¡¯t people who were truly remembered.

    After all, this dream was constructed from the memories of those who built the prison that it guards.

    There was no need to speak to any of them¡ªhe''d never be lost. He knew exactly where he had to go to receive the information he sought.

    Slowly, the District of Gold changed; it could be seen everywhere. The people and what they wore, the buildings¡ªhow well they were maintained, and how extravagant their facades were or weren''t¡ªin practically everything.

    The District of Silver is where he soon found himself. It was a place for those who were slightly lower in the hierarchy of the city and its population. This was where most lived. Most people who lived here lived in these districts that were meant for the middle class. The districts of Bronze and Iron were similar in that manner, though their purposes were slightly different. The District of Bronze was for factories that didn¡¯t use magic as a primary source of energy, and the District of Iron had factories that did use magic as their primary energy.

    Thus, the people who worked in them had to have a certain level of magical ability to be able to work in such factories. There, they were paid much better, but the life expectancy wasn¡¯t much greater than in the lower-tier factories.

    Such factories produced a plethora of different things, mainly materials and parts to things; such things would then be sent to the District of Silver, where the skilled artisans of the city mainly dwelled with their workshops and shops.

    In a way, each district supported each other, and each district would, to a differing degree, benefit more or less from that support. But those who lived in the District of Gold would always benefit the most, for there lived those who owned the factories and even monetarily supported the many artisans of the District of Silver.

    The District of Copper was different. The living conditions weren¡¯t that great, and the quality of air was the worst in the whole city. It became more apparent as Kanrel approached it after about an hour of walking.

    The District of Copper was built on top of a mine, so one had to go downhill several meters to have access to it, and the hole that was once a mine was quite deep¡ªover a hundred meters they had dug down¡ªand now that area was densely populated with small huts and buildings that could barely be called houses.

    At first, the streets were paved, but as he went deeper and as the air got more dirty, so did the earth. The ground was just earth, sometimes with pockets of stone and such, but mostly just earth. And that earth, when kicked around, created dust, which then flew into the air, worsening the already terrible quality of air in this part of the city.

    And the deeper one went, the more the city walls would tower over you. The eastern wall was the one that towered over them, and it was the only thing keeping the ocean on the other side at bay.

    The city was built near the coast, and the magi reclaimed a part of the sea to build their magnificent city. At first, there was no mine, but when they found valuable ore¡ªcopper, to be precise¡ªthey started a mine and dug it all out of the ground, and when the mine was no longer functional and without real purpose, instead of filling it back up, they decided that the people should build their homes on the slopes of the mine, giving birth to the aptly named District of Copper.

    Halfway down the slope, he had finally reached a section of the district that was called Olruan Street, which was called their home street by the twenty or so buildings and the people who lived in said buildings. It was also the place where Wiltem Torna met their demise.

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    It was a cramped area, but so was everything else about the district. Dirty? Yes. With poor air quality? Absolutely. Yet¡­ He could see children kicking around a ball in a small area that was left in the middle of all these buildings.

    They didn¡¯t seem to care about what had happened here or whose body lay on that very ground not too long ago. For them, only that ball mattered¡ªthe fun they could have with that barely inflated thing. There was nothing wrong with it, but any signs of a crime scene were long gone now.

    He went deeper into the cramped neighborhood and looked for a building that would be the bakery where the suspect had worked. As he went ahead, the children gave him no regard, even when it made sense for them to do so. Seldom would they see people who wore things that were worth more in gold than all of their neighborhood combined.

    He walked into an alley where there were clothes hanging over him and a smell of freshly baked bread¡ªa smell that could pierce through the other smells of the city it inhabited. Even with their child in custody, they had to work. They couldn''t afford to abandon the only source of their income. Before him was a bakery, one that was not larger than the houses around, and when he went inside, it was clear that the bakery was only really the kitchen of a normal house but used for selling baked goods, mainly just different kinds of bread, as it was perhaps the only thing they could afford to make.

    With their backs against the door, a person worked dough on a table that wasn¡¯t too far away from the only oven in the house. Next to the door there was a long table that reached the westernmost corner of the room, and on it, there were multiple baskets that were covered by cloth; beneath them most likely were all kinds of breads for any eager customer to buy.

    He stepped further in and edged his way a little closer to the person who seemed to only care about the dough they kneaded, and when he got close enough, he could see the face of the person. Their wrinkled face, which had only the faintest amount of scales on them, and their gray eyes seemed dull as if their mind wasn¡¯t in this world to inhabit but instead somewhere else, deep within their own thoughts.

    They had no smile to offer and no words to give, not in this trance of thought and work that they focused on. The person had strong arms that were accustomed to such work; kneading dough was by no means easy work, for it required skill and just enough strength to become something more than a failed baking endeavor of a hobbyist.

    These were the hands of a skilled baker at work. Kanrel observed as they added more flour to their dough, kneaded it some more, and soon made it into a ball, which they covered with a cloth. Under it, the dough would rise and double in size. They then wiped their hands onto another cloth and turned toward Kanrel, who had observed closely each and every action that they had taken.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± asked a tired voice, one that held sorrow in it, one that perhaps only a parent could have in a situation like this. Their clothes were covered with flour, as was their apron, which at least kept the flour from getting on the front of their shirt and pants.

    What was there for him to ask? Could he introduce himself in an inoffensive manner? Perhaps, but did he really have to be subtle when talking to a memory? Even when he could recognize that they were just that¡ªa memory¡ªeven then he felt like he should honor someone who had found themselves in a situation that was frankly more than unfair. He lacked the guts to ask for the facts.

    "I just wanted to buy some bread,¡± he lied¡ªthis was the only thing he had the guts to do. He looked past the person in front of him at the oven that was ablaze but had nothing in it other than wood for the fire to eat.

    The person slowly scanned him, head to toe, and slightly tilted their head. ¡°You¡¯d have me believe that someone¡ªanyone¡ªwith attire like yours comes here just for bread." The person scoffed, ¡°Just ask your questions and leave; don¡¯t waste my time just because you can."

    Kanrel again met their eyes; there was some hostility in them, and it was obvious that this wasn¡¯t the first time that someone with "attire like his" had come here, with insensitive questions and perhaps even blame toward the parent of a murder suspect.

    He exhaled and asked what he had come here to ask: ¡°Is there anything that you can tell me about your child¡ªanything at all, be it about their personality, the things they liked, the friends they had... Anything.¡±

    There it was. Silence. Perhaps one caused by the expected yet unexpected question asked, the emotions it might bring up, or the answer that they might give. A silence most uncomfortable, broken by only a simple thing:

    A sigh.

    They turned back toward their dough and the oven that was not too far away from them. ¡°Do you want me to tell you all there is to know about Har? And for what reason? The previous person who asked me a question like that wrote an article only to ridicule him and blame him for everything that happened.

    ¡°If I, to you, do the same courtesy as to them, would it change anything? Would it end injustice? Would it bring Har back home?¡±

    They turned around; their brows were fully furrowed, and wrinkles on their face were more apparent than before. ¡°I should¡¯ve just given you the bread and told you to piss off¡­¡± They said, and then their expression slightly softened, ¡°Take a chair¡ªa piece of paper or something; this will take a while, you know..."

    ¡°A snooping bastard you are¡ªyou and the whole lot¡­¡± They muttered under their breath and, from around the table, brought two chairs and placed them across each other. They gestured for Kanrel to sit on the other as they sat down as well.

    Kanrel had nothing to write on, so he would have to try to remember anything at all that he could. He sat down, feeling relieved. All of this could have ended horribly. The person that now sat across him and the questions that they had asked gave him already much to wonder about, but he couldn''t humor such questions for now.

 Chapter Forty-Three: To Partake In Corruption

    The parent of Hartar took a deep breath, after which they began the story of their child: ¡°My child¡ªour child¡ªHar or Hartar, was one created out of love and with hope for a brighter future somewhere else¡ªnot here.¡±

    "Twenty-one years ago, we combined our magics¡ªthe little we have of it¡ªand brought them into existence. We raised them here in this little house, which we turned into a bakery not long after their creation.¡±

    ¡°Here, they took their first steps. Here, they spoke their first words. Always around us were people, those who came from all around the district to buy our bread; they too got to see our child grow up.¡±

    ¡°As a child, they were timid and perhaps not as bright as one would think, but..."

    They went silent for a moment and shifted their eyes toward the dough that lay under a cloth.

    ¡°Har loves baking; they are better at it than me and Ulan; it is like a great passion of theirs. It was all they cared about¡ªother things they found boring and not as engaging. With dough, one can create¡ªone can forget that you don¡¯t have much. It is simple; it is honest work, and they loved it.¡±

    Their eyes met again. ¡°So tell me, stranger, in what world would our child have the need or the want to kill anyone? Even if someone was demanding their money, our child is someone who¡¯d give the money away, and it is more likely that they¡¯d be the one found dead."

    ¡°Har had no friends, no lover, nothing¡ªjust us,¡± they said as they stood up from their chair and pointed at the door. ¡°Now you may leave¡ªthat is all that there is to know about our child.¡±

    And with no questions asked, Kanrel got up and left. He dared not test their patience, and it was unlikely that he would return to ask any further questions. He stepped outside, leaving behind the smell of freshly baked goods, and found himself again in the small area where the children kicked their ball. Near a place where a person had died.

    The next place that he would visit would be the Office of Peace, the organization that overlooked the city guard and all the other things that involved holding the peace of the city. This organization was part of the Domain of War and Peace; their Sharan was someone who led the armies of the city, one who was the strongest of the Sharan. Apparently, their magical ability was as great as all of the other eight magi combined. It was no wonder they became the one to handle things related to war.

    In each district, there was an Office of Peace; some had multiple, and the District of Copper had many, but even still, there weren¡¯t enough officers and city guards to make sure that all of the people would be safe or that there would be no crime.

    The structure felt out of place in an area where there were no grand things. A great marbled building that stood as if overseeing the nearby buildings, the people who lived in those buildings, those who walked the streets, and those whom they were supposed to protect from hostility.

    A sense of dread walked through his body, making him wary of that which was before him. Other people walked past him, making sure to not go too close to the Office of Peace; they would much rather walk on the edge of the mine made into a district, risking falling down on the buildings that were beneath.

    In front of the building, four guards stood still; they looked only forward. They wore light armor, most of which was covered with red cloth¡ªa tabard garnished with three gilded heads of the same beast, one of which had fangs and a tongue stuck out.

    He walked in front of one of them, perhaps to see if they would ignore him or demand that he make way and be out of their vision. But the guard just looked through him¡ªits eyes felt dead; they lacked depth; they lacked personality. It was like they were statues, and if one would suggest this to him, he would not question it.

    On the face of the statue-like guard were the slightest hints of scales, so they had at least some magical ability. It made him wonder if those who were in the richer districts would have more scales on their faces and if they would be far greater in magical ability than those who worked in the District of Copper. For it to make sense, the guards had to have a greater magical ability to deal with those who might cause harm to others.

    In the memories that Kanrel was provided with, there were memories of terrorist attacks committed with magic. Once, an artisan in the District of Silver walked into the local Office of Peace and blew themselves up by concentrating all of their magical ability into themselves. Their body could not handle it, so they simply blew up, releasing raw magic all around them in an explosive manner.

    The attack had been too random for anyone to prepare for it. Twelve bystanders lost their lives. It was only assumed that the person who had done it had something against someone at the Office of Peace, but of course, the investigation claimed that the person was mentally ill, someone who, after nearing bankruptcy, chose to commit such an act.

    Could something like that happen at any time? Could any of the people who lived in this city just blow themselves up if they wanted to do so? And just how far does one have to be pushed to commit such an act? Murder, in itself, is extreme. But what about the murder of many, all in an instant, most just innocent bystanders who have nothing to do with your pain or your cause¡ªother than the fact that they might as well be victims of that same pain?

    Followed by such questions, he entered through the open door with no regard given to him by the guards, who just stood there.

    What greeted him indoors was a room with a high ceiling, multiple doors on each side of the room, and a long desk with four chairs. On one of them, a person sat, and on the other side of the desk, four people sat across. In front of them were papers and pens, and one of them was keenly writing down things that the person across them was saying.

    The other three sat in silence; they looked forward with no emotion on their faces. They took no action and made no notes. And when Kanrel walked toward them, they did not see him. They gave him no words. Their eyes did not meet his.

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    The person who was speaking to one of the receptionists stood up and bid farewell to the person that they were talking to. They walked out of the building, never once looking at the direction in which Kanrel stood.

    Finally, the receptionist that sat on the left-most chair stood up, looked directly at Kanrel, and, with a faint smile on their face, asked, ¡°How may I help you?¡±

    Startled, Kanrel met their eyes¡ªthere was emotion in them; they felt more real than the other three receptionists or the four guards that were outside, more real than the children playing ball near a murder scene.

    ¡°Ah, yes¡­ I do have some questions. I have some questions that I would like to ask about the internal investigation regarding the accusations of corruption in the Office of Peace.¡±

    The receptionist looked at Kanrel for a while, measuring him. ¡°Have a seat,¡± they urged and promptly sat down, and as Kanrel walked to them, pulling out a chair, he could see how the receptionist carefully placed an empty piece of paper before them.

    ¡°State your name and occupation,¡± they demanded after writing on the piece of paper the date.

    ¡°Kanrel Iduldian, I work for the Times of N''Sharaan. I am collecting material for the follow-up story about the murder. I assume that you have read the latest publication that came out this morning.¡±

    The receptionist kept writing as they said, ¡°Why yes, I have¡ªit is good that the truth of the matter is published in ink for all to see, making it so that there could never be even a question about the integrity of the Office of Peace or the investigation itself.¡±

    ¡°Alas, I cannot give you what you want... The details of this investigation are only for those who have clearance, but since the Times of N¡¯Sharan is an important ally for our cause, I can direct you to the officer in charge of the investigation. They spoke and stopped writing; they looked to their right and to their left and leaned forward, ¡°For a price, of course."

    After a moment of hesitation, he uncovered from his pocket a coin, which he lay on the table. Not once did he break eye contact with the receptionist as he slowly pushed the coin forward until it reached the waiting hands on the other side.

    With a sweet smile, they accepted the coin and leaned back with a pearly smile. They placed the coin in their own pocket and hastily wrote another sentence on the piece of paper, which they then folded and pushed to the middle of the table.

    But their hands did not leave the note, so Kanrel took another coin and placed it next to the note. The receptionist parted ways with the note and pocketed the other coin. On their face, the continuation of that pearly white smile, which could mean only one thing: "a pleasure doing business with you."

    Kanrel took the note and got up from the chair. He went to the side and opened the note. It began as any report would, containing the date and information regarding Kanrel, but at the bottom of the note, another name was written: Ignar Orcun. And the word ¡®audit¡¯.

    A name he had no memory of, one that was not given to him by the Voice. He looked back at the receptionist, but they sat as did the other three, looking forward with no emotion on their face, with no words to give, not even that pearly smile that was there before.

    With a shudder that ran through his body, he left the reception area of the Office of Peace, went past, and entered a corridor, which then led to another more open room, one that was more like an office than anything else. There were multiple tables and chairs. People walked around wearing the same armor as the guards outside. Some were seated and in conversations or furiously writing down on their papers and notebooks.

    In the corner of the room, around one of the tables, multiple people conversed with each other. From the ceiling above them hung a plaque: Audit, it read, and nothing else. He walked toward it, past a pair of guards going his way; they looked straight at him but then went past as if he were not there.

    He walked toward the corner and met eyes with one of them, who then promptly got up, on their face a question that would be left unanswered, and walked to Kanrel. They opened their mouth to say something but then noticed the note that Kanrel was carrying and instead grabbed Kanrel¡¯s arm and pulled him to a door, which they then entered together, closing the door behind them.

    A dark room with rows of shelves, all of which were filled with binders, at the end of the room there was a small table, on which an open binder.

    ¡°Ask your questions and leave, lest the others find out." The guard whispered; their voice was low and rough, and they smelled like tobacco. Years of smoking were what made their voice what it was.

    ¡°Tell me about the corruption allegations,¡± Kanrel asked promptly, not leaving a moment of silence between them.

    The guard scratched their head, and soon, from the pocket of their pants, they uncovered a cigarette. They lit it with magical fire and inhaled a long hit before blowing it at Kanrel¡¯s face. ¡°And if I do, what¡¯s there for me?¡± They asked a simple question with a toothy smirk on their face.

    After a fit of coughing, Kanrel offered a smile of his own: ¡°Coin.¡±

    The guard¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Well then... Let¡¯s see how much coin you¡¯ve got."

    Twelve. He had just twelve coins, no more and no less. Just twelve. ¡°Let¡¯s first see how valuable your information is, shall we?¡±

    The guard took another long hit of their cigarette and blew it out in a long, almost sigh. ¡°It¡¯s only fair, I suppose."

    They walked to the end of the room and sat on the table, on the open binder that slowly bent under the weight of the heavy guard and their armor. ¡°It¡¯s all rotten¡ªto the fucking core... and there is no even point in doing anything about it."

    ¡°Imagine an apple,¡± they said and took another hit from the cigarette. More smoke filled the room: ¡°a big, beautiful, red apple; one that anyone would like to bite into... but beneath there are maggots that have eaten most of the flesh, and that which is left is rotten and stinky."

    They inhaled more smoke before blowing it all out again. Then they pressed the cigarette against the table forcefully, and from the side, they pulled out a metal can in which they dumped it.

    ¡°The whole Office of Peace is like that, and not just that, but the whole fucking city is." They got up and walked to Kanrel with another toothy grin on their faces. ¡°So why not indulge in it?¡± They asked and extended their open palm at Kanrel, who looked at it for a while before digging out three coins that he laid on it.

    The guard observed the coins and smacked their lips. The coins disappeared out of sight, and the guard gazed at Kanrel from head to toe. ¡°And you and your kind¡ªthe rich¡ªit''s worse there than here... At least here, we do it because we have to. Up there, you do it because you can." They pushed past Kanrel, opened the door, walked out, and slammed the door, leaving Kanrel alone in the dark room.

    The smell of tobacco had overwhelmed the room, but he didn¡¯t mind it. He should not mind it. The things that he had learned from the guard were already things that he already knew, but the room that they had brought him into...

    All these binders and all this information were cataloged and organized well. There was reading to be done¡ªmaybe here he¡¯d find anything related to the actual investigation¡ªany information that would confirm all these memories, which could not be outright trusted.

    So he got to it.

 Chapter Forty-Four: The Cells and Their Inhabitants

    The binders had information related to many different investigations, some of which were later solved and some that were never solved. Investigations from multiple years ago, and the closer he came to the end, the newer the cases were. Most things were petty crimes, but sometimes there were murders as well.

    Corruption was never mentioned. Not once was corruption a crime someone had committed.

    The door was slammed open. And a guard walked in. They walked at Kanrel with their dull eyes until they reached the end of the room. On the table, there was the same binder that the previous guard had sat on; they picked it up and walked away with it. Never once saying anything, never once noticing the man that stood before them, holding a binder in their hands.

    With such behavior, he was truly invisible to most. And depending on how far this invisibility went, he could benefit greatly from it. He returned to reading, but it amounted to nothing relevant when it came to Hartar¡¯s case. He had not totally read through them, only eyeing them and figuring out what information they might entail and what names were within.

    It was interesting that he could read through these cases, as they weren¡¯t truly relevant. Would they not be like the people he met, who gave him no regard? Would these binders not be empty if the people were as well?

    But if there was no relevant information in these binders, then where could he find such information? He observed the table, the metal can that had many cigarettes in it, and the pages that lay there. Only some of them had anything written on them; most were empty and abandoned. There was nothing here. He had wasted an hour of his time. Time, which was the only recourse that mattered, for how long would his body last before it would die? When would he die?

    He went to the door and opened it again, and he was greeted with conversation. The words they used weren¡¯t something that he could understand; it was like the people there were talking in nonsense, in combinations of words that perhaps could make sense, but the overall sentence would mean nothing. Again, he saw the guard that had entered the little storage room just now. In their hands, they had the binder, and they were carefully studying its contents.

    The chair they sat on was on the other side of the room, and the table where they sat was mostly empty. No one else was with them, and no one else talked to them. They were alone with that binder. The last binder he¡¯d read through before figuring out what to do next.

    Kanrel walked to them slowly, passing people who walked by and squeezing through some who were in his way. And when he got to the lonesome guard, they did not pay any attention to him. They kept reading, browsing through their little binder.

    Kanrel sat next to them and awaited; he observed. What would this individual do? How complicated was this memory¡ªthis dream of a world he had been placed into?

    They had no emotions. They had no reactions when he went ahead and poked them, yet touching them felt normal, as if they truly were alive. As if this were not a dream but more real than reality itself. He could hear them breathe at a normal pace, one that anyone would have. On their face, there were scales that pushed through the skin, glittering colors of mainly red and some orange.

    How would they feel? He thought to himself, went ahead, and touched their face; he touched the scales. Warm and smooth, but hard. Slowly the guard turned toward him, their eyes still dull, an expressionless face, nothing there, but then their lips moved, and words came out: To think that you are allowed to see the magnificence of N¡¯Sharan, and you choose to touch the face of a random person, one that might¡¯ve never existed in the city itself. The familiar voice said, their tone holding the faintest amount of discontent in it.

    Kanrel was startled and pulled his finger back. He frowned slightly. ¡°I was just curious."

    Yes, I can see. But do you have so much time to waste? If you want something, just take it. The voice encouraged, and the guard slowly turned away, returning their gaze back to the binder they were reading. There¡¯d be no more words to be offered.

    Kanrel let out a long sigh and carefully took the binder away from the hands of the guard. Even with that, they just kept their arms in the same position, their eyes following along something, and then they lifted their other hand and made the motion of turning a page.

    Kanrel ignored the lifeless guard and began reading through the binder. The very first words were a very familiar name. Ignar Orcun¡­ A name he had learned just today, just a little over an hour ago. He dug out from his pocket the note the receptionist had given him, and there read the same name and the word "audit.¡±.

    He had at first thought that the name was of the guard who had spoken to him, but no, it was here, written on these pages. So he carefully began reading.

    Ignar Orcun, case 465, treason.

    On the 21st of the 9th, the 2nd Office of Peace at the District of Copper was tipped about an exchange of explosive materials; this was to happen at Olruan Street. One member of the Office of Peace and an individual known as Ignar Orcun would take part in this exchange. The exchange is to happen at night on the 23rd.

    An ambush will be set, and a warrant for an arrest will be given. The two parties are to be caught alive, questioned, and then judged.

    23rd. A body is found, possibly the guard, with no signs of the murderer. A manhunt for Ignar Orcun, with no descriptions known, is proposed. The investigation begins with the surrounding areas of the murder scene.

    On the 27th, it was decided that the guard, identified as Wiltem Torna, is unlikely to have anything to do with any trade deal related to explosions or with anyone named ¡°Ignar Orcun."

    29th, all investigations thus far have led to one person, Ignar Orcun, and the guard involved in the trade, and Ignar Orcun is identified to possibly be a young person named Hartar Agna.

    On the 30th, the youngster, born Hartar Agna, was arrested and questioned; they denied all accountability and involvement with any plot related to buying or selling explosives, as well as the murder of Wiltem Torna.

    On the 30th, it was decided that Hartar Agna is the murderer, and other investigations relating to the murder or the individual going by the name of Ignar Orcun are canceled or put on hold.

    So, the question remains: who is Ignar Orcun? What about the guard that was mentioned¡ªwas the now-dead Wiltem Torna the person who was supposed to trade explosives to Ignar? Or were they just someone who had found themselves at the wrong time in the wrong place, resulting in their untimely death? And why did they give up on the investigations?

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    The binder had no more pages to share, only those few; the information given shed no light on this matter. For a few minutes, Kanrel sat still on that chair, the binder on the table, his finger running across it, tapping it in a quick rhythm. Around him, the guards went around, talking to each other in that same speech that had no sense to it and doing menial tasks that had no point to them.

    He had no idea how late it was or how long he had spent here or in this city, but he did not feel tired. At all times, he felt perked up; each moment, he lived as if fully awake. It was interesting; even as time went by, he didn¡¯t really feel its passing.

    But to confirm something, there was only one person he could talk to. The culprit themself, Hartar. So he got up from his chair, took the binder, and carefully placed it back in the hands of the person who was still sitting down, turning pages of a binder that was not there. Perhaps now it will find the place where it belongs.

    He left the room and began to navigate his way around the building, trying to find a cell or perhaps a prison in this building. He was about to visit a prison in a prison. Not giving it much thought, he went ahead and followed the very helpful arrows that led him down one flight of stairs and through a few rooms and a long corridor or two, all the way to that which he was looking for. A cell.

    One that was not much better than the one that he had spent a few days in. But in these cells there were multiple people, all of whom were the same as the guards above; they would not speak, and their eyes were dull and lifeless. Again, this makes one question if these people actually ever existed or if they were just a random addition, a correction of sorts, of memory so that the memory would seem more real than it actually is.

    The prisoners were behind bars, some sharing a cell, others all alone, with just a bunk bed as their only company. There was just one guard around, and they sat in a little office with an open door, not too far away from the cells. But on the same corridor, there were also three doors with locks on them.

    He tried opening each of them in turn, just to confirm that they were indeed locked. And, as he had no choice, he went to the little office and looked for a key. The lonely guard sat there; they kept shuffling a deck of cards over and over again. Never once starting a game to play; never once dropping a single card. On the table, there was a keyring with multiple keys on it; each of them would open a different cell.

    He observed the guard for a moment, cleared his throat loudly once, then went ahead and took the keyring. He even waited for a while to see if the guard would suddenly come to life and utter angry words at him, but they kept shuffling the deck of cards without missing a beat.

    So he went ahead and tried opening the first locked door; in turn, he tried each of the keys until he found the correct one, braced himself, and opened it carefully. On the other side, there was a small space. Inside, there was a person with their back against him, staring at the stone wall. At times they would flinch, but they did not notice that the door was opened. Kanrel was just air to them.

    In the small cell, there was a bed and a toilet as well, not far from each other. Kanrel shut the door and locked it; surely he wouldn¡¯t have to, but all he knew was that the person inside could¡¯ve been a murderer or worse. Maybe they never existed, but in his heart, he could never let someone like that free.

    He went for the next door, and on the other side was a similar room and a sight no man would like to see. A figure stood right before him, staring into his eyes with their own lifeless stare, breathing slowly and with a slight smile on their face, muttering words that made no sense. Their breathing was gravelly, and the room behind them was a mess; their blanket was shredded into pieces and stained with something.

    With a shudder that ran through his body, Kanrel quickly closed the door and locked it. He stood there for a while, breathing quickly. After pacing himself for a moment, he went for the third and last door.

    Carefully, he found the correct key and opened the door. Another small room, but this time the inmate inside sat on their bed, their face buried into their hands. A slight sob could be heard now that the door was open. The person seemed to flinch when they heard the door opening more. They looked toward Kanrel, their eyes red from tears, and the underneath of their eyes were dark in color. They had not clearly had much sleep lately.

    Kanrel could feel relief; tension left his body. He could almost relax now. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The person began to back off. Slowly, they went against the wall, at all times keeping their gaze on Kanrel, never once leaving him out of sight. But a corner is where they ended up.

    Kanrel cleared his throat and brought a smile as pleasant as he could to his face when he asked, ¡°Are you perhaps Hartar Agna?¡±

    There was only silence, but the person in the corner of a small cell nodded ever so slightly. There was fear in their eyes, and one could smell it in the damp air of the cell as well. Seeing this¡ªhow they behaved, how they acted, and how they were¡ªwas more than enough for Kanrel to know the truth: this person was not a murderer; they were someone so deeply afraid of most things that it was unlikely for them to be able to even move when under the threat of the world.

    ¡°I am Kanrel Iduldian, of the Times of N¡¯Sharan, and I have a few questions for you, if you don¡¯t mind, that is." He asked and remained where he stood; taking a step forward would only scare them even more.

    Hartar Agna was a person of a small frame, petite even, and if their face were not so dirty, one could perhaps find considerable beauty there. Their deep blue eyes, from where tears came flowing down, and their small body that kept trembling out of fear. They opened their mouth a few times, perhaps trying to find words to say or perhaps just the ability to speak, but no words came out.

    They licked their lips and tried again; it looked like they were biting, but soon they closed their mouth again. Not producing a single word. Their discomfort, their fear, and all of their emotions could be seen so visibly on their face. But they could not say a thing; they could not verbalize what they had on their mind. So silence remained between them, one that was broken by Kanrel¡¯s sigh.

    From the pocket of his vest, he took out a tissue of silk, one that was garnished with beautiful embroidery depicting a colorful flower arrangement. It was soft and fragrant; perhaps it had been perfumed. He slowly approached Hartar, who trembled even more; they looked even more afraid than a moment before.

    And when he was close enough, Hartar just closed their eyes, not wanting to see what the person who had come into their little cell would do to them. Gently, Kanrel began wiping their face, removing the tears that kept flowing down. Carefully, he removed the dirt and the tears from their face, uncovering a person who looked like nothing more than a small girl¡ªone that reminded Kanrel of Roslyn.

    He felt a pierce in his heart; the image of her going through something like this felt just so heartbreaking¡ªso unfair. This situation was unfair. Her¡­ Their condition was unfair; everything surrounding her was unfair. This world in which they were born was unfair.

    Finally, Hartar dared to open their eyes, further solidifying the similarity with his apprentice. There just wasn''t the fierceness that Roslyn had; there was just fear and defeat, despair, and even agony.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know... what will happen to you, and I don¡¯t know if I can do anything.¡± He whispered; his voice was hoarse. ¡°And even if it is unfair and I can¡¯t do anything, I beg of you to tell me everything.¡± His voice was a whisper as he battled tears that wanted to push through. He tried swallowing a piece that refused to go down.

    He felt a touch¡ªthe fingers of a frail creature on his own hands, the hand that held the tissue. They looked at him, deep into his eyes, perhaps looking for something, perhaps deciding on something, and at last whispering, ¡°Help me."

    A whimper, just a whimper. And all that Kanrel needed. It had to be enough as an answer. He wouldn''t, and he couldn¡¯t ask further. His heart ripped apart; the reality was sinking in¡­ He could do nothing. Not only could he do nothing, but no one did anything. They had let this happen.

    Kanrel held their hand, closing his eyes, not being able to handle the intense despair in the eyes of another soul, of another living creature. Such torment and fear were greater and more real than anything he had ever felt before.

    But closing one''s eyes didn¡¯t matter; he would still see their eyes. They were right there; they stared right into his soul. Calling for him and pleading for his help.

    And nothing. He could do nothing. His brows furrowed as he opened his eyes. He was not in the cell anymore. And he did not stare into the eye of Hartar Agna anymore. He was again looking over the city; the people of N''Sharan were walking on the streets. The sun was showcasing the glory of morning to them all.

    But the light that touched him felt so cold.

    In N¡¯Sharan, there isn¡¯t anything more warm and beautiful than the moments of another dawn.

 Chapter Forty-Five: The Corridor of Many Doors

    This damned dream¡ªthis vision¡ªrefused to bend to an outcome more just than the one it truly was. Why must innocence suffer in the hands of evil and then again under the cold gaze of those who firstly don¡¯t care and secondly refuse to do anything?

    Not once, but twice, were they wronged. And one begs an answer to a question: which is then more evil? Is it the one who committed the action or the one who allowed it to happen?

    They would not have to suffer through such evils if the world they inhabited was one built to be just. And it was unjust only because it was never meant to be just; the Magi who ruled this city didn¡¯t care for those who suffered; they only cared for the comfort in which they spent their days.

    Comfort, which only they and those who followed them were allowed to touch, experience, and feel.

    ¡°Why?¡± He voiced out his question to no one in particular, perhaps the city itself. Perhaps hoping that one of the Magi would come to him and explain why they had created such a city.

    Because they were above everyone else, so far above that they could not see for themselves what their city had become.

    If there is peace and it is never broken, would it not be normal for a general to become complacent with this lack of war? Would they then truly expect a war to happen?

    At first, they had built a city that was fair, and they were involved with it for decades. They achieved perfection, they thought, and so they could retire.

    From above a tower, everything seems so small; the people below are now ants, and if one ant stole from another, would you really be able to see it? From so far above?

    The Voice spoke, their tone even, not showing sadness nor nostalgia this time; not calling him to remember a city which they once loved, but offering instead a reality of how things had happened. Or their belief in how things had happened.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Kanrel asked; he had to know. The Voice and who they were¡ªwhat was their motive?

    Perhaps you¡¯ll soon find the answers to the questions that you have¡­

    The Voice lingered for a moment before dissipating into nothing. Into just another memory within a dream that Kanrel had no control over. Was he even dreaming? Was he awake? Was he in another world? No answers to any of his questions...

    Kanrel paced from one side of the balcony to the other. Then, with frustration that he had, he turned around and again, for the second time, faced the cafe and its people: those who were gathered around their tables, with newspapers in hand, discussing the things that happened in this world but doing nothing about it.

    Perhaps this was why their words sounded like nonsense to him.

    He sat down on the same chair as he had previously and took the same paper. This was one that just happened to be different; the headline was not the same; it was of another day; it was of tomorrow.

    Times of N¡¯Sharan No. 13

    Hartar Agna: A Trial Announced.

    The Office of Peace once again showcases their efficiency in findings, justice, and their quest for the safety of all Sharans, for on this day (the 31st of the 9th), a date for a trial was announced:

    ¡°For the murder of Wiltem Torna, the accused, Hartar Agna, will stand, based on collected evidence and interrogations of the accused and those around them, on trial as the primary perpetrator on the 2nd of the 10th.¡±

    This makes it clear that the accusations of corruption thrown against the Office of Peace have been unwarranted, as the members of the Audit Team confirm this as well.

    Two days from now, we will all be able to see how justice is brought to the deceased and their loved ones. Again, the Office of Peace showcases their swift and precise investigations into murder and accusations of corruption.

    We, here at the Times of N¡¯Sharan, are thankful for their service and will continue to follow the closure of the investigation and the trial of a traitorous murderer. And when the ruling is announced, we will hold a sermon in the memory of Wiltem Torna, and we shall remember them as a victim of unfortunate circumstances and the victim of a cold-blooded murderer.

    May justice be served.

    To claim that this was reality, or was once reality, is surely insanity. Slowly, he crumbled the words that he had just read, all of them into a ball of paper that he then threw on the table. He tried forming codes so that he might burn the paper, to burn the table, to burn the whole damn room, and the people that resided within.

    But he could not. He had no access to the power that he could use with ease before. Here he wasn¡¯t a priest, but still, shouldn¡¯t all Sharans be able to use the power as they will? Why was he unable to do so? If he was able to affect the ¡°physical¡± world around him¡ªhe could touch and feel¡ªhow was magic any different?

    Perhaps such were the limitations of this vision.

    So he sat without movement for a while, going through in his mind, again, the things that had bothered him so much. And a question: What was the point of all of this if he could do nothing?

    He dared to ask this out loud, but silence was his only reply. The Voice refused to give him answers to this or anything; the Voice gave no clear answers. Again, he would have to look for them himself. He always had to; never was there someone who gave him answers to the questions that he asked.

    But where would he go from here? This tower of ivory that was the seat of all truths and lies¡ªfrom where could he find answers, if not from here?

    What he knew was that at the very bottom of this great tower, below the ground itself, was where the invention they called the ¡°printing press¡± worked through the day and through the night. He knew of the machine because of the memories given.

    He got up from his chair, and this time, without leaving a tip like last time, he entered the elevator and investigated the many buttons that were on the wall of the elevator. Most of them were numbered from one to one hundred and from minus one to minus five.

    Kanrel went ahead and pressed the button "-1." He would start from there; it was the office level, where people who worked on the lower levels would store their belongings, where they would have meetings and their breaks, and where the catalogs for all publications, printings, and such would be stored.

    Floor "-2" was the level at which a large part of the publications, such as the latest newspapers and the latest books that had been printed, were then stored; this level would be the storage level for all these things.

    Floor "-3" would be the storage level, mainly for printing materials such as paper and ink but also metal letters of different fonts and sizes.

    Floor "-4" was where the actual machines were, and even more metal letters of different fonts and sizes, as well as ink.

    But of the floor "-5," Kanrel had no idea; he had no planted memory of it. The only memory that he had related to it was that it could only be accessed with "clearance," and he knew that he did not have that required clearance.

    The elevator buzzed as it began to descend, and it didn¡¯t take long for it to stop and make a clear ¡°bling¡± sound. The doors slowly opened, and he stepped out of the elevator and onto a floor that seemed made out of cement.

    His new surroundings lacked the already familiar sense of wealth that lay all around him in the upper floors, but the things that were stored here, perhaps not on this floor, but on the floors below, were much more valuable than all of the things that were above.

    The elevator door had opened to a corridor that led to three different ways: left, where the corridor would continue for a long while until it reached its end, and another door was presented; it was the same on the right side. But the corridor in the middle was a corridor with many doors.

    It reached all the way to the end of this floor, perhaps to another intersection like this, but on its way, there were many doorways, each of them closed, each of them had a number, and each of them surely had a purpose.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Kanrel went ahead and walked forth, and he observed both doors that were on his right and his left. The numbers on the doors were ¡°-101¡± and "-102," and the other doors on this floor followed the same logic: ¡°-103,¡± ¡°-104,¡± and so forth.

    Other than the unassuming numbers, there were no other indications as to what the rooms were for or to whom. So, he went ahead and opened the door to his right, door number "-101." The door opened creaking eerily, echoing through the hallway as if coming from all around him, as if all the doors had opened at once.

    But as he looked around, the other doors were closed; there was no logic for such a sound to echo here as it did. He hesitatingly spent a while observing the things that were in the room: a long table with multiple chairs on each side. There was nothing else in that room; it seemed to be a meeting room.

    He closed the door carefully, trying to avoid the sound that had echoed around, but either way, the same sound went around, again as if all the doors had closed at once. He went to the door across and opened it as fast as he could, almost slamming the door against the wall, and again, that same sound went through the whole floor. There was the sound of all the doors opening together, but only this one had truly opened.

    Inside this room were lockers. The room was quite simply a locker room for the people who worked on this floor, of whom he had not seen even one. There were supposed to be people here, right?

    He went inside the room, leaving the door purposefully open, and went to one of the lockers; it only had a number, "33,¡± on it and a lock. He tried opening the locker, but it would not open, so he went around the room and tried opening each of the locker doors, but none of them would open. They were all locked.

    He left the room behind, leaving the door still open, and instead went for the next door. Again, that same sound went around the floor. And this room was just a small one; inside were only a few brooms and a bucket.

    He left the door wide open and went to the next, and the next, each time revealing what was inside; each time the same sound echoed through the hallways, and most of these rooms remained uninteresting. Office spaces, locker rooms, bathrooms, meeting rooms, and even a kitchen.

    At the end of the hallway, the last two doors, he opened them both, allowing that same loud noise to echo through the hallway. They both revealed similar rooms; both of them were storage rooms filled with filing cabinets. The very reason why he had come here and had gone ahead and opened all these doors.

    But as he entered the door on the left and opened the first cabinet, he found that there was nothing inside. He opened another cabinet, and again, there was nothing inside. One by one, he opened each of the filing cabinets and revealed that there was nothing in them. He did the same in the room across, and again, there was nothing in them.

    Instead, there was dust around. There was no sign of people ever truly using any of it. Everything on this floor lacked logic. The way in which rooms were positioned wasn¡¯t really efficient, and most of them had just furniture in them and nothing else. It all seemed abandoned.

    But the weirdest thing was the differing sizes of the rooms. If he went ahead and entered the first room and the one following that, they would surely have to overlap. Nothing made sense. It was all just a facade. It was like this floor only tried to be what it claimed to be, but only on the most surface level; even in that, it was imperfect, a copy of reality.

    All the doors were now open. All of their sizes were different; if one observed most of them from the outside, they would overlap in size. The things in them were never used, and the more closely Kanrel tried different things in different rooms, the more clear one thing became: none of it was truly functional or wasn''t fulfilling the function it was designed for.

    In the bathrooms, the toilets were just porcelain bowls, the lockers in the locker room were welded shut, the brooms were stuck to the floor, and he could not lift them; the same was true of the bucket. And when one door was opened, it made the sound of each of the doors opening at once, and the same was true when a door was closed.

    The tables and the chairs that he found could not be touched; they weren¡¯t actually there; they were instead a substance that one could see but not touch, like light or a shadow.

    These rooms were just lies. A facade of something else, it had to be, it must be. The end of the corridor was just that¡ªan end. It first seemed like the corridor would continue both on the right and the left, but instead, they both ended abruptly, and a concrete wall was on both sides. And both of them were very real to the touch.

    It was all a waste of his time; all of this, this whole dream, this vision¡ªhe could do nothing; he couldn¡¯t find answers, and the Voice sure as hell wasn¡¯t giving him any. It was all a waste of time. In anger and with all of his strength, he slammed the nearest door shut, and the same sound echoed through the hall, as if all of the doors had shut at once.

    He stood still and sat on the floor. He stared at the door that he had exited and entered so many times now¡ªone that had filing cabinets inside, all empty. All he now had were the two other corridors that were on both sides of the elevator.

    Kanrel got up and turned toward the way he had come in from. A man stood there with a wide smile on his face. His eyes were empty, and so were his words, ¡°Enter.¡± It said, ¡°Enter.¡± In repeated. ¡°ENTER!¡± It screamed.

    Around him, all the doors were closed; around him, they opened and closed again, each time they slammed at once, and they creaked open at once, that same sound echoing through the floor. And the man just stood there, his grim smile so empty. Slowly, the man grabbed his arm and pulled Kanrel with him. He pulled him within.

    Again¡­ Darkness, but this time he was running, being led by the hand that had gripped him and refusing to let go. They ran together; in the dark, they merged into one, and they came apart. They were submerged beneath waves that crashed against them from all around. They ran through the hallways as all of the doors opened and closed. They opened and closed.

    Light exploded, and a whisper ran through him. It went around and around; it touched him in each corner of his mind and pushed out through his ears as if it were a worm. ¡°Welcome.¡± The whisper was said, and a deep laughter came from his own lips.

    There was no more darkness, and the man who had grabbed him was nowhere to be seen. He was no longer in the hallway; he was no longer where he wanted to be or go. It was bright as the light descended and ascended from each direction all at once.

    All Kanrel knew was that he could not stop shaking. He could not stop looking around, looking for that man, looking for a door, looking for anything that could lead him outside of there.

    Then, from the light, opened a door, and from that door entered a creature; they were one created fully from scales, one that had great wings on its back, and a smile that was far from being a truth. Slowly, they walked before Kanrel, observing the person that was in front of them.

    ¡°You are not from here, yet you belong.¡± The creature spoke, and in its voice, there was much curiosity. Suddenly, they jerked their hands toward Kanrel, who tried to move away from the hand that tried to grab him, only to find that he could not move.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid... I would never hurt you." They said, and their voice was honey; it was pleasing to the ear; it was beautiful, but so... untruthful.

    ¡°My friend, if you are here, it could mean only one thing and one thing only." They took a step toward him, still reaching with their hands covered with scales. ¡°You want to be free... You want to become beautiful." Each sentence was like a promise, and soon they placed their hands on Kanrel¡¯s head. The creature looked directly into his eyes, and their smile was so sweet when they whispered, ¡°But you want what is mine... You can¡¯t have what is mine."

    A sudden, great pressure around his skull. The creature was to crush his skull. Their smile was no more, and tears went down their face of scales, ¡°You know I love you." They whispered, the pressure around his skull went away, and the creature dropped its hands. They looked somewhere else, somewhere beyond.

    The tears dropped to the dark floor underneath, becoming one with the darkness. Light would not grace the tears of this creature; they all had to be veiled.

    ¡°The truth is..." The creature suddenly said, their voice was now without emotion, without anything; it was just a voice, one that was atonal and flat. ¡°¡­that I don¡¯t know what is true and what is not.¡±

    ¡°Where a lie ends and another begins.¡±

    The scaley face of their furrowed, ¡°If what I now say is true or not..."

    They focused their eyes; again, they saw this world; they observed the one that stood before them; they observed Kanrel and promised, ¡°But I never lie; this you know to be true; I never have and I never will, but all that I just said was not true.¡±

    They stared deep into his eyes, and Kanrel could only see their eyes. So wide and so beautiful, yet this feeling that he had now was so dreadful. Oh, how lonely was that creature that was before him now? He believed that he could not believe a single word that it had said.

    And a long silence was all that was between them. The creature did not break eye contact, but they kept alternating between a smile and a face full of anguish and uncertainty. Sometimes it would mutter and ask questions, some of which would make sense but most would not: ¡°Who am I?¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Am I now?¡± "Am I you?¡± ¡°I know everything?¡± ¡°I know nothing?¡± ¡°Let me go?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t I just tell the truth?¡±

    This creature was not lucid. It was one that was clearly insane, or perhaps not. Perhaps even this was a lie; this is what it tried to be. Still, Kanrel could not move, so he asked instead, ¡°Where is this?¡±

    The creature made a sudden jerking movement again; like a bird, it turned its head to the left and then returned its stare back at Kanrel. ¡°Floors through minus one to minus five; they¡¯re all here, just none of it is real." Their voice was soft, and again, there was some emotion in them.

    Kanrel thought for a while, staring back at the creature. This had to be a part of the vision; this creature had to be somehow important to it all, to this "domain.¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked the only question that he could think of.

    ¡°I?¡± It asked and looked at its own hands as if they were confused; its scales glistened in the many lights of the room. ¡°A dragon, it would seem.¡± It said, its voice clear and beautiful, then dark and devoid of life, ¡°No. An Angel.¡± In their eyes, there was a light for a moment, then it disappeared, dropped its hands to its sides again, and stayed motionless, again glaring at Kanrel.

    "I am the Sharan of Lies and Truths. I am all that you know and all that you believe. I hold all that you wish to know but cannot. I know nothing.¡± It declared with that voice that lacked all emotion.

    ¡°It is so, and so I suffer, for to know is to suffer, and the more that you know, the more you are to suffer, but aren¡¯t I lucky, for I know nothing?" it said, ¡°nothing¡­¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t I wise? To declare that I know nothing... is that not the first sign of wisdom?¡± It scoffed, perhaps in disgust, ¡°Yet another lie, yet another paradox."

    ¡°A useless statement, most profound.¡± It again glared into nothingness, only to find Kanrel¡¯s eyes again. ¡°Leave.¡± It whispered and waved its hand, ¡°You bore me.¡± Was the last thing he heard before he once again was on the floor, looking at the door that he had just closed.

    He got up and tried to find the man who had grabbed his hand, but he was not behind him; the other doors weren¡¯t closed, only the one that he had just now closed. His body kept shaking, and without much thought, he opened the door. On the other side was a single filing cabinet, which was open and filled with files that needed to be read.

    So he slowly walked to it and took out a file, one that was titled ¡°Ignar Orcun.¡±

 Chapter Forty-Six: Closed Doors and the Records of Murder

    Kanrel held the file in his arms, trembling and reading through the title of it over and over again. This name has had no explanation so far. This person, who was somehow related to buying explosives and taking part in corruption, was accused of terrorism by the pages in a binder he had read at the Office of Peace.

    This person had no other shape than a name on a piece of paper. He opened the file and began reading; he didn¡¯t want to wait or process the experience that he had just gone through.

    The file began with just the name, and then it listed the crimes they had committed:

    The murder of Hans Kemler, the murder of Yrne Wern, the murder of Shai Grand, the murder of Ulrich Dargavian...

    The list of murders committed went on and on, for ninety-eight names, until the final name was that of Wiltem Torna. The other names were unknown to him; they meant nothing, and even in the planted memories, there was no mention of them. Only Wiltem Torna.

    In a similar fashion, there was a list of acts of terrorism and a different list of people who had died. They too, in a gruesome way, are no different from murder, but in large quantities¡ªat most hundreds¡ªin one act of terrorism.

    There was no context given to any of it, just names of places and the names of victims; thousands must have died because of the actions of this one individual.

    Why had they done as they did? There was no mention, no speculation, just data. Why was it here? And why was it here now?

    The creature that had called themselves the Sharan of Lies and Truths must have wanted him to know all of this. For one reason or another... Was the Voice the same, Sharan? Were they the ones leading Kanrel here?

    Ignar Orcun was someone who committed crimes against everyone, it seemed. But for what reason?

    The locations of the acts of terror seemed at times to be something random; one of the attacks was on a plaza in the District of Iron, another at a theater in the District of Silver, but there were strikes at different Offices of Peace as well; even this tower had been one of the locations where a terror attack had happened.

    Random attacks, or were they? Wouldn¡¯t there always be some sort of logic behind an action¡ªa reason? There¡¯d always be something¡ªa motive, an ideology, or logic¡ªbehind an action like this, or really any action.

    He would just have to figure that out. But the issue was time again. He didn¡¯t have much time. Perhaps less than forty-eight hours before the trial of Hartar Agna.

    He placed the file on the floor and read the titles of the other files in the filing cabinet. They were names of people that had been on the list of victims; they were names of places where acts of terror had happened. He took out the one that was about Wiltem Torna, opened it, and began reading.

    It had information about the victims, who they were, what they did, and who the people in their lives were. And then, reasons as to why they were killed...

    Corruption, extortion, and the failure to abide by the vows that a member of the Office of Peace must take.

    Solution: swift execution.

    Note: An innocent bystander named Hartar Agna was then caught, interrogated, judged, and sentenced to death. This cannot be helped; it must happen; it had to happen.

    Kanrel dropped the file and read through another file, another name, and another victim:

    Yrne Wern, a member of the Domain of War and Peace, is ranked a sergeant at the Office of Peace; they work in the District of Silver; they have no close family members alive. A friend of Ulrich Dargavian.

    Corruption, murder, rape¡ªthe failure to abide by the vows and morals that a member of the Office of Peace must take.

    Solution: torture and slow execution.

    Note: They screamed, and they screamed for mercy and for help; no help came. I wonder if they screamed as much as their victims did.

    Kanrel took another file, this time one about one of the acts of terror:

    Location: the Tower of Lies and Truths

    A symbol of our failures and the question: Why must the truth die first?

    Target: the gathering of fools at the Cafe N¡¯Sharan.

    All they do is talk about the same things; many of them take part in the death of truth; many of them profit from it; these valued members of our society look from far above and criticize the many that live below...

    Solution: Purge; let fire purge them all; let fire set them free; let the truth set them free.

    Date: the 31st day of the 9th month of the 1207th year of the Common Times.

    Note: Let the truth be the fire that sets them free.

    Kanrel stared at the file in his hands. He read through it again and again. The date was today; it had not happened yet. It was today. He dropped the file and began to run. He left the room with the filing cabinet and entered the corridor with only the doors that were open. He ran to the elevator, went inside, and pressed the button that would lead him to the floor where the cafe was.

    The doors closed, and he began to pace. The buzz that the elevator made was once soothing, but now it felt too slow. It had to be quicker; the elevator was too slow. "Bling," and the doors opened.

    He took a hurried step onto the floor, and there was no fire; no smoke. The cafe was like it always had been. The people were gathered around their tables, holding papers, and talking in sentences that made no sense to him. At times, they would sip coffee from their cups or take bites from cookies and other pastries.

    There was nothing to indicate an attack on this cafe. They were safe. And in his mind, he had but one question: what about it? In his mind, he had already condemned all these people who had gathered here. He looked down on them; he saw them as the reason why the city below was so unequal and corrupt. They partook in the corruption of this city; they turned their blind eyes toward it and took from it; they became richer because of it; they became more powerful and richer; this was paradise for them.

    So what about it? Would they not get what they deserved? Fire¡ªshould it not purge those who were worse than criminals? Should it not cleanse this earth? He pondered, but even still, he could only believe one thing; he could find only one morally correct conclusion: perhaps they would deserve it, but at the same time, two wrongs don¡¯t make a right.

    These people should be punished within the laws of the city, not by the hands of a murderer who didn¡¯t care about the innocent bystanders that they might harm in their self-righteous quest for justice.

    So he had to stop it. He had to find the person who was behind all of these acts of terror and murder. He searched the crowds of people and observed the many waiters that went around the cafe, bringing food and drinks to those who had ordered them.

    But there was nothing out of the ordinary. So he began to walk around. He looked more closely; surely the person who was behind all of this would be more alive than the other people who were here. Surely they would be able to speak and interact with him.

    So he went around, tapping people on their shoulders, trying to make contact with them, but no one would say a word. People would drift past him or ignore him altogether. He was not there; he didn¡¯t exist.

    A service trolley went past him, one covered in cloth, and under it something, perhaps a cloche. He went to it and pulled the cloth away. He lifted the cloche, but beneath there was only food. Similar trolleys went around the room; most of them had food on trays and pots that had tea and coffee in them.

    But a few of the trolleys were covered with cloth as well, so he hurried to another one that he saw, pulled away the cloth, and lifted the cloche, finding only food again. The people around him were talking loudly; they ignored his actions as he went to another trolley, again pulling away the cloth, and again only revealing more food.

    He could not find it; would it even happen today? Was this even the correct place and the correct time? He was brought to a sudden stop. Eyes¡ªhe could feel eyes on him. Someone was looking right at him, someone who had weight to their gaze, someone who had more magic than all of the people combined here had...

    Hurriedly, he looked around and tried to find this person, but he could not. No one was looking at him. And soon, he could smell it. The smell of something burning¡ªthe smell of smoke and ash. He could not find where it had begun. He could only witness the whole floor burst into flames.

    Fire, everywhere. People¡ªscreaming in agony. Smoke and fire. He could see nothing. He could do nothing about it¡ªnothing for the people that had gathered here. Nothing for anyone. Yet he did not burn; he was left unaffected by the flames and unaffected by the smoke.

    But the screams. They filled his head; they filled everything. It had all happened so quickly, and it ended after mere moments. The fire dissipated. The smoke slowly cleared. All he could see was the ash that covered the floor, the charred floor, the charred ceiling, and the charred walls. Everything else was burned into nothing. There lay corpses on the ground, but one could not recognize if it was one or more people there; they were partly just piles of ash.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    There were no more tables around, no more chairs, and not a single arc of paper. There was melted metal in places where there had been cutlery.

    He couldn¡¯t do anything about it. He could observe as a hundred more people died in mere moments. The screams had stopped, but he could still hear them. The fire had gone, but he could still see it. It had burned itself into his memory, and all the while he could do nothing about any of it.

    Soon, he felt the eyes again. He looked around and soon saw a figure that stood still and looked straight at him¡ªa figure that was covered in ash. They made no movement; they just observed.

    ¡°Why?¡± Kanrel whispered, yet he knew the answer already. He just stared at the figure, who just stared back at him. There was silence, and with that silence, the figure disappeared; it was carried away by a wind that pushed all of the ash away from the floor, out of the many balconies that oversaw the city beneath.

    If one stood outside, they could see as the wind carried the ashes of the dead away, far away.

    Only Kanrel was left alone in a room that, on its walls, floors, and ceiling, showed the memory of the fire that had touched it and that had cleansed it.

    It was hard to understand and process, even if it was just a memory or a vision of something that had already happened. It felt so real; it was real, once. Bothered by what he had just seen and experienced and by the anger that beat in his temples, he returned to the elevator, pressed the button that was left unharmed by the fire, and stepped inside. He had so much more that he had to read through.

    He had to understand each and every single victim that had died thus far, each and every act of terror that had happened if there were still more to come, and if this was just the beginning of another series of acts of terror.

    Ignar Orcun is a murderer and nothing more. Ignar Orcun, a name he had to figure out, and a name that now had a figure and shape¡ªthey weren''t just a name, they were a person.

    The elevator buzzed as he descended. It reminded him of the fire and what it had sounded like, yet it was nothing like it. The doors opened, followed by a familiar sound. Before him was an intersection that led to three different ways. On the left and on the right, there were two corridors that continued until they hit a wall.

    In front of him was a corridor of many doors; all of them had a number, and all of them were closed.

    The elevator door closed behind him as he stared at the corridor, at the doors that were supposed to be open; had he not left them open?

    Without turning around, he tried pressing the button to open the doors again, but he could not find it, so he turned around, but it was not there; the elevator doors weren¡¯t there anymore. It was just a wall now, solid and without a crack in it.

    He needed to run; he needed to leave this place. On his right and on his left, the two corridors were now gone as well. Only the corridor with many doors was still there.

    Enticing. Asking, wanting him to open them, to enter and see what they had to offer, all the things the doors wanted to show, what they wanted him to see.

    But he had to get out of here. It could not be safe here; it would never be.

    ¡°Let me out of here!¡± He yelled out loud, glancing around him, trying to find the Voice, trying to beg for it to let him go. But there was no answer. Only silence was there for him; it was all there ever was for him.

    He could not use his magics. He could not open the door to the elevator; he could not leave this level. He should have never come here; he should have never entered the door that was made out of shadows. He should have never entered the ruins; he should have turned around and reported his findings.

    He wanted to go, not because he longed for it, but because it would not be safe here. He regretted everything¡ªevery decision that had led him here. In this corridor and its many doors.

    The fire and flames, the ash of the dead. The whispers calling him to enter. The figure that observed him, the Voice that brought him here, guided him with memories that could be false, and the creature that had held his head tried to crush him but instead gave him information.

    What was real and what was not? Was there anything that was real? Had any of this truly happened? Was this memory true, or was it all false, a creation of the so-called warden of this prison? Or the Angels themselves...

    There were just the doors and nothing else.

    Kanrel braced himself; he sought within all the courage that he could muster, and he went to the first door. One that he had opened before. And as he opened it, there was no sound. There was just silence, not the sound of all the doors opening at once.

    And on the other side, there was a mirror, and in that mirror, there was someone¡ªone of the Sharan¡ªwith an exotic face that had scales on it and deep blue eyes that trembled. Their fear could be seen so clearly on the face of this person. This person was him and no one else.

    He touched his own face, and the reflection followed the movements he made. The scales on his face were smooth and warm, and they glittered in many colors all at once. Surely they were beautiful, or considered to be so by the Sharans; as a human, he had not been so beautiful. He had never felt beautiful or handsome. He had only ever felt human until he no longer did.

    He touched the surface, and as he touched it, he could physically feel what he once felt. All emotion came back to him, all desire, and all happiness that he had ever experienced. Everything at once. A euphoric moment of freedom that was soon crushed by reality¡ªthe memories that he carried, the memories of the loved ones that he could now miss, the love that he had for them¡ªpushed him to continue even when he did not want to.

    And then the one he had lost. Yirn. The bitter feelings, now more confusing than ever, were mixed together with love and care, with hate and desire, and with anguish and pain.

    As if it burned, he pulled his hand away, and a wave of disgust poured in. It lingered again¡ªthe power that was within that he could not access in this place, in this memory of a place. The face that he now bared, that he no longer could face; so ugly it had become¡ªdisrupted by fragmentation of once-had feelings, distorted into a mask of pain, a face that knew not of love but only of agony.

    Slowly he closed the door, and no sound was created; only silence followed the moment he had shared with a reflection.

    He went to the door across and opened it as well. Behind it was first formless darkness, then a light spread, creating an image, and that image moved. In this image, he saw himself as he truly was, a king who sat on a throne of his own desires: women and gold, riches that would otherwise be unimaginable. But here, in this image, he had it all. He slowly smiled and whispered something¡ªwords that he could not hear.

    The image remained, but there was no more movement. He closed the door; it was something he had never desired to have; it was something that looked wrong, that was wrong; something that would never be, something he would never become. Or so he hoped.

    Behind the next door, another vision showed itself: he as someone loving and caring, sharing moments with his friends and family; a house of peace, the very same in which he had lived with his mother. Yviev was there, as were Wen and Uanna, and his mother was there. And so was Yirn.

    He closed the door; even if he wished for something like that, it could never be, it never was, and it never will be like that. Yirn is dead, and it was something he had to accept. Yirn was dead, and he was someone he could never forgive.

    The next door revealed a wintery landscape¡ªa village where he had spent a few years and where he now lived as an old man. Slowly, it changed, and he could see himself kneeling before an altar, praying to the painting of an angel. In his heart and mind, there was only wonder and despair. The old man that was him kept mumbling, pleading for something he could not make out. Praying for something he could guess: release and salvation.

    This was perhaps what he would become. Yet the vision of it felt conflicting; even as a future, it remained unreal and something he would not want to become or be. Why was he here? What were these doors? Were these options the things and people he could become?

    Each door he opened offered a different vision and a different image of the man that he could be. A future in which he was in love, a future in which he had children, a future in which he had both, and a future in which he had neither. A future where he was a king, a future where he was a slave, a future that was just dark, thus a future where he was already dead. A future where he was like he had once been, a man able to feel joy and love like any other man. A human, once more.

    That was what he wanted the most. He wanted to be a human again. He wanted to feel like a human again. But the moment in which he had that ability and that feeling, he felt so conflicted and uncertain about everything that he felt and what he had done. It was unlikely that he would feel any better in a world as such, but even with that pain, he believed that he could stand it; he needed to stand it. He would survive it so that he could again be human. A man.

    He was now at the last door. At the end of the corridor, there was now a door that was not there before. This door had no number, but he opened it either way. Behind the last door was just a room.

    And in that room stood a figure. Neither a man nor a creature. They looked away and just stood there; they were imposing; they were magnificent. They were grander than anyone else that he had ever seen. He could not see their face, but he could see their wings. They were scaley and large, covered in gold.

    He entered the room and slowly approached the figure that stood in the center of it all. Slowly he walked in front of them; slowly he could see their face; it was not the same face of the creature that had called themselves the Sharan of Lies and Truths.

    This person had a different face, one that was familiar as well. Even as they stood face-to-face, they looked past him. They did not see Kanrel that was before them; they saw something else, something that was past Kanrel.

    So he turned around to see where the winged person was looking. He could see a city below, divided into many pieces and many sectors. Far away were the Tower of Ivory and the richer districts of the city, and just below them was the District of Copper, and that which they stood on top of was a wall.

    Kanrel turned back to the winged person, but they just stood there, looking down. Past them, Kanrel could see that they were no longer in a room but on the great wall that surrounded all of N¡¯Sharan, and this wall was the one that was in between the ocean and the District of Copper.

    The waves hit the thick wall, unable to breach it or go over it. This wall was all that kept the District Below from drowning; it was a magnificent achievement of engineering, architecture, and magic. The whole construction that surrounded the city reeked of this magic.

    "Death," the winged person said suddenly, prompting Kanrel to again look at them. They still looked only at the district below and asked, ¡°Is death not the only thing that can bring true peace?¡± Their voice was deep, and they had such authority in it.

    It was a voice Kanrel would follow without a second of hesitation. This voice was that of a general or a king, one that would inspire many in battle, one that would inspire anyone to follow him into death, into the depths of his enemies, even if it could only end up in that death. That death¡ªthe only thing that could free the living¡ªcould free them all.

    That would bring peace.

    The winged person lifted their gaze and turned around. ¡°There will be a war, one I have waited for since the building of this city, one that you believed we would never have to fight.¡±

    They looked straight at Kanrel; their eyes peered into him; they peered into his soul; and perhaps there they saw something, but they did not look truly at him; they looked at someone else as they said, ¡°My old friends, this war will come, and it will destroy this paradise we have built."

    ¡°We are no better than our old enemy, and we should never try to disrupt the cycle of empires."

    ¡°Nothing lasts forever." They said with a sad smile that lingered on their tired face, they looked at something¡ªat someone past Kanrel, and Kanrel looked at them.

    The waves hit the walls below; it was peaceful at that moment. It was peaceful as the walls began to crumble. As the ocean reclaimed what was meant to be theirs, Kanrel could only look at the Sharan of War and Peace, the creature that stood before him in all of its magnificence. Their wings were gold, and their face was that of the angel that decorated the painting in the temple that he had called home for years now.

    He could only look at them as the district beneath was swallowed by the ocean, and in the blink of an eye, it was all gone. The angel, the walls, the city... Next, he laid his eyes on the familiar doors of the elevator. All he now knew was that he was descending.

 Chapter Forty-Seven: Crimes and Punishments

    He was again descending in the elevator. One could hear its sounds; one could feel it in their whole body. There was only one button on the elevator wall that was lit, "-5,¡± the lowest level, one that he had no idea of.

    Even still, even in this new predicament he found himself in, he could not help but feel touched by the Angel and their words. How gently they had called for their friends, spoken to them, then solemnly gazed at the District of Copper as it was submerged with waves, the great deafening sound of it, the waves gorging in... the walls, broken. That which once was part of the sea was reclaimed. Whole.

    But how many had died? How many thousands and thousands of people? And why? For what? And by whom?

    Was this another act committed by Ignar Orcun? Perhaps a retaliation from the Angels¡ªjudgment for those who dared to go against their wishes?

    Surely it had to be one or the other. Surely it would all make sense, or should it not?

    ¡°Bling!¡± The elevator announced the end of their descent; the door opened, and on the other side, there was a great window, the size of the whole wall, with constant and quick snowfall, as if behind the window there was a blizzard. In front of the great window, there was a couch, positioned so that one could look at the window and the blizzard outside. There was nothing else of note in the room, at least, which he could tell at first glance.

    So he took a step forward, willingly, knowing that almost certainly the doors would close behind him or even disappear altogether. Without looking back, he walked to the couch, eyeing it keenly, seeing if there was anything else to this room than this couch and the window.

    There was nothing else. The floor and the walls were wood; the room tried to be cozy, but it was far from it. To accompany him in this room were only the couch, the window, and a sound. A constant crackle. And the sound came somewhere outside the window, perhaps the sound of the blizzard.

    The door was gone. And in the rather large, rectangle-shaped room, there was nothing else. So he approached the couch even further, examining it¡ªit was rather plain, just a normal couch; he even checked beneath, but there was nothing there¡ªnot even dust, just the wood floor.

    So he was left with one thing to do. To take a seat and watch the snowstorm. But, should he really? It was what the room wanted him to do¡ªperhaps even what the vision wanted him to do. What the Voice wanted him to do... None of them were things, people, or even creatures that he would ever place his trust in.

    So he took a seat; at least it was soft, and at least it was warm.

    ¡°You see, lad, when you kill a man, you have to make sure they die." Words were suddenly spoken, and the crackling sound faded, but not fully. The blizzard was gone, and before him was a dark alleyway, two people standing next to each other; one was perhaps in their forties and the other in their teens.

    ¡°So you stab them twice." They leaned forward as they whispered and stabbed the lad in the chest, not once, not twice, but three times.

    The lad made a terrible sound; they were gasping for air, and tears went down their face. As the stabber pulled their knife out, they collapsed against the wall.

    It was dark, and the only sounds one could hear were the sounds of a dying man and the steps of the murderer walking away. They were holding something against their sides, so tightly they held their own side. And through the window, Kanrel could see it all¡ªhow soon the other man collapsed as well, still holding their side, now coughing out blood, their face paler than at the beginning of the scene, and then¡­

    Cut¡­

    The window was fully dark, and no other picture came to replace the previous ones.

    Kanrel got up from the couch and went closer to the window. He touched the surface of it just to make sure that it wasn¡¯t another portal to another part of the dream. But to his surprise, the surface that he touched was just glass and nothing else.

    He ran his hand across it, all glass. What a curious thing¡ªa piece of magic or machinery capable of showing things that have happened in the city.

    Suddenly, the darkness faded, turning into another picture, another place, and another time. Quickly, Kanrel returned to the couch and took a seat. Patiently, he waited to see what would happen.

    This time there was text accompanied by what was shown: 15th of the 2nd, 1005 CT. Crime and Punishment: Yrne Wern.

    A large Sharan stood across from a person who was tied to a chair. The person had a bag over their head and seemed to be unconscious. Yrne spat on the floor; the room where they were was filled with bodies of animals, and as the Sharan breathed, mist came out. They sniffled and muttered to themselves, ¡°Why can¡¯t these fuckers pay what they owe in time?¡±

    From the floor, they took a bucket of ice-cold water. They walked to the tied person and slowly poured the contents of the bucket on them. The other person woke up with a scream and panic.

    Their voice was muffled as they screamed, ¡°I can pay! I can pay! Just give me some time!¡±

    Yrne just scoffed as they walked to the door and walked out. Kanrel could hear as the door was locked, and soon after, the lights went out. But still, the tied person kept screaming, their voice muffled and shaking.

    The picture faded into darkness.

    How long would it take for the victim to die? The room was clearly very cold. For how long could anyone survive even if they weren¡¯t drenched in cold water? It was not shown if the person died or not, or how they died; would Yrne return to execute their captive, or would the person break out of their bonds and then leave? After all, every Sharan has magic.

    Soon after, the darkness transformed again, showing the same room again. A person was standing opposite a figure who was, again, hooded and tied to the chair on which they were sitting.

    The other person held a bucket filled with cold water. They approached slowly, and with one hand, they unveiled Yrne, who was knocked out. Deep was their sleep. The other observed the one who sat before them; they carefully lifted the bucket with both of their hands and poured it all over Yrne, who woke up shocked.

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    They had already begun to shake, and they looked around, finally landing their gaze on the person who stood before them, who looked at them, their gaze down at them.

    The window refused to show an angle where the person''s face could be seen; only ever were parts of their body shown¡ªtheir back, their hands, even their neck.

    ¡°What in the name of the Magi do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Yrme asked, and their voice shook and their words were difficult to understand.

    The other one just observed, watched, and waited.

    ¡°You mongrel! You moron, let me out of these binds at once!¡± Yrne screamed as they got no answer to their question. They began to form a code, a shaky smile found its way on their lips, and they suddenly jerked toward the person, but to Yrne¡¯s surprise, they could not move.

    A bewildered expression found its way to Yrne¡¯s face as they tried again and again, each time failing to launch at their attacker and, each time, unable to release themselves from their binds.

    ¡°What have you done?!¡± They screamed and began pulling their body in different directions as they tried to release themselves.

    The other one only observed.

    Soon, on Yrne¡¯s face, the effects of the cold air could be seen; their cheeks were red, and so was their nose; other parts were much paler than before. Their lips kept uncontrollably shaking, and so did their whole body; they had stopped fighting. Parts of their clothes had begun to freeze, as had their hair, their brows, and even their eyelashes.

    ¡°Please¡­ I¡¯ll do¡­ anything¡­ please¡­¡± They pleaded, their voice almost a whisper, a whimper.

    And the other spoke at last, ¡°I have defused all of your magics; I have brought you here; I have bound you to your chair; and I have drenched you in cold water. I have watched as you¡¯ve slowly begun to freeze to death before my very eyes... So tell me, why would I assist you in any way?¡± Their voice was smooth, and there wasn¡¯t even a hint of enjoyment or amusement because of the situation or the deeds that they had committed.

    ¡°I can¡­ pay you¡­¡± Yrne replied, their eyes were dull and they were visibly tired, almost ready to pass out.

    The other one leaned closer, perhaps to look straight into the eyes of Yrne and to ask, ¡°Like Sam promised?¡± The other scoffed, ¡°I have no need for your payments, I have no need for your words, I have only need for your death; a life for a life, this, is only fair and more fair than you can get.

    For a moment more, there was lucidity in Yrne¡¯s eyes, but soon they closed them; at last, they had entered a sleep from which they would not wake up. They were left on the chair as the other one was left behind.

    They observed, and they waited. A few minutes went by, and even the slightest movement that Yrne might make was gone. They would no longer breathe the air in this world.

    The other made a sudden movement with their hand toward the window, toward the place where Kanrel sat and watched. The picture suddenly disappeared, and darkness returned again.

    He then heard a whisper that came from the window, ¡°See them all,¡± and in that moment, perhaps a thousand similar pictures opened on the window, on all of the little squares that were part of it. He could now see it all: each and every single murder, every single corrupt deed, and every single punishment for every single crime that had been committed by the many names that were on the files.

    He could see all the acts of terror occur before his eyes, not only in his eyes but in his mind as well. Everything that Ingar Orcun had been a part of... It violated his mind with visions and things he did not want to see¡ªthings that no one wants to see or witness.

    All brutal, all disgusting. Comparing one to another is not something one ought to do. Such acts are incomparable yet equally disgusting. Only the numbers were different. It would always end up in numbers, one way in which we decide how great a tragedy was. As if there needs to be a comparison between two tragedies, at least in the sense of size or brutality. Numbers¡ªoh, how we love numbers.

    In N¡¯Sharan, there once was a journalist who said or wrote, ¡°The death of one Sharan is a tragedy, but the death of many is a mere statistic.¡±

    Those that Ignar Orcun had killed were plenty. Those who were their victims had only individually killed a few, but in numbers there is strength, and those who had died at the hands of Ignar Orcun¡¯s victims were plenty as well¡ªalmost equal.

    Now that he saw it all¡ªall of those horrible crimes¡ªnot just as numbers printed on paper but as visions of something that had happened, that must have been real, for imagination will never truly overshadow that which is real.

    One can imagine a thing happening, but when one sees it and lives through it, it becomes part of your life, of your thinking, of your dreams and nightmares; it becomes a part of your imagination. That which was real becomes so unbearable. Something you don¡¯t want to see or experience, yet it keeps returning, and refuses to ever leave you.

    This Kanrel knew better than perhaps most did. His time spent at the Hospital, on that bed, partaking in endless simulations with pain more than real. He shuddered as he thought about it. Never will there be a night when some demon of old or some memory won¡¯t come to haunt him in his dreams or his anxious thoughts before falling asleep.

    It was his turn to tremble; it was his turn to be touched by those deaths; it was his turn to wonder: What was the point of showing him all of this? To justify things that had been committed? Or to show how many terrible people were in this city; and how many victims were of those who ran it. Or how evil was the person who carried the name Ignar Orcun?

    Who were they? Were they the voice? Were they the Angel of Lies and Truths? Were they someone else altogether?

    Kanrel stared into nothingness and into his own mind as he tried to piece everything together. But what and who is he supposed to trust?

    Through the window, one could see the blizzard again. The crackling sound had returned, and that was all that was to accompany him here. At least, the couch was soft.

    He looked back to see if the doors had returned, but they had not. He cursed to himself as he asked out loud, ¡°Are you Ignar Orcun?¡± He spoke loudly as if there was a need for it. It was quite obvious that the Voice could hear him always and could see him always. All of this, this vision, was most likely their creation.

    ¡°Would you believe me if I said ¡®no¡¯?¡°

    ¡°How could I?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. You don¡¯t know a thing about me, yet I seem to know everything about this city as well as about you. It seems hardly fair.¡±

    ¡°My point exactly; so how am I supposed to trust you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing; you aren¡¯t supposed to. All I can do is show things that I know have happened. Some things, of course, aren¡¯t things that I have seen but are things that can¡¯t be explained in any other way. They can only be experienced.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just try explaining them?¡±

    ¡°To do so directly, I am not allowed; it is taboo."

    ¡°Taboo? You and your fucking taboos... Even if it is taboo, there is practically nothing to stop you from saying things as you wish. All you¡¯re giving me is an excuse.¡±

    The voice suddenly chuckled and soon said, ¡°An excuse or not, still, I cannot say the words I want to say out loud."

    ¡°Kanrel¡­ Even if it seems like I am fully in control of things in here, I am not.¡±

    ¡°I am only a warden; I only oversee the imprisoned. Everything else is beyond my capabilities. Otherwise, I might have left long ago.¡±

    Kanrel let out a long sigh of defeat; there was no point in arguing with this omnipresent authority figure. ¡°Can you at least let me reach the next part?¡±

    ¡°Would you accept if I said ¡®no¡¯?¡±

    Kanrel began cursing profusely, calling the Voice different names.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so... Luckily, the question was asked in jest. Just wait; you¡¯ll soon see what you¡¯re meant to see.¡± The presence of the voice suddenly disappeared; they were still there but not willing to converse anymore.

    So Kanrel waited, and to kill time, he returned to his own mind and began investigating the new set of memories that had been given to him. He tried to find the face of the person known as Ignar Orcun.

 Chapter Forty-Eight: The Offices of Order and Chaos

    But no matter how Kanrel searched his new-found memories¡ªthe visions of torture shown to him again and again¡ªnever could he see the face of the person who, in a way, worked as the jury, the judge, and the executioner.

    The situation in itself was frustrating; all he had was that room with its couch and the window, or a screen, with its constant snowfall and the crackling sound that it produced.

    He was asked to wait, but for how long? And what was he meant to see? Surely another set of visions, most of them things that would not make sense to him or to anyone. They would only ever form a feeling or would try to do so, while cryptically sharing pieces of things that were truly useful, yet somehow gave him only more questions to ask. There would always be more questions to ask, as if there were ever a moment in which he or anyone else, for that matter, would find that their desire for knowledge was fulfilled. It could only ever be partly fulfilled. Such was life, he supposed.

    ¡°Bling!¡± A familiar sound came from behind him. He turned his head, only to see that the doors had returned and even opened up from him, showcasing the elevator as if it had always been there.

    He got up and almost rushed to the doors before they would close or disappear again. The moment he took a step in, the doors closed behind him, and as he scanned the walls of the elevator, there were fewer buttons than there had been before. There were none that started with a minus; instead, there were only three buttons present¡ªthree floors for him to access.

    As he went to press the button for the first floor, the doors already opened, and on the other side, there stood three figures, three Sharans, and the room behind them was very different from the one that he had just left behind.

    A great, round room. One that was filled with tables and bookshelves; on almost every table, there was someone already. Kanrel stepped past the three Sharans, who gave him no regard and entered the elevator.

    But this room was something that called for Kanrel.

    In the middle of the round room, there was a person surrounded by a circular table filled with books, each of them open, each page filled to the brim with text. The room itself seemed like something inserted into this reality from another, and the people there cared only about the books they wrote on and then passed to the middle, soon taking another book and going to work with that one.

    Why was there a need for such a thing if one could print? Kanrel pondered and went closer to the middle; soon he could see what things were written in the open books: names, numbers, and locations. Information about people, all of it organized neatly.

    Level of education, a presumed level of magical ability, family members, height, weight, age, and birthdate¡ªeverything there was to know about a person. It all ended on the table of this one person, who went to each and, with a wave of a hand, brought before him pictures, ones formed with magic.

    In these pictures, there was more information, and one could see as the letters and numbers themselves began floating from the books before them, approaching the picture formed with magic, then entering it, and soon becoming one with it. Just another line of text in a larger collection.

    How magnificent it was to have such magic! To have it stored with you at all times, even. All those books and all that information. How valuable must it be? How powerful such a code had to be¡ªsuch magic!

    What was this place where he found himself?

    The Office of Order and Chaos, one whose primary mission is to organize people by their talents and their education, by their wealth and their ability to use magic, is an organization that, in a way, governs much of the city, if not at least, plans and molds the future of it, and all that with just allocating the valuable resource that is a person to the correct place where they might be most useful.

    Such a clever organization, one quite different from the Office of Peace and War, which mainly took care of the defense of the city, or the Office of Lies and Truths, which was more or less a glorified term for an organization that runs the Times of N¡¯Sharan.

    The person who sat in the middle had almost all of their face covered with scales; their hands, though, were no different from the hands of another. Their eyes were bright yellow, and for some reason, they had a lot of weight in them. A gaze that would make you stop and wonder, ''What had you done to deserve the scorn of another?''

    Those eyes made him squirm as if he were standing in front of his mother again, up for another round of scolding. Those very eyes now stared at him; the Sharan in the middle had stopped doing whatever it was that he was doing. They just stared at Kanrel with a scornful expression.

    Kanrel swallowed a piece and said, "Good evening; my name is Kanrel Iduldian; I work for the Times of N¡¯Sharan.¡±

    The Sharan raised their scaley eyebrows. ¡°It is seven a.m.; the last time I checked, that means it is the morning." The Sharan eyed Kanrel from head to toe and seemed not to be pleased with what they saw. ¡°I am Trav, and I don¡¯t work for the Times of N¡¯Sharan, nor are these the offices for the Times of N''Sharan."

    ¡°Ah yes, the morning... And yes, these are not my offices, but the work that I am to do is most certainly here!¡± Kanrel spoke the first words that came to his mind: ¡°You see, Trav, I am to write an article about the great work you do here at the Office of Order and Chaos!¡±

    Trav scoffed, ¡°How wonderful. Now get out.¡±

    Now what? Instead of giving up, Kanrel forced a smile on his face: ¡°No, I won¡¯t get out; in fact, you¡¯re going to personally show me around the place and give me an idea of what you really do here.¡±

    Trav blinked, ¡°No, I won¡¯t give you a tour of the place. Why? Because I refuse to work with people like you."

    ¡°People like me? A journalist?¡±

    "No, you buffoon; I meant people who lack magical ability."

    ¡°Ah¡­ Very discriminatory of you; it seems that I¡¯ll have to write a very different article from the one that I was planning to write.¡± Kanrel cleared his throat loudly and continued, ¡°How does this sound for a headline: the Office of Order and Chaos, a place of corruption and a waste of taxpayer money?"

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    Trav blinked again; they seemed to ponder for a moment before giving a reply, ¡°Very cute.¡±

    They sighed and got up from their chair, ¡°Very well, you leave someone more than busy with no say in their own matters and give them unreasonable demands... Follow me; let me show another dimwit what happens here... It is not like you could actually understand any of it.

    Bemused by the fact that such a weak threat would make someone clearly more powerful than he budge, he followed Trav without much argumentation all the way to the other side of the room, where there was a door in the spherical wall.

    ¡°This is a door; it is most often used as an entrance or as an exit. Like a wall, it divides two rooms, or two physical places, from each other. Look at this." Trav explained and opened the door: ¡°If you open it, you can clearly see that the things that I have said are all true.¡±

    On the other side of the door, there was another room; this one had a few lockers, a table, and a kitchenette.

    ¡°As your eyes might be able to see, behind the door, there is a room, and this room is for me and my co-workers; it is our breakroom, our locker room, and our dining room made into one.¡±

    ¡°There are many different types of rooms; as one can easily tell, this one is one with multiple purposes... Would you like me to explain such words as ¡®breakroom¡¯, ¡®locker room'', and ¡®diner¡¯?¡± Trav kept explaining; their voice was perky and upbeat, very different from the rather monotone way of speaking they had used earlier.

    ¡°It might surprise you, but I do know what a room is, and I don¡¯t need you to explain such things to me.¡±

    Trav chuckled. ¡°Are you quite sure? Anyway, let''s move along.¡± They closed the door and hurried Kanrel to come with them as they walked to the nearest workstation, a simple table filled with books, paper, and pens. Three people hurriedly copied things from the papers into the books; the function of the books was again to hold data about people.

    ¡°Here we have a table; on it, there are books and paper, as you might see, and the two people working around the table are some of my co-workers; their names don¡¯t matter, neither to me nor to you, and they barely matter to them as well. Here we read through enough names; what is another to pollute our minds, right?¡±

    ¡°What are they exactly doing? Who cares? The system is either way ancient, as we still have to use our own hands in the process of copying, and I am the only one who is powerful enough to actively use magic in my work. I can¡¯t wait to be fully sucked out of it; there is just one way for a retirement for us here, you see."

    ¡°Kanrel, journalist, or whatever you claim to be, do you know how much work we have to do here, daily?¡± They asked.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t the slightest clue."

    ¡°We start at six in the morning, and we work until nine in the evening; well, at least we are supposed to, but you see, our little establishment has been understaffed for decades now; there just aren¡¯t enough people who are educated enough or powerful enough to work here... And those that have the required education or the required magical ability are already rich, and who the fuck would like to spend their lives at a dead-end job? One that will either way claim your life in the process..."

    ¡°Here, we don¡¯t have lives; here we work until there is nothing of us to give... Do you know how the previous person who worked at my station died?¡± They asked and soon pointed at the middle, at the round table, which was filled with books and such. ¡°Right over there... at the very spot where I spent all of my days, toiling away, using¡ªno¡ªwasting my magic to do something that should have been mechanized centuries ago."

    Kanrel just stared at Trav, who by the minute seemed more and more agitated; their voice was bitter, their words were bitter and so tired, and their face was furrowed. ¡°I see.¡±

    Trav turned toward him and said, ¡°You see? How wonderful! Now fuck off.¡± They exclaimed and stormed back to their workstation, back to the middle, and back to the place where they believed that they would die.

    Kanrel was left where he now stood, baffled, and with no words to give or no idea what to think other than that which was quite obvious: who, indeed, would like to work here?

    The two people working at the workstation had not raised their eyes, and their postures told a tale of long hours spent sitting at one singular place, each and every single day of the week, perhaps of the year. Tiredness was visible on their faces; the skin under their eyes was much darker; and even their movement was often dull. At times, one of the workers would leave their pencil on the table and stretch their fingers, even twisting them, and they would rotate their wrists at the same time. During those actions, pain could be seen on a face where only tiredness resides.

    The Office of Order and Chaos was one of the most important and useful things that had ever been created in N¡¯Sharan, to oversee and place people where they belonged and to make the city as efficient and productive as possible. Something so important had become mismanaged, corrupt, and behind its time. Technology, which could make everything work quicker and become more productive within the office, was not there for them to use.

    Instead, work, which used to be important, had become forgotten. And who even oversaw this process? Who worked above Trav and the others in this room? Kanrel¡¯s gaze found its way toward the elevator. There are two floors to go through to find whoever led this place.

    In the room, there was only one other door to open, but an exit sign that flashed green above the door clearly indicated what the door was used for. Thus, he walked his way to the elevator and soon found himself within it. After pressing the button for the second floor, he began ascending.

 Chapter Forty-Nine: The Observatory

    As the doors opened, he was greeted with a room filled with things of interest. Interfaces, and weird objects. One that was in the middle was more interesting than the others. A strangely shaped thing of lines that went around each other and a black ball that traveled infinitely along the lines, making almost random decisions about where the ball might go next. Beneath it was a plaque, on which a name was engraved, "Lorenz," and nothing else.

    Mostly around, there were many bookshelves, all filled with all kinds of books, and as Kanrel walked past, he could read their titles; it seemed that most of them were about chaos and things that were in relation to that. There is also a huge section of books that are about stars and things that are in space, like planets and such. There were many things Kanrel had never even heard about during his own studies. And he thought that he knew plenty about the skies.

    He took one at random, one that was named "The Stars and the Gods We Saw There."

    He read the first page of it: Before significant progress was made in the study of stars, we would find patterns in them, and we would call them constellations. One might see the shape of a bear in the sky and name it as such; in fact, before Kalma and his apotheosis, the people studied the skies, found the constellations, and gave them names; from there, they became gods we worshipped.

    But there were so many of them in the darkness of the night, and we did not know how far they were or why they were there, but they gave us direction; one star could be used to navigate one''s way towards the north, and it is said that the sailors of old used the stars for navigation as well.

    But as time went by and those who were before us died away and we became the Sharan, it was inevitable that we would find our own gods; the heroes of old and the oral tradition of their great deeds would give birth to many as such. Many gods of war and hunt, of harvest and love, of anything that we could think of¡ªthose heroes replaced the gods that were above. Instead, those heroes became the constellations, as they were named after them.

    And when Kalma, at last, came and conquered all that was below the heavens, they banned all other gods, for their magic was greater than all of the magic that was. He was the first to live long enough to become an immortal god.

    Now long gone were the gods of the skies, and the constellations were no longer likened to the heroes that became gods. Now Kalma was the sun; he was the moon and he was the stars; he was war and he was peace; he was love and he was hatred; he was all that there was and that there is.

    But who could deny him?

    Luckily, this book isn¡¯t about him; it is about the gods that were before, before the age of heroes, before we became the Sharan. This is a story about the constellations, the stars, and the gods who lived above us all.

    Kanrel placed the book back where he had taken it; if he had time, perhaps he would have read through it. If he had time, he would be able to read through all of these many books that were here, to read all that there was to know about the stars, about history related to stars, about planets, whatever they were, and about the chaos that was apparently around us all.

    He walked through the library, finding not a single other living being. The only other thing that moved here was the thing in the middle. The thing that was named Lorenz.

    He returned to the elevator and waited for the doors to open. He was greeted with two faces¡ªthe same two that had entered the elevator earlier. He greeted them, but they gave him no regard. So he got in and pressed the button for the third floor.

    In silence, he stood next to the other two as the elevator descended. Soon the doors opened, and the other two walked out to the first floor. As they left, they mentioned something about the Sharan of ¡°Don¡¯t Waste My Time With Useless Things.¡±

    Kanrel could only assume that such things weren¡¯t said about him but rather about the person on the third and final floor of the building. The doors closed once more, and the elevator began to ascend.

    The last floor of the building was just another circular room, but one that had its whole ceiling made out of glass, and the room wasn¡¯t much cleaner than the previous one. But at least there was another person here¡ªone who kept looking into a massive thing that pierced the glass ceiling and was pointed toward the dark skies, toward the stars.

    The thing that he saw was a massive telescope, a curious invention, one that would make an object that was far away so that you could see it as if that object were right before you and not perhaps hundreds of meters away. It is no wonder that an invention first invented for seafarers long ago was soon used to study the skies, the stars, and the many wonders that one could find there, but only when it was dark enough.

    The person that looked through the telescope was a grand figure, one who was fully covered in scales, perhaps even beneath the clothes that they wore, and as they looked through the scope, they at times wrote notes on a piece of paper on a table not too far away from them. The table was filled with papers, books, and all kinds of things. These papers were filled with numbers; perhaps they were counting stars; perhaps they marked down the coordinates of the stars they saw; perhaps they just named them.

    In a way, it was not difficult to assume who this person was. The Angel of Order and Chaos, the one who ruled the very same domain, and one who was so submerged with their own thoughts and interests that they barely noticed the world around them, for it had lost its interest to them. The stars held all that they wanted and ever desired. They were so stuck in the skies that they failed to see what had happened to the city they helped create. That they were supposed to rule over and defend.

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    The person who was above Trav and the duty that they had was one who had no interest in them, not toward the Sharan, the people who worked below them, or even the city they called home. When was the last time they left this room? When had they ever needed to leave this room? Had they spent their time here ever since the telescope was built? Perhaps so¡­

    Either way, Kanrel walked to them and demanded for them notice him, but their eyes remained at the telescope, and their vision was far from here. Even then, they still replied and spoke: ¡°If you are here again, about things that don¡¯t truly matter as much as you think they do, please leave; you can easily see that I am in the middle of something extremely important!¡± Their voice sounded annoyed¡ªthe voice of someone who was regularly asked for things they didn¡¯t deem important.

    ¡°Are you to decide the things that are important and aren¡¯t important?¡± Kanrel asked, with no other desire but to knock down the ego of a great being, or at least try to.

    The angel chuckled brightly. ¡°Yes, in fact, I know not many who would dare suggest otherwise... But I¡¯ll allow this transgression of yours and humor your thoughts, ask away your questions, and I will give answers to them that either satisfy them or not."

    ¡°Well¡­ First, your staff below needs more people; apparently, they are being actively worked to death. Second, this city of yours is a shithole ruined by corruption, and those who care do not do anything about it. Thirdly, for a creature who is so into order, you have somehow managed to give birth to a city in which chaos lives and for which that chaos is the only destiny it has.¡±

    Kanrel scoffed. ¡°But apparently it doesn¡¯t even matter; the city will fall either way, and there is no point in talking to a creature that could have saved it but chose to look at the stars instead."

    The angel was silent for a while, and soon they wrote some more notes before replying, ¡°Firstly, I am aware, and sadly for it, there can be nothing done; people who are born today have far less magic than they had a thousand years ago; secondly, corruption is inevitable and belongs to the nature that we all have; if there is a possibility in which one of us has the possibility to gain more, and the only cost is one that is paid by others, then why would I not partake in such corruption?¡±

    ¡°Thirdly, I do not only love order, but I also love chaos; such are the domains we all rule; the Sharan of Love and Hate does not only desire love, but they desire hatred as well. One cannot exist without the other, and if it did, would this world be as interesting as it is?¡±

    ¡°You see, whomever you are to speak to me the way you have spoken to me, this chaos you see is just another possibility that has presented itself to us; perhaps there was more order before, at least order that we could observe... But the chaos that is now, too, has an order to it, just one that for us is less apparent."

    ¡°In fact, I believe that there is nothing random or chaotic about anything; it just seems so, for we are small and we know so little, that everything that happens to us and in the world, in the entire universe, just seems so random and chaotic to us."

    "Perhaps if one could see it all in its entirety, they would find patterns within the randomness, and they could calculate how one thing led to another. You could call it destiny, but I call it a mathematical prophecy, one that fulfills itself based on the many variables that an object in space is affected by."

    ¡°And with those laws of physics that so dearly affect it and us all, all we then need is time, another dimension of sorts, for things to happen. If there were no time, nothing would happen, or so I believe, thus time, too, must just be another law that governs this reality that we inhabit.¡±

    ¡°But again, if you¡¯d see what I have seen, what I have imagined, and what I have thought, then you too could see how there are an infinite amount of possibilities that could happen, but only one of them does happen, for that just happened to be the most likely mathematical possibility.¡±

    ¡°All things in space are governed by this, but perhaps there is only one thing that, in a way, goes past, and it is people, us, and the decisions we make. Could this great equation, this mathematical prophecy, take us into account as well? Or are the things we decide to do far too complicated, far too random, for it to take account of?¡±

    ¡°But then again, the decisions we make and the actions that follow them¡ªisn''t there a pattern as well? There must be, are we not creatures that have fairly simple desires that govern our needs and thus our decisions?¡±

    "Then, perhaps, we too are stuck within this equation that we can¡¯t break away from. Perhaps we have to accept that the things we do and have done could only happen because the equation willed them to become so, and all that in the very first moment of creation. The birth of the universe and whatever or whoever decided to give birth to it, or if the equation willed itself to become a reality so that there could be this prophecy for it to fulfill and for us to live through.¡±

    "Oh, how magnificent is this world we inhabit? I wish that there would be a day when we could travel to the stars to see them for ourselves and perhaps touch them. Imagine that, us, touching gods?¡±

    The angel chuckled. ¡°How beautiful would that be?¡±

    Kanrel was left speechless. The impassioned speech of an angel and all of their thoughts gave him much to think about but still made him more furious than he was before.

    ¡°So you just don¡¯t care?¡± He asked.

    The angel chuckled once more. ¡°It is not that I don¡¯t care; it is that I don¡¯t mind the reality that is to come." At last, the angel left the telescope and faced the puny creature that stood behind them.

    Their face was that of a creature that had seen further than most, their eyes deep and gray, their gaze curious and never judgemental, one more aloof than anything else. "This, too, was known. All of this, everything that was to come, all the mistakes we had made and were to make along the way¡ªall of it would lead here. We knew that it would end the way it would; we were just powerless to stop that which was already known.

    They got up from their chair, perhaps to look down upon Kanrel, perhaps to show him what they were in all of their glory¡ªgolden, beautiful, and more powerful than anything that Kanrel could imagine.

    ¡°We tried; we all tried.¡± They spoke, ¡°And one by one, each of us gave up. Each of us chose to spend the little time there was to indulge in the things that we enjoyed, and was there anything wrong with that? If war is inevitable, and if that is what the equation has decided, then why deny it? Why not embrace the end that was designed for this city?¡±

    ¡°If only you could see what was shown to us, what the Sharan of Time had seen, what they shared with us." They smiled, and sadness was present there, a sad smile that had accepted how things would go. ¡°I had dreamed of greatness for this city; I had dreamed that together we could reach the stars... But it was not meant to be." They waved their hands. ¡°Leave¡­ Bother someone else, bother one of the others; perhaps Time could show you..."

    And one by one, everything that was around disappeared. It began slowly, but soon things dispersed rapidly: first papers, then whole sections of the wall, the floor, the ceiling, the telescope, and at last, the Angel that stood before, one who held their saddened smile until the end, until they, too, dispersed into nothingness.

    Now it was just dark.

 Chapter Fifty: Empty, Those Who Light the City

    Just darkness and nothing else. It was not cold, nor was it warm. He stood, even though there was no floor to stand on. There was no breeze, even if the walls had just moments ago dissipated. There was no silence, even when there was nothing. He could hear it. It beat in his own chest; it flowed in his own veins, the sound of blood gushing from within.

    A pulse. As if he had pressed both hands against his own ears. His own breath, one that began as slow and steady, one that was without a hint of panic or fear, quickened, and so did the pulse. Darkness and nothing else.

    It flashed white again and again until a person could be seen, lighting a streetlight in the middle of the dark. Slowly, the world returned, and it formed around the person¡ªa city now all too familiar to him. The person who had brought light to this world looked terrible; their eyes were sunken, and they were way too skinny for such a tall person.

    They began to cough, and from their pockets came out an old tissue, one that was dark red. They coughed into it, and afterward, they looked at it for a while, grimacing as they returned it back to their pocket. Then they carried on, wobbling to a small alleyway, disappearing from Kanrel''s sight.

    He went after them, running past the only light source in sight, and turned right to the alleyway, only to find the person collapsed next to the wall, their face pale, their breath barely there, and their once green eyes visibly foggy. Soon, they stopped breathing, and from their lips, a dark liquid began dripping down. Blood.

    Death. Just like that, right before his eyes, a person had died, and he could do nothing about it. He was not able to reach them before they died; he was unable to make contact with them; to ask, what had caused it.

    He took a step back, prepared to leave, but could he just leave a body here? He tried to form a code and a fire to burn the corpse left behind. But the magic was not there for him to use. It was locked somewhere; somewhere he could not touch it, thus he could not use it.

    He turned to leave, to return to the light that the person had produced before their untimely death. Only to be face-to-face with two people, both of whom had a varying degree of scales on their faces. One of them was quite small, but their eyes were callous and without worry, as they looked straight at the body that lay against the wall. The other just seemed bored, and they were the first to speak, ¡°It was clear that he would die soon; they all die so quickly.¡±

    The short one scoffed, ¡°Yes, but the city needs its lights; so this is but a small price to pay for the comfort we all receive.¡± They stepped past Kanrel as if he were not there.

    The other followed suit and soon kneeled over the body, examining it closely. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it so many times now, yet every time I wonder how it must have felt... You know¡­ depletion¡­¡±

    The short one shrugged, ¡°Probably empty... Perhaps cold¡­ This one seemed to cough blood as well. I find it curious that some of them do and others don''t. Maybe there are different conditions that affect the symptoms of depletion.¡±

    ¡°For example, this one had much less magic than those who don¡¯t cough blood before their death."

    The other one shook their head and said, ¡°I doubt it really matters, only that we might be able to figure out the ones that deplete first¡ªmakes collection much easier if nothing else.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ Now let¡¯s carry the poor bastard away from here, lest prying eyes take interest in our work.¡± The short one said, and with the help of the other, they lifted the corpse and began to carry it away.

    Kanrel didn¡¯t hesitate much and kept close to them, to see and find out where this person was to be taken and to find out who they were and who they worked for.

    In the darkness of the city, one only illuminated by the occasional streetlights in the District of Iron; they walked among the grand buildings and the cramped streets, alleyways that often felt like they would end up in a dead end, only there to be continuation for it¡ªanother cramped alleyway, at times a larger street. There were no other people around, but that was no surprise, for it must have been the dead of the night, and those who lived and worked in the District of Iron had no time for late-night outings or drinking till the next morning.

    Work was what was most important for most; without work, you have no money; without money, you have no food; without food, you starve; and starvation was for the poor. None wanted to be poor, yet more people were poor to a degree than anything else.

    Along the way, the couple had some small talk, and through this, Kanrel learned of their names: Ragen Ornful, the shorter person, and Georg Cascadun. They mostly talked about life; Georg was married and had some marital issues with their significant other; and Ragen was a self-titled ¡°solo for life,¡± who kept repeating throughout their conversation that marriages always ended as such.

    Soon they stopped at an alleyway that had multiple storage facilities adjacent to it; many locked doors populated the walls that formed the alleyway. The couple placed the body next to one of the doors. And Ragen for their pocket; from there, with a muffled rattling sound that soon became clear, a keychain was brought out.

    They carefully browsed through the keys until they found the correct one. ¡°They really should upgrade the locks here; such a bother to keep carrying a dozen keys with you everywhere," Ragen muttered as he opened the door; it opened with a loud creak of the hinges.

    ¡°I heard that magical locks are more affordable these days... It makes you think about the working conditions of those who produce them; it must be hell.¡± Georg said, ¡°But as you said before, it''s a small price to pay for such comfort.¡±

    Ragen scoffed, grabbed the corpse by its pits, and began dragging it in. ¡°Put on the lights, will you?¡±

    Georg went ahead and entered, with Kanrel following closely behind. Georg pressed something that was on the wall, and soon the rather massive storage room lit up, and Kanrel could now lay his eyes on a view that produced more questions than it gave.

    There were barrels made out of metal everywhere; most were open and their lids stacked neatly on the ground; only a few of them had lids on top of them; there was a smell in the air, one that reminded him of something¡ªsomething that he had smelled before.

    The corpse was dragged in, and the doors were soon closed with another loud creak of the hinges. The body was then dragged to a barrel that was open, and with the help of Georg, they lifted it in, and soon smoke began to rise from the barrel.

    Ragen quickly shut the barrel, placing a lid on top of it; they took from their other pocket a tissue with which they covered their nose and mouth; Georg did the same, and it was no wonder, for the smoke, either way, got out, but just less of it at a time, and the smell it produced almost made Kanrel puke. He lifted his shirt over his nose and took a few steps back.

    Jared, flames, and his charred corpse polluted his mind; the smell that it had produced; cooked flesh; the smell of a dead human burned. It had become clear what this room was, what these barrels were used for, and what the job of the couple who had brought the body here was.

    ¡°I wonder when they¡¯ll come pick up the full barrels. I never quite manage to see when they come to pick them up, nor do I have an idea of where they might take them." Georg said. Their voice was slightly muffled because of the tissue they held.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you want to know, and I don¡¯t want to know either." Ragen scoffed. Somewhere beneath their tissue, a diabolic smile must have been present, as they soon said, ¡°You know... The meat I¡¯ve had for dinner for the past couple of days has tasted weird.

    Georg glared at their co-worker. ¡°Stop.¡± They just said as Ragen laughed diabolically, they went for the door, and Georg followed suit, but Kanrel remained. The doors opened and soon closed again; the light was out, and only he was left in the darkness. Left waiting for the aforementioned collector, those who were supposed to come and take the full barrels with them...

    He didn¡¯t go and turn on the lights; instead, he waited in the darkness. His mind going through the things that he had learned just now and before. Death was truly unfair, and life remained more unfair. Life was unjust.

    What a ridiculous outcome! To work until death. Death? Truly, this world and this city are without things like justice and fairness. As if such things truly existed, other than as ideas that people chose to abide by when it suits them... And because of the selective nature of the Sharan, when faced with things that were certainly unjust, the two that he had just now followed seemed detached, callous, and uncaring for the person who had died before them. Perhaps toward the many that had become "depleted"...

    Everything was built upon ideals; a city and its people live around them; they are built upon them. And to manage building a society that cares not for the ideals it has been built upon, it can only first falter, then fall, only to burn into ashes in the end. Such was the future that was promised for N¡¯Sharan; such was the future that the Magi saw and then allowed to happen.

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    N¡¯Sharan¡­ the city of our desires, our dreams, and our hopes, a city to hold it all in; all that produces corruption and apathy; so detached from reality are its rulers, the gods who do nothing to fix it or save it.

    Destiny¡­ What a ridiculous concept made by people to be used as an excuse for their own inability to do good¡ªto change an outcome they have seen that they have helped to produce. A word used as an excuse to blame it instead of yourself for the mistakes that you have committed.

    Kanrel scoffed in his lonesomeness. Who was he to criticize such a system and such an outcome? He was no more than another fool who couldn¡¯t do anything about it, nor the many unrighteous things in the world¡ªnot just this world, but the reality from which he came.

    He could not stop murder or evil. He could not save all, and at best only a few, and only if they wanted to be saved, only if he was there to save them. What can one man do about the evils of the world?

    Surely goodness can win over evil only if everyone decides to do good and be good. Otherwise, those who wish to abuse and use, to take, and never give, will rule the world. What can anyone do? Ah¡­

    Was this not what the visions wanted to show him? That the ending of this city was the only justice that it could have? That its violent ending would become the antidote for the corrupt system and its corrupt leaders? A war to be rid of the old, to burn it all, for the people to fight, to die by their swords and spears, just to vow that after, there¡¯d be no more need for wars.

    Just for them to build another city, another kingdom, one with new ideals¡ªthose that, in the end, aren¡¯t much different from those that were before¡ªso that it could all start again¡ªthe cycle of empires.

    A war to birth peace. But will it? Will it ever be so simple? Won¡¯t it all fail again? Won''t the wrong people find their way above others so that they can abuse the system they helped create? Corruption would be born anew, it would return, and it would slowly rot it all from the inside.

    Another beautiful, ripe apple, one soon rotten to the core.

    Was there ever any hope for N¡¯Sharan? Were the Sharan truly destined to become extinct? And by whom, by their own hands, their own magics, and their own rulers¡ªthe Angels, which he solemnly believed in, which he loved and worshipped...

    Kanrel grimaced at himself and the thoughts that he now held¡ªthis doubt that grew with each experience and with each vision that was shown to him. They all sowed him with doubt; they all made him question what he believed in and what they all believed in. Everything that they had ever done, in the name of the Angels; everything...

    Were the gods he believed in evil? Were they not benevolent, gracious, and just?

    Kanrel almost spat; he almost cursed out loud; he almost gave in to his fury; for a moment, he had wished death for those gods that he so solemnly had prayed to.

    But it was stopped, not by himself nor by his belief, but by a sudden light that began in the middle of the room and soon expanded to each corner of it. The room was now lit; the light was bright and beautiful, and it was all around. And from the center of it all, a lonesome figure became reality, as if their body became true, one molecule of their existence at a time. A figure who was covered with scales, a figure who had a deep yearning in their eyes, a bothered expression for a creature almost eternal.

    With a relaxed movement of their right hand, the full barrels floated to them. They entered the center of the light produced by the creature, who, with now saddened eyes, accepted them. They soon voiced their thoughts out loud: ¡°Perished, the lights in their eyes; they enter darkness, they enter death."

    ¡°What have we done to become what we are?¡± They asked none but themselves. In a sudden moment, the light intensified; it became almost physical; it was so bright that Kanrel could not see the barrels anymore; he could see nothing; the light had blinded him; it had made everything dark, even in its majestic brightness.

    Then a wave of darkness flashed for a moment, the light dimmed, and before Kanrel, the barrels had lost their form; they did not exist anymore, not as they once had. Perhaps they were dust now, as were the bodies that had laid within.

    The Angel still remained; their bothered eyes scanned their surroundings, soon finding Kanrel, who stood before them, no longer blinded by their light.

    ¡°An intruder? A face I cannot remember." The Angel sounded confused and was soon furious. ¡°You must perish; our sins must not see the light of day." And with a raised hand that crumbled into a fist, Kanrel burned. He burned, and it hurt so much. He burned, and the brightness of the world became dark again.

    He burned, and he was unable to die. He burned, and his screams filled the world, and for perhaps eternity, only his screams could be heard. Until it stopped, and his body collapsed into the darkness, becoming cold with it once more...

    In the formless darkness, he lay. In the formless darkness, the only sounds that were heard were those that came from him. And even if he did lay, he could not be sure that he truly was lying down. He could be sitting down; he might even be floating, but there was no sensation as such, only the cold of the nothingness that had accepted him. There was no sensation to indicate that he was standing, sitting, or floating. Not anymore. The sensation that was before had dissipated.

    In this darkness, one only has things that are within. Thoughts and feelings. Despair for what is to exist. What is it like to live this life that he has been given? To experience these visions, none of which were pleasant in any way.

    Darkness. Could there not be anything else at all? Not another light produced by an Angel? A piercing light, something that would bring hope into existence. Something that would wake him from this darkness and lay him to rest in a house of warmth and joy. One that would free him from his own mind, from this world, from this prison, from these visions. He wanted to be free. To feel again, as he once might have. To never have made the decisions that had brought him here.

    Someone to give him what he had lost and return it all to him. To become human once more.

    Hope. Where lay hope? Where has hope gone? Where had it traveled, and why had it left him? When would it return, if ever?

    Light¡­ Return!

    But it did not return. Instead, a whisper touched him, and within it produced a thought: death.

    Was this death? Had he died? Had he so soon departed? Where was the end of thought? Why was he still allowed to suffer, to produce thoughts, to still yearn for those he loved, and to be filled with despair and torment for what he now lacked? If this was death, then this surely was the punishment for those who committed sin; for those who had murdered...

    Hope. Why can''t I feel it? Why can''t I touch you? Why?

    In the shadow of light, there is just darkness. And darkness is what covers all; it is what dominates all of existence. The stars are so dim, and the sun will never truly defeat the darkness of the world. Everything came from it, and everything will return to it. Everything was born from darkness, and the existence of light was just the lack of darkness.

    There was no hope. There was no lasting light. There was no justice. There was no fairness. There was just nothing. It would all end up being nothing. Nothing.

    Why must he be the one to go through all these cruel experiences? Why could it not be someone else? Anyone else?

    ¡°Stop, please make it stop!¡± He tried to scream into the darkness, but the darkness would not allow his voice to carry; it would not allow his voice to be heard; it would not allow for his anguish to have another form than that which was within.

    He should give up. But then he¡¯d be not much better than the Nine Magi, and in this darkness, there wasn¡¯t anything that he could do. There was no continuation of the dream or the visions that were forced upon him. There was just this, which was nothing. This, which was most definitely death¡­

    He tried to move, to kick, to hit, and to headbutt within the nothingness, but nothing would happen. He was motionless, just part of the darkness and nothing else.

    He tried to cry, but there were no tears to be shed for this waste of what had become his life, for this experience was no different from death. And what of his family¡ªhis friends or those who he had lived within the village? Would they remember him? Would they miss him? Would they cry for him? He would not return. If this was death, then there was nothing that would come after. There was nothing that would exist ever again¡ªjust these thoughts that would float around in his mind, these thoughts that would not leave him, of which he could never get rid of, which would plague him evermore.

    Hope? Was there truly no hope? Was there nothing at all? Just this?

    Nothing.

    ...

    Must you be so melodramatic? The Voice asked, their tone filled with amusement¡ªa tone that had taken much pleasure in the blight of another.

    Kanrel had no words to give, nothing good to say, and nothing else but terrible things to say to this unemphatic voice, this bastard, which was the source of his current pains¡ªthis voice that was nothing more than a bastard.

    To be quite frank with you, I had not expected the Sharan of Light and Darkness to be able to see you, but they were always the one who saw more clearly than most. The Voice said and soon chuckled.

    Kanrel remained silent.

    Kanrel Iduldian, are you perhaps dissatisfied with me?

    He remained silent.

    The Voice chuckled once more and said soon after, ¡°I have not had the chance to speak to another soul in perhaps eons¡ªI cannot lie that I take much pleasure in this; so you must forgive my seemingly callous nature; I tend to forget that you aren¡¯t as I am¡­

    But then again, those who are as I am could never break my loneliness as you have. The Voice muttered.

    Kanrel let out a long sigh. He closed his eyes, still in the darkness, and soon opened them again, only to find himself in a familiar room. His room; one that had his bed, one that had his desk, his cabinet, his wardrobe, his books, and his clothes. Everything that was his...

    The room was the room in which he had lived his childhood. And if that were correct, this room was in his mother¡¯s house, the Iduldian residence located in Lo¡¯Gran, the capital of the known world.

    A room where he had not slept in over a decade...

 Chapter Fifty-One: Visions From a Past

    Everything was far too familiar: the bed, the sheets of the bed, the colors of it all¡ªthe entirety of the room was as if he had just left it all those years ago. Nothing had changed, and it all smelled the same. The smell of home, a smell that takes you somewhere¡ªto another place, to another time. He remembered the morning when he had first found Deft, his long-dead cat.

    It was a morning like this; outside, it was cold. It was among the very first days of winter, the first day during which snow covered the streets and the roofs of the city. But now, out of habit, he found himself looking outside, at the backyard of the mansion in which he lived with only his mother and a few servants. Looking back, it was truly a privileged life, one with few difficulties.

    Sure, he might not know who his real parents were, but would such a thing matter? He had a mother¡ªa mother who was more real than the hurt dreams that he had as a child of a mother he never knew¡ªor a father who had abandoned him like his mother had.

    Back then, such thoughts hurt him; even later, they would haunt him, but he had perhaps grown out of them, as it was apparent that they didn¡¯t matter. The life he had lived was good, and the woman who had become his mother was even better.

    He scoffed at his thoughts and memories and instead stared at the snow that had covered the backyard. A man covered in clothes swept away the snow that had snowed on top of the pathway that connected the mansion with the servant''s quarters. The man who wore a serious expression at all times was none other than Jan, a servant who had worked for his mother longer than he had been alive.

    They weren¡¯t from a rich family, nor did they have, at first, an understanding of such things as manners or how to act or behave around those who came from a wealthy background. But they had learned quickly, and thus they were who they were. He was a serious man at all times who seldom smiled, but when he did smile, it was the smile of a jovial man and one who¡¯d joke and laugh about many things, some of which were a bit darker than what Kanrel could laugh at back then. Perhaps now, if he could find anything funny, he¡¯d laugh at Jan¡¯s deadpan humor and the sly smile that he would at times showcase to the world.

    They were a good man, but they too had passed away. Behind the mask the man wore, there was a man of deep empathy, a man who could not tolerate cruelty; behind the mask, there was a man who found Deft¡¯s death to be devastating. A man who died suddenly, without much explanation, without anything that anyone could have done to help him.

    The world, in its unfair way, gives and takes without rhyme or reason. It was perhaps another day like this when, out of sheer bad luck, he slipped while walking from the servant''s quarters to the estate itself. If it had not been so early in the morning, perhaps he could have been saved.

    He was found dead later that day; his skull had cracked open, and the cold soon claimed another soul.

    Looking now at that man, he not only felt nostalgic, but also a sense of sadness overcame him; it washed through him, and soon tears forced their way to his eyes. All the things that he had lost in life might all be here. During this time, he was still nothing more than a naive child.

    A house that was warm, a mother who he loved dearly, the servants who he found to be of great company, and a cat that taught him how to take care of another life. A simple room can hold such memories and emotions. Some of which were bitter, but most dear to his heart.

    ¡°If I were born again if such a thing could happen, I¡¯d like to start it here again, and if I would have to make every mistake to have this again, then I would do them; I would do them without hesitation.¡±

    ¡°Torment and regret, surely they exist, but to have these memories and the many feelings that come with them, for that I would trade all the torment that life can give me."

    It is clear that even if there is regret, then some things make all that regret worth it.

    He smiled faintly as he looked outside, perhaps out of habit, as he had done so as a child¡ªperhaps to relive a memory, even with all the bitterness and regret that had become mixed with it.

    A knock came from the door, and a voice soon followed it: ¡°Master Iduldian, breakfast will be soon served.¡± A voice that was not less familiar than the man outside. It was the voice of another servant, a woman named Dal, someone who he used to play with when he was younger, much before the beginning of his formal education.

    ¡°Coming!¡± Kanrel answered, not quite knowing why; other than that, it just felt right to do so.

    He was already dressed, and when he, at last, looked into the mirror that stood behind him, he saw himself as he was now. A skinny man with a stubble of a beard on his face, eyes deep in their sockets, a tired look that accompanied them, and a long nose that stood in the middle of his face. Black hair that looked like it had gone without washing for months. Slowly, he touched his face, seeing how bony it had become. His hands were cold against the warmth of his skin, and the coarse beard that he carried felt so out of place in the room where he now was.

    He had¡­ changed. His body was somehow much weaker than before, and his mind was confused with all these experiences, new and old¡ªall these memories that battled within to take hold of his thoughts for a moment longer. And how they would linger, leaving behind fear for the things that might come, and how this vision might soon change into another one; how his body might wither even more, how it might fall and never be able to walk again; how he''d never be able to see this room again, with his own eyes, to not be able to see his mother, to be held by her, just one last time.

    His hands fell from his face, and he left the mirror behind, opening the door from which a knock had come, and he stepped outside his room, outside the comforts of it and the uncomfortable thoughts that pierced through this vestige of better memories that would soon be forgotten. We all forget.

    The familiar corridor to which he stepped in, he used to run through it. With great haste, he would, as a child, run past the many doors of this corridor while on his way downstairs to have breakfast, lunch, dinner, or to go and play outside. Each time he did so, either his mother or the servant Dal would sternly remind him that running indoors was improper and even dangerous at times. But the ever-trustworthy Jan would just wink at Kanrel during such sermons as if to say that he¡¯d always be on his side.

    Jan was of the thought that a child ought to play, and getting hurt was part of play; it was useless to try shielding a child from the pains of the world, for they would end up always becoming a reality in every life that there is. In his words, "Suffering is an important part of the human experience; we must suffer so that we might learn to tolerate it, to battle through it, to overcome it, and to never succumb to it.¡±

    Kanrel reached the stairs that would bring him to the first floor; he looked down them, remembering how he¡¯d ride down the railings. There was one time that he had done so and then ended up falling from it as he reached the end of the railing. The next couple of days, he carefully avoided sitting down, insisting to his mother that he ought to make sure that he stands upright and that his posture should be made perfect, as it ought to be for a true gentleman.

    His mother, of course, knew what had happened and made no comment about his little accident; instead, she indulged in his wants and hired a dance tutor, as, in her words, there is no better way to learn how to stand upright than from the graceful art that is dance.

    Oh, how he hated it. Firstly, he had to keep holding hands with the tutor they hired for him, a beautiful but very stern woman whose only hobby and desire seemed to be just that: dance.

    Dance in itself was way more taxing on one¡¯s physical ability than one might think at first, and the rhythm one needed to have to not make any mistakes and to always keep in time was quite difficult at first. Later in life, Kanrel could, at times, still hear her counting to four and then pointing out when Kanrel had not been on time.

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    But he slowly, very slowly, learned to dance. Sadly, nothing ever came out of it. After a year of learning to dance, he never danced again; there was never a need for it, nor did he have the desire to do so. But now that he looked back on it, it had been fun, and the lady who taught him was much nicer than he had realized as a child.

    Perhaps¡­ He could dance again with her.

    He had stopped at the doorway to the dining hall. Deepened in such thoughts, he was submerged in remembrance of times gone by and of people he had not seen in over a decade. Of this childhood, which he so dearly remembered and longed for.

    But the reality was that this was all just a dream of sorts. And the things that had happened, he could not live through again, as they were. He had changed. Even if he longed for this, he was different from what he was then. Surely, he might want to live through it all again, but he could not. Such things weren¡¯t real. Even this, a vision, a dream, or whatever, was not real.

    You can¡¯t turn back time and relive the life that you have already lived. You can only remember it, and even that memory is not as true as you might think it to be. Memories are deceptive, and they are selective at best.

    He gritted his teeth. But can¡¯t he? Could he not turn back time? Could he, truly, not return to this time of innocence? Who is to say that you could not?

    There was, or is, an Angel, the Sharan of Time. The Angel of Time, of the Future, of the Past, and the Present. The Angel, who had seen the fall of N''Sharan and who had deemed it an impossibility to change such an outcome... Could they not turn back time? If they could see the future if they could see the past, and if they could see the present, could they then not change it to change them all?

    And thus, he entered the dining room of his childhood home. The table was garnished with all kinds of foods, some of which he had never seen before and some of which were never meant to be served as food. The table was long, and it was longer than it was in the reality from which he came, and at the end of the table, there was not a woman, whom he called a mother, but a face filled with scales, one who intensely looked at the human who had walked into their presence, into their dining room...

    With their eyes, they carefully studied the man that walked toward them; they carefully looked at the face, which they seemed to recognize for a reason or another; they observed as Kanrel sat down to the right of them and then met the gaze of time itself.

    It was the first time that, within this collection of visions or dreams, Kanrel felt that a person, or a creature within them, would truly see him, look at him, and witness him as he was.

    This creature, one far too familiar¡ªa face from a painting, one that was painted at the Cathedral in the Academy of the Heavenly. So small he felt again, an insignificant creature who looked up to a creature of great wisdom and sight.

    Within, he knew that this creature was none other than the Angel which was depicted most commonly as their god in many murals and paintings scattered all around the Kingdom. And to be seen by them, as they so carefully observed the man who had sat right next to them, felt like a blessing of acceptance. A god accepted the lowly creature that came to them for knowledge and guidance.

    If this was not a dream, Kanrel might¡¯ve fallen to his knees and prayed before this creature; he would¡¯ve prayed for so many things: for forgiveness, guidance, and help, first and foremost. If this was not a dream, this Angel would lead him to greener pastures; they would guide him to a paradise meant for him and other humans like him. Surely, a believer faced with God would be rewarded for his or her zealous nature in which they did as the Angels willed them to.

    But... Kanrel knew that he was not as zealous as one might ought to be. He was no different from a murderer, no different from a hypocrite, as he had believed so strongly in the tenants, the rules, and the laws that had been set for all of them who were in the Priesthood.

    Could he truly say and prove that the things that he had done were righteous and done according to and within the laws that he must abide by?

    He was not confident, and perhaps this doubt and lack of confidence could be seen in his face, as the Angel was the first to speak: ¡°You have no fear, to so brazenly walk to me, to take a seat on a table set for me¡ªand perhaps most curiously, you are not afraid to show such emotions on your face."

    ¡°I have seen you before, and I have waited for you; I have known that you would someday see this; see all of this... But what I had seen could never be as true as seeing your face, for on it I see it all¡ªeverything, all the sins that you believe that you have committed.¡±

    ¡°Yet worse is to come.¡± They said, and their voice was flat, an emotionless pit of sound that evenly felt like it expressed nothing; even the mentioned curiosity was far from their voice; it was not there to be heard.

    Kanrel wanted to say something but found no words. Before, he had just accusations and despair for the situation that he had become a part of and the things that he had seen in this confusing bundle of visions. He could not critique a creature that could so easily see it, that could so easily read it, and, perhaps, even feel it for themselves.

    ¡°Words are useless.¡± They whispered, and a soft smile sprung to their face. It twitched there for a moment as if they tried to comfort the man that sat before them, but that smile lived for just that singular twitch, and the solemn expression they held overtook it once more.

    ¡°But words are what you seek: confessions from creatures far beyond your understanding; to explain things, to explain N¡¯Sharan and why the things that happened to it happened."

    The Angel slowly stood up, and they spread their hands like the wings of a swan, ready to take flight, but as they did so, the room shifted and changed. The familiar dining hall turned into a circular room with many doors. Three, to be exact.

    The circular room had a dome-like ceiling, one that was garnished with engravings and murals; the floor was covered with mosaic, a depiction of something, perhaps a spiral. The meaning of the things that were there, perhaps just to make one ask questions about the reasons behind the existence of such things, was lost on him. Surely, they were all magnificent; surely, it must have been beautiful. And if he were a man like any other, wonder would have filled his insides and made him unable to move, touch, or harm the beauty that was all around.

    He sat alone on a chair, as the table had gone with all the food that had been set before him. He sat alone and looked around, finally standing as well.

    ¡°Rules,¡± the Angel suddenly announced, "are what govern the lives of people; the Sharan and your people alike." They stared right at Kanrel. ¡°And because of the rules that exist, I am not allowed to directly share with you the things that you want to know and that you need to know."

    They gestured toward a door that was right across from them. ¡°Thus, I can only show you, but partly, I can only answer you when you have seen some of it for yourself... I can only give you what you need if you can find me in the things that I will show you."

    ¡°I am the Sharan of Time.¡± They announced, and the door opened, ¡°And I will show you the past, and I will show you the present, and I will show you the future."

    ¡°Enter.¡± They commanded, and Kanrel felt his whole body tremble; it was caused by an emotion he could not recognize nor name; he trembled as he slowly walked toward the open door, one that held only darkness, one that enticed him to enter, one that soon flashed with a light that pierced through his vision and the darkness alike.

    Behind the door was a field, a green pasture, to which he took a step toward... He felt the wind on his face, the soft warmth that it brought with it; he could smell nature, the forest that was not too far away from him; and he could hear the song of a lonely bird that sang its song somewhere further away from him.

    Within, there was peace, but around him, there was the smell death.

 Chapter Fifty-Two: A Child, a Field and the Forest

    One might suggest that it is better to forget the atrocities of the past so that we might move past them and not let guilt, regret, or disgust come in the way of progress. And one would not be wrong to say that the Sharan had no past, as much as one could suggest that they had no future.

    The past that they had was one not fondly remembered, for who takes pride in millennia of slavery and war, or the outright destruction of the world that you called home, or the loss of the foundations upon which their society was built?

    In all of its unfairness, only a select few remember or care about that past. Is history not there for us to learn from so that we might avert the same mistakes that have been committed?

    But reality is what it is. The Sharan now and the Sharan then are not much different from each other; they are neither smarter nor wiser than those who lived before them, and the ones who still remain from such bygone eras carry in their hearts a burden of memory, one that refuses to be forgotten, one that instills its carrier with the most profound fear.

    In the first sunrise of the Sharan, there was no freedom; there was no peace as one might think of as peace; there was just slavery and unrest that only needed a spark to set it and all that was around it ablaze.

    On the pasture on which he had laid his eyes, a spot of intrigue remained, one that made him keep his eyes on it. The wind that had brought warmth to him and the smell that was first claimed by nature had an unnerving undertone.

    A child lay on the ground, his eyes closed and his body soiled with something dark. On his face, there were hints of ash. The child was skinny and malnourished at best. The blood that soiled his clothes was most likely not his own but someone else''s.

    Kanrel approached the boy, not looking around or witnessing the things that were there for him to see¡ªthe many things one should see and the many things one should not be blind to. Things one does not want to see but has to, for one reason or another, such things had to be seen; they have to be observed, for one who doesn¡¯t go through what is happening might never truly understand the horror of it all.

    Those who have truly known only peace¡ªwho are they to comment on war? Who are they to say to those who have experienced it¡ªto get over it or to demand they partake in it? To go through it again.

    As he slowly became more part of that which was on the other side of the door, only then could he hear and feel the world around him as it was. There were no birds who sang; there was no warmth in the wind that touched him; and the pasture was not much greener on this side of the door frame.

    And the child that lay all alone was one who should never have been there in the first place. The reasons for why he was there, why this had happened to him, or why it would happen to anyone were most definitely unfair. As if life just happens without a reason, as if these things, these terrible things have happened to him without a cause.

    Surely, one might say, there was a reason, but never one for which he could be blamed. And if that reason were his father or his grandfather, then who would be so callous as to blame the son for the crimes of his forefathers?

    Kanrel kneeled before the child, and from the wrist of the child he sought a pulse, and the pulse that he found was one that was faint and almost nonexistent. The boy, in his presumed innocence, looked like he belonged there. Like this place, it was one that he came from or at least one that would make him into a different man in the future. If, for him, there ever was a future...

    In the malnourished face of a child, he could see a twitch, a momentary reminder that the person who lay before him was, in fact, alive. And when they opened their eyes, and for a mere moment did Kanrel close his own, he soon opened his eyes to a different view than before.

    Above, there was the sky, and on that sky so blue, there traversed normal clouds far above him but also smoke that rose from somewhere past his field of vision. And when he tried to get up, his weakened body seemed not to respond at first. But slowly, he gained control of it. In his body, it all felt wrong; it felt weird and out of place. As if these hands were not his to use, as if these legs were not those that he had just before used to walk, and as if these eyes saw the world in a different hue than what he was used to.

    He slowly rose from the ground, his eyes meeting the edge of the forest and the charred pile that rose before him¡ªa place from which the smoke had come, a place where this smell came from. A place with a memory attached to it.

    The sun was red as it set far in the west. Around him, there were just pastures and flat fields, charred corpses, and signs of not a battle but of a massacre.

    Perhaps this field had once been covered with a golden hue; how wheat would cover it as far as eyes could see. But now, the color of the world, the color of the corpses, the color of the sunset¡ªit all matched this new and perverted vision of the world, and the smell of it all was more than fitting for the horror that had transpired here.

    He got up, but he felt shorter than he had been before, and the pile that rose before him was far greater than he had thought at first. Perhaps they were supposed to burn until the coming morrow, yet they had not. It was all here for the world to see and witness this thing that had happened, for reasons he could not name. To people, some of whom he felt like he had known...

    His eyes were ruined. His mind was torn and twisted into something it was not. Memories¡ªwhere are they to explain that which he now saw? To explain who he was or who he was supposed to be...

    Who am I, and why am I here?

    These questions, as disgust, reminded him of its existence and of how unnatural such a view was for someone like him to see. Yet there was something familiar about it, as if he had before, long before, seen what death was like. How he had lost. Oh, how he had lost so many, for reasons unknown and never explained to him. How he had loved his mother, his father, and his sisters. How much he had loved them all...

    Yet here he was. Alone. Why? Why was he here? Why was he not part of that pile of corpses? If there was something true that he remembered, was it this feeling that claimed that he should be a part of that pile? He felt criminal like he had broken something¡ªa law, a promise, something that he ought to keep...

    And then there was the forest.

    What makes someone walk into a forest? Why does it call for those who have nothing else but despair? So he took an uncertain step toward it, guiding his gaze away from the details of the things that had happened here. He should not see it; he should not carve the details of it all into his nascent mind.

    These are things he should never see, never explain, never observe, never rationalize, and never feel anything else except disgust toward them. Never feel thankful that you are awake and alive, yet those who lay there, charred and in pieces... In so many pieces. Why had they cut their hands? Why were there heads that were lost, not a part of the bodies that they claimed as their own? Never feel thankful for the fact that you are alive, and, well, well... well enough...

    Pain. In so much pain was this unfamiliar body, mangled and malnourished, not far from the grace of darkness that claimed those whom he might¡¯ve known, who he might¡¯ve loved, who might be not far from here, at the edge of the forest, among the charred bodies of a travesty that might have happened, which he should¡¯ve been a part of, among which he could¡¯ve laid. To feel at home among those who have died, to feel lost, alive, and enticed by the forest, enticed by its familiar call. They whisper, and they call for you to enter. They beckon you to take another step, to never stop, and to never look behind.

    He did not look behind as he entered the forest; he did not look behind to make sure that the bodies were still there. He did not look behind him to make sure that the memory of them would not taint his already tainted mind.

    The night falls, and so does the child who walks alone. His feet were unable to carry him as he now crawled on the forest floor, going deeper and deeper. The night would veil the bodies that lay behind, and the clouds that would burst with rain would wash away the sins committed by... by who?

    Those tears would fall and cover the earth, washing away the blood and the ash that covered parts of it. The night would veil all; it would cover it all; it would allow men to forget their deeds but instead be afraid of the bodies that might walk again, that might come and seek revenge. Restless, each night one would be restless as he who did evil would remember the things that he had done. Restless is the criminal who would have to accept that he is evil and that he could never sleep as he once perhaps had slept.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    There is no pity for such evil men, and there is no pity for the child that was left behind. There was no pity as he crawled deeper into the forest. Perhaps there he might find salvation, but oh, how the night is so dark and cold. Oh, how the rain hurts as it hits his back, his head, and his hands and legs.

    And at last, when one can no longer crawl or walk, one would have to come to a stop. Next to him was a spruce tree that was tall and mighty, one that would at least slightly shield him from the rain that pestered his way. But still, it was cold, and he shivered in that cold, and he shivered whilst trying to close his eyes to enter sleep or, better yet, death.

    His mind was empty, a formless nothingness with no other memories than the forest in which he now lay. This world is so cold. So cold are the drops of water that fall from above. So cold is the ground that he calls his bed, and so cold is the mind that refuses to fall asleep. He does not want to fall asleep.

    What if, in his dreams, he would find answers? What if there he¡¯d find memories? What if there he¡¯d remember? What if you¡¯d remember? Who wants to remember? He doesn''t; he would never want to remember.

    So let one forget and not find memories from one¡¯s dreams. Through the night he shivered, only thinking of that, shivering and the cold, his feet and hands numb by now, and if he tried to speak, no words could he form, as his lips and his face were so numb by now. This world is so cold. So cold is this forest.

    So he continued to crawl, now more slowly than yesterday. He crawled toward that same direction; he crawled without a true direction. He crawled, only shifting his direction if, in his way, there was a tree, a rock, or whatever that might be, but crawl he must, and crawl he would.

    In the end, he was bound to find someone who could help him, right? It had to be so; it must be so. There had to be someone who would save him, who would give him an understanding, who would give him a truth in which he could believe. Something that would lay him to rest, to dreams of not memories but of warmth and something... something familiar, something other than this.

    With no hope or anything that would remind him of such, he just crawled. At least, by now, the rain had come and gone, but the cold still remained. But what was worse, he wonders¡ªthe cold or the hunger?

    He just crawled and did nothing else; there was no reason to do anything else. Around him, there was nothing that he could eat, and there was nothing that could bring him warmth. Who the hell wants to be cold and hungry? Why had he even entered this forest? Why had he even awoken on that field? Where was he? Who was he? Who am I, and where am I going?

    There has to be something that would give him answers, something to feed him, or at least something to warm him. Something, a mother. A fire, yes, a fire. Oh, how he should lay among the dead¡ªthe many corpses that lay in the fires, which roast, they roast¡ªthat succulent meat was there but so far away. So hungry and so cold. Isn¡¯t there anything to give him release from this worthless waste of his fucking time?

    He stopped near a tree; he had no strength to continue. There was no will to get up or to even keep his eyes open. Death, there was always death. Wasn¡¯t there? Perhaps there was something there¡ªsomething in death¡ªthat could feed him and bring him warmth.

    On the moss-covered ground, which served as his deathbed, that moss grew all around him and covered most of the forest floor. So soft it was, even when it was made wet by the earlier rains. There¡¯s no reason to continue. There¡¯s no reason for him to find food, for him to find warmth, for him to find answers¡ªthere was no reason for anything at all. There was no reason to live.

    But there was a reason to sleep, to give up, and to never open one¡¯s eyes again. Slowly, he began to drift away. Slowly, there was nothing that he could think of. Nothing would claim his mind or make him do anything at all. Slowly, he would succumb to the darkness¡ªoh, how dark it was. Slowly, there was no more coldness, warmth, or sound that he cared for. There was, in fact, nothing.

    And the whisper he heard was as meaningless as the wind that carried him¡ªhow it tickled his ears. How it raised him up from the ground in a sudden motion¡ªthe yell that he heard that hit his temples but refused to truly register and enter his mind. He entered the darkness, and he entered it willingly.

    ¡­

    To dream without dreams, is there nothing more scary than that? Can you even prove that you are, in fact, alive if you can¡¯t even see dreams? Such nights scared him the most. To drift away into darkness and not dream at all. To only sleep and not experience the comfort of dreams. So scary, that was. And when he finally awoke from such nothingness, he felt rested but afraid and confused.

    Dreams: Each child needs to dream and to have dreams, but he has none. The bed in which he lay was not the deathbed that he had found for himself. It was just a bed; it was warm, but the blanket that covered him felt so heavy, and he thought that if he tried to move it away, he¡¯d be unable to do so. But would he want to move it away? There was finally warmth; why would he ever leave this warmth?

    His belly growled as he finally opened his eyes and witnessed the ceiling that was above him. A wooden ceiling, one that he had never seen before. He was so sure that he had never spent a night in a house before. And if he had, he would have done so only in dreams of such wealth and prosperity.

    In the air, there was the smell of something that made his stomach growl even more, and he could hear the crackling of fire from somewhere, as well as steps that now slowly approached him. He closed his eyes to make sure that the person who was walking toward him would not think that he was awake.

    The steps stopped right next to his bed, and the delicious smell of something grew even stronger as he heard the sound of someone placing, perhaps a plate, on top of the nightstand that was next to his bed.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re awake.¡± A coarse voice suddenly spoke. There was some amusement in this voice that had a very particular tone to it as if the person who spoke was not that used to speaking at all.

    His eyes sprang open, and soon he could see the face of an old man. His face was entirely covered with scales; his hands were the same; they were a creature, a man with considerable magical ability. And in their eyes, there was a shadow, one that, at times, would cover his irises, hinting at knowledge one could do better without.

    He didn¡¯t know why he knew what he knew. Why, almost instinctively, he could tell that the person who looked down on him was someone who had magical ability, and he didn''t even know how he knew of such abilities.

    The old man furrowed his brows and said, "Eat; we will talk when you¡¯ve recovered... I have many questions I wish to ask from you."

    The old man helped him to sit, and now he could see the bowl and its contents¡ªa green soup of some kind that didn¡¯t look too appetizing, yet its smell was wonderful¡ªor perhaps he just thought so because of the hunger. That same hunger made him extend his own hand toward a spoon that was set next to the bowl, but as he did so, he could see his own hands.

    For the first time, he could observe them as they were. Scaly, perhaps scalier than that of the old man. His hand stopped for a moment as he observed it and tried to remember if it was always like that.

    For some reason, it felt wrong yet right at the same time. His stomach growled again, reminding him of more important matters. Thus, he grabbed the spoon and soon began to scoop the weird-looking soup out of the bowl. The first bite was so warm, and its savory flavor filled his mouth. The first bite was one that had some hesitation in it, but the second one and those that followed were enthusiastic as he stuffed his face with more and more of it, quickly emptying the small bowl that had been brought to him.

    All the while the old man observed him, at times amused by his actions, and when the bowl was empty and the fragile child grabbed the bowl and began to lick it clean, did he snatch the bowl from him and mutter as he walked away, ¡°One bowl won¡¯t do, I see; perhaps by the second or the third you¡¯ll be satisfied..."

 Chapter Fifty-Three: A Cottage Far From Others

    There is tension in the air as the old man observes the eating child. On his face, there are so many questions that need answers that one finds it difficult to guess what the first question might be.

    So he decided that he¡¯d eat for as long as he could. He emptied the newly filled bowl that the man had brought him, then grabbed the bowl and extended both of his arms toward the man. He might see pity yet, and bring him another. This might buy him enough time to remember something of significance. Something useful that he might tell the old man. Perhaps a name, a place of origin, a quest, or a reason as to why he had entered the forest, but as far as he knew, there were no reasons for the things that he had experienced.

    The old man peered at the bowl, then at the boy, then scoffed and took the bowl, only to place it aside and ask his first question either way: ¡°Do you wish to stuff your face with more food to avert answering the questions that I might ask?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t answer; I already know that it is so." He eyed the boy from head to toe. ¡°Just looking at your frame and your physical state, it is more than obvious that you would not be able to fit another bowl."

    The boy could feel a slight redness come to his face. ¡°Want to see me try?¡± He found himself asking before being able to stop such words from coming out, or even before he thought of saying such words.

    The old man scoffed again. ¡°I¡¯ve no time for your childish games, but to see you try and fail, is there anything else that could amuse me more greatly?¡±

    ¡°But I digress. I have no time for useless conversation; instead, I''ve got many questions that need answering, so let us begin."

    ¡°What is your name, and why are you here?¡±

    The boy could only answer in one way. He shrugged slightly, only to cause almost an instant frown on the face of his savior.

    ¡°I see, and I assume that to the next question, you¡¯d answer the same way? Am I dealing with an amnesiac, or worse, a child with no recollection of memory at all? Or perhaps a disobedient child who has no respect toward his savior?¡±

    The boy shrugged again, and soon he could observe the old man¡¯s reaction to such words: a simple smile, one filled with something he could not name, perhaps a revelation that the old man had gone through.

    The old man soon shook his head, the frown leaving his face. ¡°A nameless child..."

    ¡°What a world we live in.¡± He muttered to himself and soon met the eyes of the boy. ¡°You have nothing, and for a lack of better things to do or other people to care for, I will give you something so that you no longer have nothing.¡±

    ¡°A name.¡± The old man got up from the chair and seemed to ponder for a moment before a momentary smile found itself on his scaly face. He chuckled humorlessly. "Ignar... one could say that it describes you almost perfectly.

    ¡°For aren¡¯t there many things you know nothing about, especially things that are, perhaps, the most important for oneself?"

    ¡°Ignar, that shall be your name, and this house will be your house, and I will be your father and your teacher. I will feed and clothe you, and I will keep you warm. And to pay for such things, you will, in return, work for me.¡± The old man explained, and from his face, the memory of a smile had run away, and all there was left was a man who knew something about him that Ignar himself did not.

    The child sat in silence, observing the face of the man that he¡¯d call father. But to trust this man, how could he? Even if he did feed and educate him, he knew nothing about this man. And to know a man, one has to start somewhere: ¡°And what, then, is your name?¡±

    The old man stared at him, then smiled slightly. ¡°Someone more ignorant than you, yet somehow more knowledgeable... My name is Kalla, and the name of my father..." For a moment, on his face, sadness could be seen: "He knows only war and death, and in his name, he carries the same."

    ¡°But alas, you still need time to heal; perhaps another bowl is what you need¡ªperhaps a day or two in bed, who knows? But we will discuss more things in the future, about things that you have to do and how you can help an old man." Kalla said, at last, he took the bowl with him and soon brought him another bowl full of soup. ¡°Just don¡¯t engorge it this time¡ªit is never good for one to eat too fast or too much.¡±

    So Ignar ate, and whilst eating, he pondered this new name that he was given and the strange feeling it gave him. There was something about it that felt familiar as if he had heard someone being called as such. Perhaps it was a memory he had now forgotten that tried to push its way past the veil of forgetfulness to be remembered once again.

    The next few days he spent recovering, hardly saying a word, as there seemed to be no need for words, for Kalla would provide for him all the things that he might need. The rough-seeming old man was much more gentle than one might think¡ªperhaps, before, they had had a child of their own, one who had grown up long ago and left the haven of home.

    But the old man never mentioned such a hypothetical child, nor did he speak much about himself; when he spoke, he only asked how Ignar was, how he was feeling, whether he was hungry, tired, or really anything. All this was to make sure that his new child would be alright.

    For some reason, Ignar felt like he never truly had a father, not before, yet still, he had an understanding that such a thing as a father had existed and had perished in the fires that raged, as a part of a large pile, a collection of the deceased. The mangled men and women were slain for reasons unknown.

    A horrifying vision of it kept playing itself in his head, in his sleep, and even in the moments he thought that he was free from it. Yet his reaction was not one made out of horror or disgust, as one should feel about such things, but rather a strange detachment from it all. He understood that such terrible things had happened, but they felt so unreal, too horrible for one to truly be able to comprehend them as such.

    Perhaps this was a way for a child to keep his mind sane and to keep hold of some sort of faith in people and the future of the Sharan.

    As the days went by, he noticed many things about the old man that were quite interesting. Like, how he¡¯d have tea at specific times of the day, and how he¡¯d always take two walks outside, strolls during which, at first, Ignar did not attend but later on would.

    The man would simply, fairly leisurely, walk in the woods. He¡¯d always take the same path, one that would take about thirty minutes for him to finish. This path would take him to the edge of the forest, from where he¡¯d be able to see fields and a village fairly far away from him.

    The village was a place that he¡¯d visit at times, mainly to purchase goods and sometimes to offer his services as a medicine man and a teacher. Kalla explained that he didn¡¯t do such things out of pure goodwill but to always receive something that was worth his time. Sometimes, it would be wealth or food, but the village was fairly poor, so he most often received food as a reward.

    And when he got neither, he knew that he would get the appreciation of the people. His good deeds would be noticed by the villagers, and this would make them treat him more fairly and with more goodwill.

    Explained like this, the simple act of doing a good thing seemed like a calculated move. But from the outside, it was apparent that he was a calculative man; he would be one to think of things like social status and the worth of making an action that gave no apparent rewards.

    Soon, Ignar could do things normally. But never did he feel quite normal; his body still felt strange to him, and so did the holes of memory and assumptions of memories that he couldn¡¯t remember but could instead feel.

    If asked a question about his past life, he could not answer with certainty, but about things, he had a feeling that it could be true and that it made sense to be true.

    But what felt the strangest were the answers that he gave, for they weren¡¯t always the answers that he would give; often the answer that he¡¯d say out loud would be something that he had never even thought of. It was almost like he didn¡¯t make decisions based on what he thought, but instead, a strange intuition made him do something that he barely had any control over.

    But as he felt more "normal," Kalla finally decided that he should start paying for the transaction that they had made. For fatherhood and its benefits, such as a name, Ignar ought to work. So he worked, at times feeling annoyed by the little tasks that the old man would make him do.

    They were mostly menial tasks, like cleaning and washing clothes and dishes and even chopping firewood to be stored for the coming winter and used for cooking. For some reason, he was not allowed to use magic for these tasks.

    Kalla didn¡¯t explain why, but Ignar assumed that it had to do something with his withered frame¡ªthis body that needed food and muscles to grow¡ªto be more useful and healthier in the long run.

    At first, things like chopping firewood felt like a great labor, one that would take hours to finish, but as the days went by, then weeks, and finally months, the seasons changed, and so did his body. He was no longer skinny and malnourished, but instead fairly strong for his age; he had slowly turned into what any well-fed farmer¡¯s child would be.

    Happy with how things were, Kalla decided that to challenge Ignar more, he should teach him things like writing and reading, things like controlling one¡¯s innate magical abilities, the history of the world, and other things any man ought to know.

    In the cabin, there was a large collection of books, some of which were written by the old man himself, but mostly books that he had collected during his travels as a much younger man. Books about history, books that held philosophical dialogue from times long past, and books that had no other purpose except to entertain.

    Ignar already had an inclination that the old man was someone who had seen many things, and the first time that he laid his eyes on the bookshelf, he figured that the man was well-educated as well. He was someone who held himself with a certain dignity, although he often contradicted this dignity with a cruel joke about an event or a group of people Ignar had never heard of before. But then, he¡¯d soon return to that visage of dignity and wisdom by adding a philosophical realization a given joke had brought to him.

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    Half of the time, Ignar could barely understand what the man was talking about. Perhaps it was because of how little he knew about things that Kalla knew about. Or it was simply because the man himself was enigmatic and obscure at best, or he was lacking in the ability to have a normal conversation with those less educated than himself.

    Either way, his father, Kalla, had become someone he deeply cared for and respected, and he learned to value the things that he was taught, though the practical need for some of the things that he was taught was yet to be seen.

    ¡°Boy¡­ What do you think of good and evil?¡± Kalla had, during one of their study sessions, asked a question that came almost out of nowhere, and prior to this question, they were simply studying a history book, one that dealt with the times and wars that led to Kalma¡¯s ascension.

    He had to think for a moment since it felt like Kalla never asked a question without being ready to correct an opinion or an assumption that he thought to be wrong, and the little game that he had developed was to figure out the answer before the old man was to give him the correct answer.

    "Perhaps they are words and concepts that we use to describe things that are for or against our own morals." Ignar guessed.

    Kalla nodded. ¡°Sure, that explains what they might be, but it doesn¡¯t answer my initial questions, so let me ask it again."

    ¡°What do you think of good and evil?¡± He asked again.

    He pondered through the question again; in a way, he had answered it correctly, but apparently, he had answered incorrectly.

    ¡°I think that there is no good or evil; I think they are just words. I think that and my previous answer is my answer to your question.¡± Ignar answered at last.

    Kalla nodded. ¡°Then what is good and what is evil? If they are just words that, depending on the person, have different meanings, then what to you are the things that make good good and evil evil?¡±

    ¡°I suppose¡­ A good thing is something that has fewer negatives attached to it, like, does this good thing produce happiness for me or for the people around me? If it does produce happiness, then it must be good. And if it produces unhappiness or pain, then it must be evil.¡± He answered.

    Kalla smiled. ¡°So good and evil, to you, are just happiness and unhappiness? Pain and painlessness?¡±

    ¡°In a way, yes.¡±

    ¡°Then we agree to a degree... I believe that things like good and evil are indeed subjective truths, but mostly, if you look at the history of the Sharan, then the things that are evil are things that produce suffering, and often that suffering is suffering that has no reason to exist.¡±

    ¡°For example, if I go and murder another, I might not suffer for it, but the person who dies will suffer the pain of death, and if they have a family, then they would suffer the pain of loss.¡±

    "But if I were to kill them all, and if there is none to suffer from loss, then is it then evil?¡±

    ¡°And if good or goodness is just the lack of pain, suffering, or happiness, are things that just are and do nothing, by nature, good? Or does something good or evil, to be defined as such, have to be behind an action?¡±

    ¡°Can a tree be good or evil? Or is it just something for creatures that can think of concepts like good and evil?¡±

    ¡°Is there nothing that is by nature good or evil, and for it to be so, does it need a mind to perceive it as such?¡± Kalla said, not really giving answers but instead more questions.

    ¡°Then what is good and evil?¡± Ignar asked.

    Kalla scoffed, ¡°A great question to which only you yourself can give an answer, for I believe what I¡¯ve said: There is no good or evil in nature; it only exists for those who think of such things and then judge it upon others.¡±

    ¡°But if it exists in thought, why not just claim that it exists? Does it not have an effect on people either way?¡± Ignar asked.

    ¡°Sure, we can claim that thoughts exist; many things that don¡¯t actually exist we bring to reality in this way; things like laws and concepts like righteousness, things like good and evil; we think that they exist, and for us, they do exist, but like laws, they only exist as such if they can be enforced, right?¡±

    ¡°A tree has none of these things, but we may decide one day that a tree has such things; they don¡¯t in reality, as physical phenomena have such things, and it is clear that our decision of good or evil, righteousness or laws, or anything really, will not have any effect on the tree until we take physical action toward it. So is the same for people.¡±

    ¡°A tree remains uncut as long as someone takes a physical action towards it, an axe, and takes it down; the same is true for us.¡±

    ¡°Thus, such things exist, yet they do not exist; and if we take action inspired by such thoughts, then we might as well claim that the thought itself exists, as it has manifested itself into reality, into a physical shape, from action done by men.¡±

    ¡°The same is for good and evil; in reality, they do not exist, but then we give meaning to an action which we have committed or that someone else has committed, and under the scrutiny of our eyes, the action which we judge then becomes good or evil.¡±

    "But, I suppose, the issue is that there are many eyes that then judge an action committed by someone else. For each of those pairs of eyes, a different understanding of good and evil might exist. Then who is to claim that whose understanding of good and evil is more correct than the one of the men next to you?¡±

    ¡°So I again ask my question: What do you think of good and evil?¡± Kalla finally finished his thought with yet another question.

    In silence, Ignar was left with just the echoes of the words that Kalla had spoken.

    ¡°I think that it is a complicated mess.¡± He answered after a few moments of silence and deep contemplation.

    Kalla smiled widely. ¡°And I completely agree with you; what a mess and what a waste of everyone¡¯s time to even ponder or argue about..."

    ¡°But then again, such arguments are necessary, for how else is a collective of people to agree upon such fundamental things, like good or evil, when questions about such very things often lead to ethics, morals, and laws?"

    "Obviously, evil is evil, and good is good; for us, this is only obvious because together we¡¯ve decided which is which, what they mean, and even why they exist,¡± Kalla exclaimed, then shut the book he was reading before his long rant.

    ¡°Why I went on this rant in the first place is for the very study of history. We study an event, let¡¯s say a war, and for us, it is easy to say the evils of said war, but for them, at that time, perhaps the understanding of what is good or evil, and right or wrong, is by their societal definition very different to ours.¡±

    ¡°And this book,¡± he said and tapped the cover of the book, ¡°was most definitely written by someone after the war, possibly by a historian, who agreed or disagreed on the wars or the actions that were taken during the wars. This someone gives us another view on the things that transpired; what we have to understand is not only the beliefs of those who fought in the wars or commanded the armies during the wars, but also the beliefs of the person who wrote about the wars, and then our beliefs.¡±

    ¡°There are many things with which we might agree or disagree, but to truly understand why something was done, one has to understand the person who made the decision and what the things were that led them to those decisions. And there may be numerous reasons, personal and societal.¡±

    ¡°But do not forget that one often veils their committed crimes behind a story¡ªa personal reflection on how they were led here, to a point in time where they have now committed said crimes.¡±

    ¡°But that story, however sad it might be, those crimes still exist, and a sad story is never a good enough reason to commit them.¡±

    ¡°We all have a story, they say, even those who we hate; even those who have committed the most heinous acts of terror and/or murder; their stories might touch us; the difficulties they might have gone through in their lives are the very same ones that led them here. They, too, might be victims of an unfair system.¡±

    ¡°But what you must have noticed is that many have gone through similar and even worse things, yet they have not done similar or worse things."

    ¡°A story, however sad it might be, will never excuse such acts; it will never make it just.¡±

    ¡°You see, boy, our inner truth is the lie we construct to be able to live with the misery of our actual lies.¡±

    ¡°And the mask we show the world is the story that we chose to share with it.¡±

    ¡°History, even in its tendency to be nonpartial and truthful to reality, is also a story. One might have more facts right than the one told at a nearby pub, but it too is often made victim to this inner truth, which we so much like to reflect in our masks.¡±

    ¡°And the history that we, the winning side of all of these wars that have happened, have constructed is one that is constructed by us, with the facts that we¡¯ve provided and the truths that we believe in; history is the story that holds the mask of our society.¡±

    "We, the Sharan, believe in our heavenly right, as much as did the many other nations and ethnicities that we conquered, enslaved, and cleansed from this earth.¡±

    The old man scoffed, "The Sharan... What a self-indulgent name for our people... ¡®The Heavenly¡¯¡­¡±

    ¡°There is truly nothing ''sharan'' about us, boy."

    He then spat at the fireplace, ¡°We are more like the ''Tarna,'' the enslaved... Our history is the proof of it, and in our present, we are forced to dance to the fine tune of our all-loving father, Kalma."

    ¡°And boy, never ask me about the future... If I have nothing good to say about the past or the present, then just imagine how little I have to say about the future.¡±

    They had many such conversations, and it made clear the pessimistic view of the world that Kalla had of many things, like their divine leader Kalma, the future and the past of their people, and even the taste of pea soup. Since surely last week, it tasted much better than today!

    Perhaps the old man had once been an aspiring idealist, one who had believed that goodness would, in the end, conquer all evil and that the world would slowly turn into a better place for all, but when one gets dissatisfied with the reality with which they are presented, what else will one become other than pessimistic and cynical toward that which was, which is, and which is to come?

 Chapter Fifty-Four: An Invitation

    He lay on the grass covered ground of a clearing in the forest, a place where Kalla would often take down a tree for Ignar to chop into smaller logs for storage later. His back was against a birch stump that was left there from yesterday''s hard work. It was sort of a reminder that that day had actually happened, and it was not just a dream or a memory so fragmented you could hardly remember which tree you felled.

    Perhaps months from now, he might not even be sure if he himself had chopped down the tree into logs, or if it had been another, someone else entirely, perhaps Kalla in his lonesome.

    Above, the clouds drifted past, uncovering a blue sky as the sunrays placed themselves on his face. He supposed that life was beautiful, wonderful, even. But he was unsure if the feelings he felt were real or somehow unreal. Somehow something that didn¡¯t innately belong to him.

    It felt wrong, but somehow this ability to experience such things felt nostalgic. It felt like something that he had dearly missed. It was something that he had been without for so long, something that was nothing more than a memory unlocked by nostalgia and the melancholic moments in which you dream about the past¡ªthe past self that was more pleasant than the one that you had become. One that was less bitter about the change that had occurred; one that was you, but someone else entirely... One that you wished to find again, to rekindle the you that you once were.

    But why? He was not someone else, nor did he have a memory of being someone else, nor did he have that self that he desired to become again. Or was there? And if there were, surely that boy that he was was someone who he would not like to be again.

    Time was a curious topic, one that he had pondered for a while now. One day, you have just arrived at this cottage, which was practically in the middle of nowhere, but the next day, one that is years from that aforementioned day, is suddenly here.

    It was as if yesterday he had been that skinny boy in despair, one without hope, and now he had become a young man, and days just felt like they went by so quickly. Before, a day and its many moments sometimes felt like an eternity. As if the work and studying that he had to go through almost every day felt boring, but somehow something he could barely remember.

    When he was younger, it felt like he could remember every day in detail; every insignificant interaction or moment when he found himself chopping firewood was a moment worth remembering. But now, he couldn¡¯t tell which stumps were of his creation or which days he learned something new and wonderful.

    The days molded and transformed into one, a collection of things, of memories which he could barely place in order, and most of what was in between was forgotten, or just momentarily lost its importance as a memory, and thus recluded somewhere deep into his memories, waiting to be one day activated, to be remembered again, perhaps in a sentimental moment, perhaps once again facing a stump like this, or a page in a book that he had read before, then sparking those thoughts to be remembered in a moment of bliss, of yearning for simpler times and a simpler image of self.

    He wondered if he would have a moment like that in the future; if he would fondly remember times like these, maybe they would shield him from the suppressed trauma that sometimes returned to him in nightmares, a field and a pile of bodies, ash, and the smell of death. Sometimes he would see a dream in which he would be aimlessly walking forward in the forest, then collapsing and soon losing consciousness, only to again wake up in the bed that had become his since that day.

    But moments like these, when he could just leisurely spend his free time in deep thought and reflecting on things that seemed important even though they might¡¯ve not been that important, were the moments he enjoyed the most. He couldn¡¯t help but smile because of this thought, and a smile seldom goes unnoticed.

    ¡°A beautiful day, isn¡¯t it?¡± A sudden voice suddenly spoke somewhere behind him. The voice contained a hint of hesitation.

    He could feel the heart in his chest begin to beat ever so slightly faster, and with that, a question rose into his mind: What the hell is he supposed to answer, and how is one supposed to talk to people you don¡¯t know or are not prepared to speak to?

    "Uh, I suppose¡ªit is a bit too warm for my liking, but as one has no work to do, then it is somehow fine.¡± He answered soon after, finding the words that he wanted to say or had to say at that moment, lest there be a long moment of awkward silence.

    Finally, he decided to get up and face the person he was supposed to have a normal conversation with. As he got up, to his surprise, he found a person who wore light armor and a sword on her hip; she didn¡¯t have a helmet on, so he could freely observe her facial features and expressions.

    On her face, there was a stern expression, which perhaps hinted that the person was one who would carefully follow orders in an orderly fashion. Maybe she would be someone who would take everything seriously.

    She was probably a lot older than he was, and the way she carefully kept her hand on the pommel of her saber was somehow leisurely and non-aggressive. But she was clearly ready to slice him in two if he ever made any sudden movements.

    She eyed him from head to toe and then looked past him, observing the clearing that she had just found out about. ¡°Chopping wood is indeed hard work¡ªdo you perhaps live in the nearby village?¡±

    Ignar shook his head. ¡°I live in a cottage nearby.¡±

    ¡°That does make a lot more sense; falling trees so far away from the village does seem unnecessarily time-consuming.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, and even still, the cottage I call home is perhaps a mile from here; my father insists that we fall the trees further away from our house and then carry them there.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°He says that it does good for a young man to see hard labor as if doing it close to the house wouldn¡¯t be hard labor.¡±

    She blinked her eyes. ¡°Your father sounds awfully authoritarian, so a man to my liking.¡±

    Ignar scoffed. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll soon meet him, and then you can decide for yourself; I for one believe that he is far too authoritarian.¡±

    The woman shrugged. ¡°The man I work for is similar, and perhaps much more than your father, but yes, I would like to see him for myself. Could you show me the way to your father?¡±

    Should he? She had a sword with her, and she wore armor; she was someone ready for combat at all times, and the scales that covered her face told a story of great magic¡ªless than his father, but still. Combat wasn¡¯t always about who was seemingly the more powerful one; skill would always be above raw power.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t really like meeting new people." He said at last, and as he was about to deny her, he noticed how her grip around the pommel of her sword shifted: ¡°But we don¡¯t really own this forest, now do we? And just between you and me, if he then becomes angry with me, could you, you know, put in a good word for me? Maybe you can tell him that you kind of forced me to show you the way, or something?¡±

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    She seemed to hesitate for a moment; her grip had shifted its way around the handle of her sword, and her eyes observed carefully the boy that stood before her. To her, he seemed anxious, and she must have noticed that he had noticed the shift in her grip around the sword.

    She sighed and let her hand fall from her sword. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    Ignar smiled widely. ¡°For that, I would be most grateful; besides, he never lets me leave the forest, so I never get to meet new people, so maybe this will make him angry enough to banish me from our home?¡± He said and began walking toward the direction where the cottage would be. He made sure not to look behind to see if she would follow him or not. His heart beat faster than it was necessary, and he felt like he could barely keep up the jolly mask on his face.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put that past him." The woman muttered, but Ignar was already far enough away and too deep in his own thoughts to hear her.

    For some reason, he wasn¡¯t as afraid as he thought that he should be. This woman was obviously someone he didn¡¯t know, nor was she someone that he could so easily or openly trust. And the sword on her hip was basically an active threat of violence; why else would she carry one?

    Sure, it could be for self-protection, but why have something like that when she had the face that she had, one full of scales, no less than his or Kalla''s? So perhaps the sword served as something else; perhaps it told the world what her work was and who she worked for.

    A soldier, no less. Perhaps someone higher on the old military rankings, but to make a guess, it was unlikely that she would be higher than a sergeant, for who would send a second lieutenant or higher to some woods?

    Maybe she had gone rogue, or maybe she was an assassin sent here to kill his old father; after all, his father was old and often very unlikeable, so whoever would want to kill him probably had a reason to do so. For some reason, Ignar felt that it would be easier to name the people that Kalla hadn¡¯t offended.

    But with such thoughts, as they walked in the woods, by now they both could easily see the cabin in the woods and for his mind, there would be no rest given, as he uselessly thought of things that might help him in combat or with just running away.

    Even if he understood that hate for Kalla and wanting his death were most likely fairly reasonable wants given the man¡¯s personality, he still wouldn¡¯t want him to die. He was, after all, his father.

    And for any son, would it be easy to witness, aid, or even be the cause of death for his very own father? But alas, they had reached the door, and the woman was right behind him, ready for anything and all that might be behind the door or any action that Ignar might take in such a moment.

    And it was obvious, for both of them, that Ignar was hesitating, and they both knew that whatever action he took, his death would then be instantaneous.

    So, visibly defeated, he opened the door. ¡°Dad? We have a visitor!¡± He exclaimed as soon as he could; at least then no one could blame that he hadn¡¯t tried warning his own father of the possible death that would soon enter through the front door.

    Ignar could now see Kalla sitting on his chair, fiddling with a pencil in his fingers, and staring right back at them. On his face, there was no surprise and soon a wicked smile. ¡°Erjen, oh, how I¡¯ve waited for you!¡± He exclaimed dramatically and got up from his chair, only to scoff and sit back down. ¡°Come in, oh, won¡¯t you come in... But please, try to keep that bad luck of yours on the other side. Then again, I suppose that for you that is impossible since you always bear such great news with you.¡± He continued with his tone, becoming more sarcastic with each sentence.

    Erjen stepped past Ignar; on her lips there seemed to be a slight smile as she said, ¡°It is always a pleasure to speak to a man no less senile than my own father. Since you have guessed the reasons why I am here, then you might as well share these reasons with me as well; perhaps we can match our stories, you know, for the coming accusations of collusion.¡±

    ¡°Senile? Me? Perhaps, but colluding? For that, we would need evidence."

    It was Erjen¡¯s turn to scoff: ¡°I and half of the Empire know of your talents in the art of collusion, treachery, torture, and questionable investigation methods, which also happen to be among the reasons why I am sent here and why you are needed back once more.¡±

    ¡°How lovely!" Kalla shook his head and stared at Ignar for a moment. ¡°Boy, witness how a man can never run away from his own shadow, not his crimes, nor from his presumed virtues, and then witness how neither of those are for me or you to judge, but the big man himself.¡±

    His gaze drifted back to the woman, who had begun investigating the things that she could see inside the cottage. ¡°Say, what do you know about gods?¡±

    Erjen stopped and slowly turned around. On her face, there was a warning.

    ¡°Is this a question for me or her?¡± Ignar asked as silence seemed to be the only answer for a moment.

    Kalla smiled, ¡°Well, you, of course.¡±

    ¡°I suppose, if you look at it through the eyes of history, they are men and women who were elevated to that level by people who lived long after those presumed gods. Then there is the big question of faith, and how does one even explain that, since it seems to be far more complex than a simple does exist or doesn¡¯t exist question."

    ¡°So gods are just people, like you and I?¡± Kalla asked, and Ignar nodded in response.

    ¡°See how well I¡¯ve raised my son? Giving textbook answers and everything, and if I were to push him further on this question, he would come out as an atheist, or so I would hope.¡±

    ¡°But it is interesting since his father isn¡¯t an atheist but rather a staunch believer and a renowned theist.¡± Kalla quickly added, ¡°So, what is the word of the Lord on this beautiful day?¡±

    Erjen peered at him from under her brows and even gave Ignar a slight look. ¡°He wants you back.¡±

    Kalla grimaced. ¡°And why, exactly?¡±

    Erjen smiled. "I can''t really say here; I don¡¯t want to actually be accused of collusion."

    Kalla raised his brows and, with a defeated smile, announced, ¡°Exciting news, Ignar, my son, we are going to the Court of the Almighty! There you might, for yourself, decide if gods are men or the other way around."

    He got up from his chair and stared at Ignar, and with a smile added, ¡°But do be afraid; gods are never as merciful nor insane as the stories might tell.¡± He leaned closer, and as if whispering, he said, ¡°They are often more... insane, that is.¡±

    His eyes met Erjen''s, and he couldn¡¯t help but smile. There was neither hostility in this smile nor distaste for her. There seemed to be many things Ignar didn¡¯t know about his father, but he presumed that he would soon find out about the things that he had never mentioned to him before.

 Chapter Fifty-Five: In the Court of the Almighty

    It is said that Kalma¡¯s rule was born out of revenge.

    In the ashes of the Empire of the Sharan, at the gates of Urul, Kahsro¡¯On pronounced the execution of the final rebel, Kalma Ishkil Ar¡¯akan Orcun, who was escorted before the Kernen, the army of Kashro¡¯On. He had no fear in his soul, no words of surrender as he walked, chained and bloodied to a makeshift platform that stood above them all. On that platform, a hooded figure stood with their backs against the crowds. They held a large sword, which rested on their shoulders. One could only see their eyes, bright and shocked with red as if they had just woken or cried moments before.

    With each step he took toward the figure, he could hear how the crowd became louder, how their cries filled the air and echoed from the gates of Urul back toward the crowds, creating a constant noise that one could not escape.

    And when he took his final step and reached the block that he was supposed to lay his head on, he was brought to his knees by the hands of his escorts, the two Kernen soldiers who wore their battle-worn armor, and on their sides the kukri that they carried in war.

    The crowd slowly went silent, as he now was on his knees, facing the crowd, the many faceless Kernen who held their weapons tightly, their spears and their shields, their kukri and their axes, all the tools they had brought to the last empire of the Sharan, that now lay in ashes for they had come and they had won, and he was the last man who had stood in their way, the last of their enemies.

    The hooded figure turned toward the crowd; he faced them holding the sword of an executioner¡ªthe sword that had ritually started the war and then would bring an end to it.

    Kalma could perhaps feel it; the end was near; the war that had lasted a decade would come to an end; finally, there¡¯d be peace. But at the cost of millions, and just for how long? He wondered as he smiled ever so slightly. These barbarians¡­ They would not know how this would all end. They knew not who they were against.

    The hooded figure placed his foot on Kalma¡¯s back and forced his head on top of the block. The silence, you could almost touch it. The smell of blood was all around. The sweet smell¡ªoh, how it yearned for his touch. They whispered; they yearned; they wished to be released. They wished to be set free. The blood that was in his veins pumped, it screamed, and it moved. Oh, how it longs to be free...

    The figure raised his sword with both of his hands and looked down at the man that he would execute. One could almost imagine a smirk on their face as they brought the sword down in a violent gesture, a downward motion that bit into the bones of the man; it dug deep, releasing blood as it paved its way.

    Only to stop... Halfway there.

    The crowd roared, for the last rebel was dead. The war was over. They had won. They had brought their weapons up in celebration, but the man who had brought his sword to the neck he wished to sever could feel how wrong it was. He tried to lift his sword but to no avail. He pressed his foot on top of the corpse of the dead man and tried pulling as hard as he could. But the sword would not move; only the blood would flow out, slowly dripping and spoiling the wooden block that held his head.

    If those who were in front of him could observe the eyes of the dead, the dull eyes that weren¡¯t there, how sharp they were now, and the smile, the smirk, that was not subdued, how it slowly widened, how his lips curled and came apart, and the red, bloodied teeth showcased themselves.

    If they could hear the slow inhale that went through his teeth, how it stopped, got cut off, and was soon released, as if it had only been a sigh, as if all this was a bore.

    The executioner still tried to remove his sword from the neck of the dead man, but it would not budge. Soon he gave up and took the kukri of one of the escorts that were with him on the stage and began to violently hack at the neck. Blood would fly in an arc, but he could not hack through the midway. He could not release his sword; he could not separate the bone that held the integrity of the dead.

    Instead, the man began to slowly stand up. He pushed with his hands and soon stood before them all, looking down on them. Judging them all, all of those who took part in the festivities of this execution and the death of his kin. They had come to his land. They had burned houses, villages, and cities. They had sunk boats and burned fields; they had laid salt so that nothing could grow there again.

    There was panic as the crowds began to realize that the man who was supposed to be dead was alive. A man like him was born of death, the very end of all life. He had studied this element. He had mastered it. And he stood before them all as someone who was dead before he had walked onto the stage, long before they had captured him.

    Kalma Ar¡¯akan slowly spread his hands to the sides and let out a scream so that he¡¯d have the attention of everyone gathered. Even the crows had gathered; even they had his attention; perhaps they knew what was to come. So patient they could be when it came to food.

    No one could move; only he could. His neck and the flesh that was around it began to grow back, and slowly the sword that was stuck to his flesh was pushed out, and it dropped to the ground, followed by a loud sound that echoed through the silence.

    He stretched his neck and brought his hands up, and one could hear each and every single bone of his body snap one by one. Then he dropped his hands to the side and peered at the crowds. A smile was not there to populate his face anymore; instead, discontent was there. Finally, his eyes found first the sword and then the kukri that lay on the stage. He sneered as he picked the kukri up and walked up to the executioner.

    He peered into the red eyes of the one who had tried to separate his body from his head so much. With a swift motion, he cut his throat open, and blood sprayed on the stage, and soon the executioner dropped dead.

    And so he walked around the crowds, one by one, cutting the throats of all the men that had gathered here on this day. Such justice the world had never seen before.

    An ascension to godhood, the apotheosis of man, of a singular Sharan, and all this just for revenge.

    The Kernen and their leader, Kahsro''On, perished not long after. They were all set free by a man who knew nothing about things like mercy; all he knew was the perverse justice that he had served this world.

    And now that he sat before him on a throne of obsidian, a man who was barely a man but a Sharan to each inch of his body, a man who had become more like a dragon than a man.

    Ignar had his head down, his forehead against the marbled floor as he tried to still see him, and those eyes¡ªthose dead eyes that stared back at him and at Kalla¡ªwho refused to bow before his king, his god.

    In the court, there remained a shocked silence, for only Kalla dared to stand up before a creature that could easily destroy all that would think of going against his will with ease. And even when Ignar knew the story of Kalma¡¯s ascension, he still couldn¡¯t quite understand what the fuss was about.

    Why kneel before a man?

    A smile is never left unnoticed, and the smile that was on Kalma¡¯s face was a smile one could never forget; it was a toothy smile with long fangs, each sharp and white, as were the iris of his eyes.

    ¡°The way you hold yourself has not changed, not even after a century; but your body, your face, your hair, and even your scales... You¡¯ve grown old." Kalma said suddenly, his voice hoarse and the pace of his speech slow and detailed; each syllable was pronounced to be clear and easily understood.

    Kalla scoffed. ¡°Oh yes, I am aware of the very natural concept that is called aging... You, on the other hand, have not changed at all. You must be pleased.¡±

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    One could imagine a shocked gasp running through the crowds that had gathered in the court; perhaps there should be something, just anything, that would break the tension of this gathering.

    As if knowing this and feeling the nervous tension of his court, Kalma got up from his throne and said, ¡°Behold, my most renowned general has returned to court; rejoice, for my son has found himself and returned. Rejoice, for he has returned to me, and he has brought with him a child of his own.¡±

    His eyes scanned the hundreds present, but his eyes ended where they had first been placed: Ignar.

    ¡°You¡¯re all dismissed.¡± He declared after a moment that perhaps should¡¯ve been filled with joyous cheers and declarations of health for their returned prince, but instead, the shocked silence remained. No one dared say a word.

    Soon after his request, everyone began to leave, even Kalla, who smiled knowingly, and even the ever-confused Ignar got up from his knees, lifting his forehead from the ground just in time to see the displeased expression that their god held on his face.

    ¡°Not you two.¡± He scoffed loudly, and Kalla stopped in his steps. Soon, he gave a glance at Ignar, who still remained on his knees.

    ¡°As you can see, you¡¯re not the only one with a difficult father,¡± Kalla almost yelled to make sure that those who weren¡¯t quite out of the great hall of Kalma¡¯s court could hear him as they hurried out, not daring to glance behind themselves, lest they bear witness to the wrath of God.

    Ignar dared not get up; instead, he slowly placed his head back on the floor. Perhaps this way he¡¯d be ignored by the two seemingly powerful men. And perhaps this way, he¡¯d be able to hide away the shock of the truth that he had learned on this day.

    Kalla stared at the young man near his feet, ¡°Get up; there is no use for pretense when there is none to see it.¡±

    And so, with a long sigh, Ignar finally got up from the floor, yet still he tried to keep his own eyes from meeting the eyes of either of the men in his presence.

    ¡°And what is his name?¡± Kalma suddenly asked; his voice was much calmer than before, the tension was broken, it had gone with the people he commanded to leave. What was left was the truth: three men.

    Kalla slapped his son on the back, as encouragement or to show that he was, in fact, his son or that he had control over him, instead of Kalma. ¡°His name is Ignar; I named him based on his most admirable trait. You know, ignorance is bliss, and here, in this room, he is the luckiest boy in the whole damn world, for he has no idea who the hell we are or what the fuck we¡¯ve done, isn¡¯t it right, father?¡±

    Kalma eyed his son and his presumed grandson, ¡°Knowing you, you probably told him the whole damn history of the world, but conveniently leaving out your involvement in it and blaming it all on gods who are just men.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Kalla sighed dramatically. ¡°Gods, they¡¯re all just men in disguise; never trust them.¡± He exclaimed and carefully lifted Ignar''s head so that he would be forced to look at the imposing man who stood above them both.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he just beautifully dreadful? You¡¯ve no idea how many died for his skin routine. But alas, we have no time to reminisce; it¡¯s not like we can change anything that has already happened, nor will we receive sudden forgiveness for our misdeeds. As you know, boy, there are no gods to forgive us, no redemption for our sins or whatnot.¡±

    Ignar just stared at Kalma, who in turn stared at them and at times rolled his eyes at Kalla¡¯s words, ¡°I blame myself, for bad parenting; I should¡¯ve been more strict with him or more loving; who even knows anymore?¡± Kalma muttered loudly, ¡°But indeed, we have no time. Well, I have time until the end of eternity... And you don¡¯t; thus, let me declare loud and clear what I want of you, and you can then figure out for yourself why I want what I want.¡±

    ¡°You are to retake control of the Knights of the Order of the Dragon, and with this given right, I want you to answer only to me as you go around this empire and hunt down the people that are like a thorn at my side.¡±

    Kalla smiled. ¡°The rebellion?¡±

    Kalma raised his brows, perhaps feigning surprise: ¡°You get news in your isolated cottage in the middle of a forest?¡±

    ¡°Well, who hasn¡¯t heard of your wishes to build a new temple? You know, the one that demands sacrifice?¡±

    ¡°Of course you have, and now you can go figure out the reasons and the meanings behind my decisions as you conveniently hunt down and decapitate the beginning of a greater issue.¡±

    Kalla¡¯s smile deepened. ¡°Are you saying that the death of a few hundred thousand people isn¡¯t a great issue?¡±

    Kalma scoffed, ¡°A mere statistic, but all done for a greater cause... Perhaps you will one day come to appreciate the sacrifices I am willing to make for the greater good.¡±

    Kalla¡¯s joyless smile withered away. ¡°Your wish is my command.¡± He said and turned around to leave.

    ¡°And, for the sake of the future, mostly his, I will place your son into the Cadet School; they¡¯ll make him into a man there,¡± Kalma added as he studied the face of the boy, who had been silent the whole time.

    If he were still facing his father, Kalma could see a twitch on Kalla¡¯s face, one perhaps filled with disgust, but instead of protesting, he repeated his words, ¡°Your wish is my command.¡± And stormed out of the royal hall, with Ignar soon following suit.

    They walked down the lavish corridor, with Ignar confused and Kalla pondering about something; his silence was enough to tell of such. This gave Ignar time to observe his surroundings, the decorations that garnished the walls of the corridors, and the long carpets that were no less decorative than the walls.

    There were many new and interesting things that he had seen and learned in just a few weeks as they traveled from the forests they called home on the road toward the east, where the capital of the great empire was located.

    Once, before the times of Kalma and his image of the empire, it was all called the Empire of the Sharan, although it had become corrupt and almost nonexistent since the armies of Kahsro¡¯On had conquered so much of it in a terrible power struggle for the throne of the Empire of the Sharan.

    Of course, Kalma was the leader of one of those factions a few millennia ago, and he was a mage of considerable power, and with magic that was of his own creation, he managed to somehow defy all odds and slay the armies that had come for him that had murdered his kin, his family, and his most loyal followers.

    Now, this empire that was the image of Kalma carried a name more suitable considering its current leader: the Empire of the Dragon.

    And the city he took as his capital was built on the sands of the Gates of Urul, perhaps so that all could remember what had happened here and how his apotheosis had happened. On the sands soiled with blood, on the fields that had burned soon after he was done with all the killing.

    He built a city as a monument to his own great deeds and as something beautiful to contrast with the horrible history that was now buried beneath the streets of this city.

    Anavasii, the city that was the proof of his godhood, his tyranny, and somehow, his mercy.

    For couldn¡¯t he have enslaved the world to be his own? Couldn¡¯t he have killed more than the hundreds of thousands that he ended up killing with his own magic?

    And now that they were here, on the stairs that would lead out of his palace, past the many gardens, fountains, and walls that protected the palace, keeping the poor and the mortals out of God¡¯s sight, Ignar wondered the words that he had heard¡ªthe desire to build another temple, perhaps like this one. Perhaps, for another apotheosis...

 Chapter Fifty-Six: Seeds Unfit for His Soil

    The history of the Sharan is a history of war, death, genocide, revolution after revolution, and perhaps above all else, slavery. It is something so ingrained in their culture that it is hard to find a moment in their history where you can say that it wasn¡¯t somehow related to something that happened, had directly caused it, or even led to it.

    Of course, Ignar knew this; he was painfully aware of it, yet it still surprised him at how apparent it was and how much of it there was.

    People are already divided in so many ways, class being one of them, and slavery is, in a way, in the culture of the Sharan, something born out of class.

    Those who are less powerful don¡¯t have a say in what their destiny is or what they are to do with their own lives. But to be fair, most people hardly have a say in what happens to them or what they end up doing in life.

    But here, in the cadet school, it was something that seemed like it wasn¡¯t needed, for weren¡¯t people here to lead armies during war? But all the cadets had slaves; they were there to serve them, and if there was a moment where one¡¯s honor was tarnished, then one could exact revenge, but of course not directly on the one that had tarnished your honor; thus, you would punish their slaves. And at times, you would even kill them.

    Why? Because it wasn¡¯t murder in the eyes of the law. It was more like you butchered a cow or a pig, and for such a crime, you could pay with money. The people who went to the cadet school were sons of wealthy parents who either already had ties to the military or were just rich, and their parents felt like it would bring great honor to their family to send a son to become an officer.

    It wasn¡¯t like their sons would have to truly serve in a war or anything like it. There hadn¡¯t been a real war in over a century, so the risk of them dying in one was basically non-existent.

    Everything was about honor and having people look at you and know you in a certain way. If your family happened to have a lieutenant, a captain, or whatever in its ranks, then everyone could easily see that your family had ties to the military and that their ranks somehow gave proof that they were more patriotic than the other rich families that were just wealthy and never gave back to the nation and the Almighty that they so dearly loved.

    And because of these reasons, he was the weird one. Ignar was the odd one out because he didn¡¯t have a slave to his name, he wasn¡¯t from a rich family, and none of them had ever heard of him or his family. And why? Because his family history was made up. Why? Because Kalma decided that he didn¡¯t want him to carry his name quite yet. He had to earn it on his own merit.

    But the other cadets weren¡¯t stupid, for it was rare that anyone who wasn¡¯t from a distinguished family, be it either from a military one or a rich one, to get into the cadet school.

    So, of course, rumors start going around, and this leads to isolation and alienation from those that are around. And this is how it would be for him for most of his time at the cadet school. But at least he was above the curve. Most of these kids had no idea what would happen here; most of them barely knew how to wipe their bottoms. And only a few actually wanted to be here.

    There was often a clear distinction between the children who came from a military family and those who came from a rich family. The sons from military families behaved almost rigidly and were far more disciplined than those from rich families, but on the other hand, they were far more nationalistic and more fervent in their beliefs.

    They weren¡¯t dumb or less smart because of it; it just clearly showcased how differently they were raised.

    Ignar supposed that the rich kids would at least learn something useful from this ordeal. Or so he thought as he sat on a bench in a lecture hall on the very first day of his studies. His father had ordered Erjen to brief Ignar about the cadet school, the things that he might learn there, and just other useful bits of information that might help him in many ways.

    One thing that she explained was the whole slavery thing. She herself had entered the cadet school, and it was already quite rare that women would be allowed to enroll, during her time, she had had slaves of her own, for her parents had insisted that she would have at least six, each of them so large and strong that no puny boy would dare approach her in any way.

    She had done fine, and she had been prepared for most of the things that might be thrown her way. Her father had studied there as well, so it made sense. Often she was the last to kneel when faced with something difficult, and thus she became a sergeant. Though she did admit that she had done so mostly out of spite. Apparently, Kalla had been one of her teachers, and his lack of encouragement for his pupils was one of the reasons that she had hated him so much, which is why she decided to stay through the whole five-year period, just to spite the old man who had told her that she would be unable to graduate.

    Later on, Kalla claimed that he said such words to ¡°bring out her hidden passion¡± and that ¡°she should thank him for inspiring her to grow into the potential that he had seen in her." All of which was obviously bullshit, as that was the language in which Kalla was most proficient.

    Who doesn¡¯t love a good lie, a bad one, or just any lie in general?

    A man entered the lecture hall. He wore a dark uniform, one that they all seemingly wore, though his one was slightly different, for on his collar were stripes that indicated his military rank, and then above that a number that was like a serial code, meant to indicate who he was. It wasn¡¯t a name, but just something that could be easily grabbed if he were to die. Behind that number would be all the information one could know about a man. It was his identity; after all, it was his life.

    They would all get one, perhaps not the same amount of stripes; they would all get a serial code of their own. For if there ever came a day of war, then they would have to serve in that war, and if they were to fall in that war, then their homes should know of their deaths. They should know that their son had died on the battlefield, hopefully as a cowardly hero who died protecting them, all of those who would wait in the safety of their own homes for the return of their sons.

    Such a number to be carried by all soldiers was invented after a long war, during which so many died or disappeared, their bodies just left on the fields and forest floors. Many of such bodies were recovered, but to then identify them was a different story altogether.

    How are you supposed to figure out the name of a man who has lost his face? Or his head? And what are you to tell those whose sons never came back? Should they just live and hope in vain that their son might one day return to them? Surely such hope was beautiful and more comforting than the reality of loss, but parents always deserve to know the fate of their children, no matter how cruel.

    But of course, a number on your collar will hardly be useful if the body is never found.

    The man was imposing, his eyes deep and dark, his expression stern and unmoving, and he observed the rich kids and military children that had gathered for the first time before him. And he just waited, until one by one, most took notice of him, until slowly, most shut their mouths in anticipation and in ever-present curiosity that might¡¯ve risen among them, for who was this man that now stood before them, what was his name, and what did the stripes on his collar mean?

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    Most wouldn¡¯t know; some would, of course, know, and this reality could be seen in the expressions in the very eyes of those who now stared at him. Those visibly confused had no idea what four stripes meant; those visibly excited knew and perhaps romanticized the very experience of being a part of the military, and those nervous knew that this was the real deal.

    This man was lethal and exact; this man was war incarnate. Perhaps Kalma was death incarnate, and perhaps Kalla was his son and no less than that.

    But war? War is different. War is that which by nature takes lives in a fashion that seems chaotic but is orderly, and in its most beautiful form, precise and swift. Any general would love a swift and total victory in a war¡ªa heroic one that makes the winners of said war look like heroes before the eyes of the people. A war would bring more land, more resources, and more wealth for the people of a great nation and the heroic leaders of a war.

    War, even though there was much theory about it, wanted to be simple. Surely a great strategist will be remembered by history; his contribution to the art of war is another chapter read over and over again, studied, and then perfected by later contributors.

    But is there anything better than the most simple form of warfare? One that had two masses of people placed against each other, fighting until death would do them apart, a battle that would declare one the winner and the other dead, thus a loser.

    The man who stood before them was a man as such. He believed in the beautiful simplicity of warfare, for what was the use of an elaborate scheme to conquer a nation if the same could be achieved much more quickly, although less delicately, through the meeting of two forces on the fields of glory?

    ¡°Good morning, new recruits, or as your parents prefer to call you, ¡®cadets¡¯¡­¡± He said when at last there was only silence in the lecture hall.

    ¡°I am Captain Illarion Dain,¡± he introduced himself and then examined his new pupils, ¡°and I¡¯ll ask you a simple question: What is war?¡±

    And as silence was his only answer, he sighed, ¡°Then I shall answer this question as well... War is confusion. War is the greatest waste of time that anyone has invented, yet it is the most beautiful form of confusion and the most beautiful waste of our times.¡±

    ¡°War, dear ¡®cadets¡¯¡­ War is everything that you will ever hate; it is the most disgusting thing that we¡¯ve come up with and what we have to sometimes deal with.¡± He scoffed, ¡°Why is war? Because it has to be, there is no other way; it has to exist.¡±

    ¡°For peace requires a price, one that we have paid for. Freedom requires that same price, though we can argue about whether we have it or if the very concept of it exists."

    ¡°Why would there ever be war if we have all these things, for can¡¯t we just agree to be without them? Can¡¯t we just all get along?¡±

    ¡°Clearly not.¡±

    ¡°For I have a simple belief, and it is this: What is peace without justice? It is a war waiting to happen.¡±

    ¡°What I believe is that we might want peace after a war; I believe that we might truly want that, but what we want the most is justice, for if there is no justice in a given peace, then war is sure to re-emerge; it is sure to return, and this is why I am here.¡±

    ¡°I love war, not because I love death; I love war because I want justice. For me, justice and freedom are all concepts that are most important, and they are things that we should be ready to defend and that we should be ready to demand. For which we should be ready to go to war and to die if that is what it takes.¡±

    Captain Illarion Dain was a man who spoke such terrible things with such passion that one wanted to almost believe in them. There was enough truth in his words for one to understand where he was coming from.

    Ignar had never truly thought of war for himself. He had only read about them in old books and in the old dialogues of philosophers that had long since passed. And sure, Kalla had spoken about wars to him, calling them all shams and wastes of resources and lives. And he or he had believed, that all wars are terrible and mostly useless.

    But if you thought about it and if you really tried to understand such a sentiment as Captain Illarion¡¯s, then it wasn¡¯t so difficult to believe that perhaps there were wars that were just and for justice. For what, is really worth fighting for? For what, or for whom, would you be ready to die?

    He pondered such thoughts as the lecture continued, one that was more so a speech meant to inspire the next generation of leaders that might, perhaps, someday lead in the coming wars of the empire.

    What one needs are values and ideals¡ªthings that don¡¯t truly exist as a physical reality but are real enough for any man to die for. For them to place their bets on it as that one thing, or a collection of things that they would be ready to defend if they were called to do so.

    A nation wasn¡¯t enough unless this nation had values that were precious enough to want to protect and cherish.

    It was clear that this was one of the most important things they tried to teach them: these values and ideals, and then connecting them to the crown, the empire, and the leaders of this empire, portraiting them as physical manifestations of said values and ideals.

    Kalma is their king, their god, and their emperor. He is who gave them freedom; he is who saved them all; he is the one who protected them when they needed protection the most. Kalma is freedom, and he is justice, and those are the things that are worth dying for.

    It usually begins slowly, like planting seeds in a garden, then years go by and the roots grow deeper into the ground, and then one day, perhaps years from now, something happens: a rebellion and a subsequent war. The seeds planted then blossom; they bloom as the man who had carried the seeds within for so long armors himself and raises his sword to die for the things he finds most important.

    To kill and die in the name of a flower in bloom. But a flower, as such, will often wither. As regret and guilt gnaw the mind of a hero, of a man who served his country and who killed for things that he most valued, but the things that he most valued, are they really worth dying for? What about those who died by his sword? Didn¡¯t they also have something that they were ready to die for? Who is to decide which is better and which is worse? Which cause is more just and pure for one to be more in the right? Or are all such beliefs equally correct, yet at the same time wrong?

    There is nothing heroic about war. There are no heroes in war. It, too, is another myth created to comfort those who have lost a loved one, so that they might not blame the country that sent them to war but instead blame the enemy for taking away their sons. Isn¡¯t the enemy always morally wrong? One has to believe such a lie, or else that seed-carrying soldier will never kill or die for the flower that is in bloom, for the flower will then never bloom, as the seeds planted are in a soil that rejects them and that won¡¯t allow weeds in its garden.

 Chapter Fifty-Seven: A Duel, Entertainment for the Unentertained

    One day, you¡¯re young and naive, and the next day, the world expects you to be a man, one who is responsible and someone others can rely on.

    What really is the difference between a boy and a man? Is it the number of days that have passed since his birth? Is eighteen years enough so that from a boy a man can emerge? Ignar wondered such things as he was thrust into a position where others had to rely on him.

    For reasons unknown, he was selected to be the representative of his class of twenty other boys who had supposedly turned into men. And now his job was to make sure that they were all on time for classes and dueling practice; he had to make sure that his men took good care of their sabers. The very notion of having a sword was a strange one; to him, it felt so out of place. Even though they would practice with said swords, they would duel often multiple times a day. It was more so for sport than anything else, or so it felt like.

    They still practiced with magic almost daily, but the duels and the use of a sword were no less important than that of magic, even though a saber felt like an archaic tool from a bygone era; a vision of times when magic wasn¡¯t as common as it is today; perhaps people had grown more talented with magic with time; through general knowledge about the limitations of magic and all the things one could do with magic. Yet, this practice still remained.

    The saber was like a sign to others that this man was someone who had served as a cadet, thus becoming an officer.

    And said duels were a rather large part of the so-called ¡°honor¡± that they all had to uphold. Sure, one could strike down a slave and call it even, but soldiers are all gentlemen, and all gentlemen ought to know how to duel.

    In a duel, the use of magic was entirely prohibited, and usually, a duel would last until first blood; seldom did one end in death, and if one did end in death, it usually meant that the duel was fought with some magic, or it was between two people with the other having full intent of just outright killing their opposition. Such things happened, but they were strictly forbidden for cadets.

    Killing a non-slave during a duel meant instant removal from the cadet school, and their name would be shunned, which would hurt the honor of one¡¯s family. Thus, they almost never happened, at least between two cadets.

    But dealing with the egos of boys who believed that they had become men was difficult. More difficult than one would think. Respect had to be earned, and boys would only listen to those they respected or feared.

    Thus, the day that he was named as their representative, Ignar figured that things would be difficult unless he would do something about it from the very start. He had mostly stayed out of others'' way, and he had made sure to not anger anyone, as his goal was to be invisible to his fellow cadets. Either way, he made sure to keep up with rumors and relations between people.

    With people involved, cliques are sure to form, and in an environment that encourages competition, rivalries would form between people and their cliques. So, to bring unity and to make sure that he would have the necessary control to keep his class in line as their chosen representative, he decided that he would beat them into submission.

    He had taken much liking to the art of dueling; there was just something about it, something thrilling that he could not quite put his finger on; there was something about it that he had missed at some point in his own life.

    Perhaps it was the adrenaline of danger and aggressive physical activity, or perhaps it was the fear of death and getting hurt that just so much called for him. Either way, he enjoyed it, and because of this strange enjoyment, which often felt like it was not his but someone else¡¯s, he got good at it¡ªfar better than he believed that he could ever be at it.

    He hadn¡¯t had the advantage of the other boys, who had perhaps taken part in dueling classes prior to the cadet school, but what he had over many of them was his size and strength. This body of his was agile and strong; it was a body that yearned to move and that needed to be challenged, lest it be bored.

    So, at the beginning of their studies, he could barely keep up with others, but by the second year, he could go toe to toe with the best. Such things will hardly ever go unnoticed; this made him a popular dueling partner for those who wanted more challenges and wanted to get better than the others. And by the third year, when he was selected as their representative, he was undeniably among the best.

    And so he did what any wise man would do when dealing with boys: he went to the two leaders of the two largest cliques in his class and challenged them both to a duel. With normal rules and an extra forfeit to make things more interesting: If Ignar won, the two cliques would refrain from useless quarrels and follow his rules and commands; if Ignar lost, he would resign from the school.

    Astor, a young nobleman who was no less talented in dueling than Ignar, declined after a moment of hesitation; instead, he promised to keep his friends and followers out of trouble. An outcome that Ignar had hoped for since Astor was one who would always play by the rules. For him, if it was decided by their teachers that Ignar would be their representative, then he would not question this outcome, as he felt that it was not up to him to go against it; his duty was to follow orders, after all.

    But for every Astor, there is a Jaren, a guy whose respect is absolute, and it must be earned through him. Jaren is a man who will do as is commanded, but he would only abide by the commands of someone who is much older and much higher in military rank than Ignar. For him, it wasn¡¯t enough that others had decided that Ignar was their representative. He had to decide that as well. Thus, he accepted the duel in a strict yet polite manner.

    He wasn¡¯t a brute, nor was he dumb per se. He was an educated individual who just happened to have a very high level of self-confidence. He had a clear understanding of his own morals and the very concept of what was right, and for him, it was not right that someone whom he did not entirely trust or respect would be allowed to lead him without some contest or uproar.

    Jaren would always stand for what he thought was right, and that was a commendable quality in any man. But above all, he was rigid. He would not budge unless given a reason good enough to do so, and words weren¡¯t always a good enough reason, for actions would always speak louder than words. And even if Ignar won his duel against him, it would mean that he¡¯d agree with how Ignar would represent them. He¡¯d just stay out of his way.

    His rigid nature wasn¡¯t something that could be easily changed, for what can change the nature of a man? Would any man just change if the reasons were good enough? Most men are stubborn, and no man could hardly change the nature of another man, his very essence, that which makes him what he is. A man might slightly yield and bend with enough pressure, but that doesn¡¯t mean that he has changed, for within he might still believe that his ways are the best.

    The ability to yield and bend when necessary and to be diplomatic when a situation calls for it in itself is a characteristic. One that Astor had, and one that even Jaren had. They would have to work together so that things might go more smoothly.

    Near their dorms, there was a courtyard, a small place only really meant for quiet studying. Decorating it, there were a few plants on the grassy floor, a tree that wasn''t very tall, and a table surrounded by wooden benches. But for today, this courtyard would be empty. The benches and the table were carried away and set to the side, and soon only two men remained with their swords in hand.

    As Ignar looked around, he could see many familiar faces looking out the windows, anticipating a duel to entertain their rather dull evening. Usually, such hours were strictly meant for quiet studies, reading strategy, history, or other liberal arts. But today was indeed quite different.

    The duel was something that the other classes had also heard about, so many had gathered to see for themselves this spectacle. Ignar even noticed a teacher standing next to the other door that led back indoors. He was an old man who taught them strategy, and in his hands, he had a book. At times, a student would approach him and hand him something¡ªsomething that looked like coins¡ªand then the old man would smile and write something in his notebook.

    Gambling wasn¡¯t really frowned upon, and what other form of entertainment would an old man have?

    Jaren was tall, about a head taller than he was. He was also quite lean, but the same was true for most of them. And he was talented with his saber; this was easy for Ignar to know, as he had himself dueled with the man many times before, and he had lost most of them. And their most recent one had ended in a draw, for they had managed to draw blood at the exact same time. Ignar still had a scar on his shoulder from that ordeal. Of course, he could use magic to remove said scarring, but for some reason, it felt proper to keep such scars. They weren¡¯t lethal, after all. And they showcased his hard work to the world.

    In that, he and Jaren were very similar, for he also kept his scars, even the ones that were on his scaley face; an apparent one remained on his left cheek, a small cut that he had received from Astor. Among them, Astor was the best, Jaren was the second, and Ignar was the third, or so it looked from the outside.

    Jaren nodded, prepared himself, and took a standard stance, his right foot in front and pointed toward Ignar, and his left foot a little back pointed to the side, bending his knees as he did so. Most of his weight would be on his left foot. He then pointed his saber toward Ignar and kept his left hand behind his back.

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    Ignar took the same stance; he could feel his body tense up, and every muscle and fiber in him was ready to make a move. He was seemingly calm, yet the reality was that he wasn¡¯t. Before him was a taller man, one who most definitely felt the same way as he did. The thrill of competition, the thrill of combat, the fear of pain, and even death. It was all mixed within. Their eyes were sharp and ready to begin at the moment when their swords first touched.

    This moment lasted for so long¡ªthe anticipation as they both got ready, their swords approaching each other and the evening sun glimmering on the well-kept blades of their sabers. Before, he could¡¯ve heard the low mumbling of speech from inside, but the students all keenly watched the performance, perhaps feeling the same thrill that he and Jaren felt.

    You could feel it before you could hear it; their blades touched, and soon they were both in motion. The clang of swords was heard; it echoed through the courtyard as Jaren swiftly struck his opponent''s blade away with a quick tap, then brought his right foot back in anticipation of a strike toward his leg in retaliation, but no such strike came; instead, Ignar went for the sword, locking their blades together as he stepped forward, only to then shove Jaren away. The tall man moved only perhaps an inch as their swords clanged against each other again.

    He had gained his footing and began a swift assault of strikes, each strike coming from the upper guard, and each of said strikes was promptly parried and dodged while Ignar backpedaled. At times, Ignar would retaliate, pushing back on the relentless attacks of his opponent.

    All you could hear were the two swords striking at each other, the steps that the two men would make, and perhaps the breathing of the crowd, who, in their anticipation, waited to see who would emerge victorious and untouched by the other man¡¯s blade.

    Soon, Ignar parried a strike, only to instantly counterattack while reaching forward, his blade quickly coming for Jaren¡¯s unprotected chest, which the man tried to dodge by almost jumping backward, but the blade tore into his scales ever so slightly, and a clean strip of blood was flung to the ground as the saber returned.

    First blood had been drawn... But Jaren was already retaliating, his saber cutting into Ignar¡¯s shoulder. A roar of pain broke the silence of men as Ignar swore loudly and, in anger, separated Jaren¡¯s hand from the rest of his arm with a powerful stroke of his blade. All could see as his hand flung across the courtyard, and the saber remained on Ignar¡¯s shoulder.

    Ignar dropped his own sword to the ground and quickly began healing his shoulder, ignoring the tall man who screamed in pain. When he managed to remove the blade from his shoulder and heal the wound, he looked for the hand that his dueling partner had lost. He walked to it and picked it up as Jaren screamed while looking at his hand. There was so much shock and horror in his face, and blood flowed out from his stump of a wrist and his chest as well.

    And as Ignar came to him, he promptly slapped Jaren on the cheek as hard as he could, then crapped his bloodied wrist and brought the missing hand to it. He joined them together and began the process of healing.

    And it didn¡¯t take long for the cries of pain to end. As he was finished with his work, he let go of the hand and healed the wound on his chest. ¡°Move your wrist for me.¡± He commanded solemnly, and he just hoped that the other man could not hear the regret in his voice as he did what he did.

    Ignar was angry with himself; he had taken a risk, and the risk had at first paid off; he had won, but the way that he had reacted to the strike that had struck his shoulder was uncalled for. It was something that should have never happened. He should never sever the hand of another man. He should never, out of anger, take revenge without a moment''s thought.

    The duel was over; his action had been unnecessary. Now he had to hope that this would not soil Jaren¡¯s or the other''s opinions of him.

    Jaren moved his wrist around, and it worked just fine. He then wiped the tears from his eyes and grinned widely. ¡°You got me... Sorry for the shoulder... and the eye.¡±

    ¡°What eye?¡± Ignar asked, and then a fist hit his left eye, and he was sent a few steps back.

    Ignar was left baffled for a while. ¡°Deserved.¡± He soon whimpered, and they were left eyeing each other for a while.

    Jaren extended his hand, the very one that he had just lost, and the very one that had sucker punched Ignar''s face. Ignar stared at it for a moment but shook it soon after. Jaren had accepted defeat, even though many would say that he had the right for another duel, but he was man enough to admit defeat, and as he picked up his saber and got ready to leave the courtyard, he spoke before leaving, ¡°We should do this again another time... It''s good fun, you know; you¡¯ve gotten a lot better than you were at first.¡±

    After such a compliment, Ignar was left speechless. He looked as the man walked away with long strides. The students remained near the windows, but soon they too left, and the old man happily counted the coin that he had earned that day.

    His face hurt a lot, and he knew that he would have to carry a black eye for a few weeks. Sure, it would be difficult to see any color past the scales, but the slight protrusion would be for all to see, another battle scar to showcase another valuable lesson that he had learned.

    He was left alone to clean up after the mess that they had caused. He removed the blood from the soil and carried the table and the benches back to where they belonged. Then he lay on the bench and stared at the sky, the stars that were above, the gods of the old, and the ones that now were all named in the glory of Kalma.

    There was something familiar about such thoughts, as was the action of healing another man. It was as if he had done it so many times before. Sure, here he had had to learn such necessary skills, but for some reason, it felt like he had healed many such wounds before, over and over again.

    He couldn¡¯t help but smile a little bit; he had won, and it felt good. This feeling felt good. He had achieved what he wanted to achieve; the tension brought by the duel was gone and relieved with the pain that they had caused. The punch that had landed on his face was just an extension of that duel, and it was, in a way, an honor greater than victory itself.

    For some reason, he felt like he and Jaren were much more similar than he and Astor were. Jaren and Ignar would both question the command that they would be given, and they would both voice out their worries and differing opinions if there were any.

    This questioning was healthy. It was necessary, yet something not needed in a soldier.

    A soldier has to march, think, sleep, and eat in a similar fashion as the other soldier does. A soldier ought to be loyal and unquestioning toward the authority that gave them commands. And why?

    If men are to die for an imaginary line, then it is best for all that they don¡¯t question the command or the commanders. The absurdity of it all ought to be accepted as it is; otherwise, a soldier becomes useless. A soldier becomes one who wants to flee the battlefield, who wants to flee the imaginary line they were supposed to die for. Such soldiers are useless, which is why they, too, die.

    But there was a great difference in deaths. The first one dies because he is commanded to; he dies from the arrows of their enemies, that demon who is always in the wrong and who would always kill you if they ever had the chance.

    And the other dies court-martialed. As a disgraced traitor who is then promptly put before a firing squad or an executioner and then ceremonially slaughtered. It is as if, as a sacrifice to war itself, the ever-hungry God who always finds his way into the lives of the so-called civilized people.

    Ignar¡¯s smile had long faded as he stared at those stars, at those gods for whose wishes men would die. Men would always die; it was how things were supposed to be. But the unnatural order of things was that men would always end up killing other men. And always, there would be a king, a god, or a general who placed himself above others and who drew those imaginary lines so that men could die killing each other.

    For some reason, Ignar had always thought of it as such. He imagined two men, generals, sitting in a dark room, drinking whiskey and smoking cigars. They look over a map, and without words, one of them draws a line on the map, and the other then looks at this line, only to carefully draw another opposite of it.

    Now, for that line, thousands will die¡ªmaybe more, maybe less¡ªbut this all depends on how many the two men are willing to sacrifice for the lines that they have drawn.

    Nothing good ever comes from war. This is what one had to adamantly believe; otherwise, one finds himself giving reasons and meaning to a given war. And those reasons and meanings may vary, and one can find many just things if one digs deep enough. And surely, there is much nuance in war¡ªnot the concept itself, but the many wars that have happened. They seldom happen without a reason. They seldom come without a cause. But are those causes, those reasons, and those meanings good enough for men to die over?

    Yet, for some reason, one wants to believe that from war and chaos, good things can come. As if history, in its horrors, failures, and boring beauty, were there to serve the liberation of people. As if one could believe that in the end, good would overcome evil and that freedom would be universally given to all, as if the world were fair and as if the gods of this world truly cared for the people who worshipped them.

    Ah, when had he grown so cynical? Ignar wondered as he let his mind drift away.

 Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Knights of the Order of the Dragon

    Since the day that Ignar had entered the cadet¡¯s school, he had not seen his father. Not even on the day of graduation did his father grace him with his presence. Instead, he was called to the palace because Kalma wanted to see a boy who had grown into a man.

    He felt like just another sheep that was led here; from the very beginning of everything, he was being led here. He and the rest of the herd now bowing before a man¡ªno, a god.

    The first time Ignar entered the court of the almighty, he didn''t fear the creature that stood before them, looking at them and barely noticing the people who had gathered around him to speak to him and beg of him things that he could easily give them but rarely would.

    But now it was different. Ignar¡¯s thoughts about him had changed somehow.

    He knew that Kalma was just a man and not a god, but why did he then fear him so much? Why did he tremble? Why was he now so afraid to look up and face the judgmental gaze of a king?

    If meeting another man was a duel, then he had lost this one the moment he accepted the invitation. Now the man covered by scales, a man who on his back carried wings of gold, spoke to him, and his tone was not dismissive but instead observant.

    ¡°Ignar¡­ Your equals and your teachers speak highly of you. They see promise in not only your abilities but your talent and your character as well.¡±

    ¡°They say that you''re going to do great things.¡± He said this while tapping the armrest of his obsidian throne.

    ¡°Yet¡­ I cannot recognize you as my direct descendant.¡± His voice was now mournful as he declared something no one in attendance knew anything about. This caused a shock to go through the audience in the court.

    None dared to even whisper to another soul, but from their eyes, it could be seen that they now carefully observed the young man.

    ¡°So I ask you, Ignar, how are you to prove to me that you¡¯re my kin and that you are worthy to carry my name? If questioned by others about the very origin of your blood, how will you defend it? What are you willing to do for your own blood?¡±

    Ignar¡¯s mind raced to first understand the question and then to question the question itself. He raised his gaze from the ground and up toward the eyes that so keenly watched him. ¡°Lord, if I may ask a question in exchange, one which is perhaps an answer to your question itself.¡±

    Ignar could see how Kalma¡¯s expression changed ever so slightly; their eyes somehow became as if they saw more now than before, as if they saw things more clearly than a moment ago as if they had given their full attention to the man before them. ¡°Then ask your question.¡±

    Ignar could feel his heartbeat, and he couldn¡¯t remember when the last time was that he felt so nervous. Why did a conversation like this feel so much like a duel?

    ¡°My Lord, the question I wish to ask is this: What would I not do for my own blood?¡± He declared himself as confidently as he could and met the gaze of God.

    And the answer that was given brought slowly a smile to the terrible face of that terrible creature, a smile that knew that this person before them was loyal to him and to him only.

    ¡°Now I can see for myself where this high praise comes from... Ignar, your words are wise, and they are more from you than I had hoped; thus, I will give you a chance to become my kin. For your blood, I cannot question it, but for your loyalty, I will.¡±

    ¡°Among my most trusted men, there is a place for you, for I need eyes and ears even among those I trust the most; thus, I¡¯ll appoint you to work directly under my son, Kalla, and his soldiers,¡± Kalma announced as he spoke not only to him but directly to the court as well, knowing well that his word would be spread around and that there would be many rumors born from this.

    ¡°Arise, Ignar, a Knight of the Order of the Dragon.¡± Kalma then announced, and not even the fear that most felt when in the presence of the Almighty could stop people from gasping aloud, for it had been centuries since anyone had been given such honor. Especially for someone as unknown as Ignar, surely they now knew that Ignar was the son of Kalla and thus the grandson of Kalma. But even Kalla had to do many heroic deeds to become one of the knights.

    The moment was most shocking for Ignar himself, for he had not thought of such a possibility. The Knights of the Order of the Dragon were just so legendary; they were something out of myth and stories of old, things that children would pretend to be during play and such. And they had a history that Ignar knew far too well.

    Surely, the stories told to children named them as heroes who did mostly heroic deeds, and that was partly correct, but history tells a different story. For the Order of the Dragon was most known as the hand of execution, the left hand of God, the hand always behind your back, the one that always wielded a dagger, which would always be ready to take action when needed.

    Assassinations, subterfuge, intrigue, and war. These were the creeds that all the members of the Order of the Dragon participated in.

    If there was a member of society deemed untrustworthy or revolutionary, then it would fall upon these knights to follow and collect information about this individual, and if enough proof or reason was given, then they would promptly remove them from society by either imprisonment, death, or other means of removal.

    In times of war, they were the ones to hunt down the commanders of the enemies of the Emperor. These knights, men, and women were talented in both magic and nonmagical combat; they were masters of different crafts, and together they formed a collective that could deal with most if not all, things that Kalma himself saw as a waste of his own time. Why would a god infringe himself with the deeds of lesser men? Was a god not supposed to be the hand that fed and the devil the one who punished the unbelievers and heretics?

    Kalma was both, and he, too, knew this to be true, but even in his omnipotency, he thought it to be a waste of time to stretch himself to deal with things that barely affected him in any way.

    Why would the great shepherd care for the opinions of his sheep? All he did was lead, and the way he led wasn¡¯t always so benevolent. And even though the world was run by him and all decisions would reflect his wishes, even then, the world hardly knew to blame him.

    The people saw him as someone so far above that nothing could touch him. He was the Great Shepherd, the Dragon that herds the sheep from far above, from atop a mountain, and sees things only through the clouds.

    And if he did come down from the heavens and feast upon one of his own herds, who were the sheep then to blame him? Does a god not get hungry? Shouldn¡¯t the people be willing to give as much as they could for a creature much higher than all of them? Shame on the herd for not feeding their Great Shepherd.

    He could feel the pressure when he had entered the court of the almighty, and he still felt it even when he had long left his presence, but his presence was felt everywhere. It was as if there wasn¡¯t a place in the world, or at least in this city, where he could not see. His will would bend the very world around him. And there wouldn¡¯t be a place where things wouldn¡¯t get distorted by his sight and by his wishes.

    It was interesting how different Kalma and Kalla were in the end. The father Ignar knew was never truly gentle, nor would he give his son the freedom to do things other than those he wished his son to do. Yet, it felt like you were allowed to fail, you were allowed to disappoint him, and he would forgive you in the end.

    Kalma, on the other hand, was the opposite. You weren¡¯t allowed to fail him, and his disappointment would be eternal, for he might not see you or recognize you if you ended up failing him. He would forever remember the failure that you are¡ªthe useless creature that could not satisfy the simple wishes of a god. To displease Kalma was to be damned in eternal flames, in a hellish landscape from which you would never be able to leave. He demands perfection, as anything but perfection is not enough.

    Knowing this, Ignar knew that he would end up disappointing one of them in the future. He just didn¡¯t quite know which way.

    The day had just barely begun, and he was more tired than on any other day during his studies. This pressure just wouldn¡¯t leave so easily, so he retired for the day. There were many things for him to think about and many emotions to explore and understand. And to prepare for the inevitable disappointments he would cause to his father, or worse, to his God.

    The nightmare began as a dream: a young boy running down a hallway, then dancing with a lady to the rhythm of a beating heart. They dance slowly, with time not being there as if it meant nothing in that moment. But then the boy fell, all of a sudden, and he waited for the pain of hitting the floor beneath, but the hand of the woman who was there a moment ago drifted further away as he fell through the floor, as he falls through the dark.

    Around him are voices and faces; from the darkness, they emerge and give meaning to it all. They were faces without scales of things he thought he might have once seen before. In their eyes, there was love, torment, and even hatred for the child that they saw fall.

    Who are those many faces, who is that woman with whom he danced so freely, and why has the fall refused to end? It was as if he had been falling ever since the beginning of his time and of his life as if there were no end to a fall as such. It was as if we all fell, but we thought that we lived normally, without it ever happening, without there being something worse that might come after.

    Oh, and this thirst... Oh, how it refused to leave his mind, his famished corpse that tried to sustain this broken mind...

    And then he would wake up. He was still feeling as if he were falling. As if the ceiling above were drifting away, only for him to truly open his eyes and see the somewhat familiar ceiling of the inn he had spent his night in.

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    It all felt so terribly wrong. Everything was wrong. Everything was incorrect. This man, whoever he was, was incorrect. Aren¡¯t we supposed to find solace in dreams? Why was there this... absence? In dreams, he found horrors. In dreams, he found a boy, a child, and a man he could not recognize. A monster that shares this body and this mind, which he thought to be only his.

    In dreams, he sees murder; he sees a murderer who has committed the most foul crimes. Who burns another man to death? Who pierces others with ice darker than the night? A man who has no other emotions than the deep regret that dictates every hour he is awake. How does one live a life as such?

    And he wondered if he was who he was and if he was who he was supposed to be. If he is becoming what is true for him, or if that which is now happening, becoming reality, is out of the will of someone else, another him. Someone who was like him but not quite.

    Someone who has seen more things than he has. Someone more broken than he was, someone with less of a future than he would have.

    In dreams, he finds this man, and in dreams, that is the greatest horror of them all.

    To be someone you think you are not, perhaps even forgetting who you once were and then slowly remembering. That man that he was, would he then become it once more? Would he want to remember who he was? If that person he remembers might not be just and righteous like who he is now? Who wants to turn from a man into a monster?

    So he wondered... Which is worse? Forgetting who you are or remembering who you really were?

    He got up from the bed and went to wash his face. The cold water would wash away the tired look on his face, and maybe the water would cleanse away the memory of another face that he could at times see beneath.

    Not giving it more thought, he forced himself out of this room and out of this inn, into the streets of Anavasii, the city of God. It was early morning, and the cobblestone streets of the city held no memory of yesterday, no signs of people roaming them, not drinking and passing out near the corners of buildings; there wasn¡¯t even the smell of piss that should most definitely be there to greet him on this beautiful morning of another day in paradise.

    But it was no surprise. Kalma found many things disgusting, and one of those things was uncleanliness. Thus, before the first light of dawn, mages were sent to the streets to clean and remove people who might have fallen asleep in alleyways or on the roads.

    Those people would then be placed in holding cells from where they were allowed to leave the next morning, as long as they managed to pay a fine for polluting the streets. It was a great system and one of the many reasons why you wouldn¡¯t find any homeless here, at least on the streets. Such things just weren¡¯t allowed, and they were instead placed in prisons.

    But at least there they would receive food and shelter for the time being.

    It felt normal; it was how the world was supposed to work. Yet there was something wrong about it; there was something that he knew that he knew about it, and that was wrong. There was a memory that he could not find but that he thought he remembered, or should at least remember. But he could not.

    So even if it felt normal, he knew that there was something wrong with it; he just couldn¡¯t find the reason for it. And so he had to question himself and his own sanity. If there was something wrong with him, something was wrong about him, as such a system was clearly just and did good for the city. It kept the streets more or less safe; it kept people who had nothing away from the streets, and they were then provided with something, even if that something was through imprisonment.

    The area where his inn was located was near the palace, or as near as he could afford. The closer you wanted to stay to the palace, the more expensive it was, as the living standards were obviously better, and most people wanted to live closer to the god they worshipped. As if that somehow made them more pious.

    There was that around a lot. Everyone tried to somehow one-up another about how much they believed in their god, how much they worshipped him, how much they donated to the temples that pray to his name, and to other causes that they knew their god was involved in.

    Such as the building of a new temple. One greater than all of the other temples combined, and one that would truly show the world how supreme and perfect their god was. One that would elevate not only him but all the faithful and all the pious above the unbelievers and those who deny his legacy, one that would make them all believe that their god is truer than all the other gods that were before him. Kalma was the final god.

    But would they be willing to pay the tithe? Would they be willing to pay for such a construct? Ignar wondered, yet he stopped suddenly, not only in his own thoughts but also from walking. Why did he wonder about such a thing? A great temple would obviously be constructed from the finest marble, with the finest gold, and by the hands of the most faithful of his herd. So why worry, and why ever wonder about such things?

    He continued walking, and after a long walk, he found his way past the gates into the palace grounds and from there to a castle on the other side of the palace itself. A monolith of a construction only dwarfed by the palace itself. Built from gray brick and garnished with tall towers on each corner, the castle connected to the walls that guard the palace grounds, an area as large as some cities, but where lived only Kalma and his most trusted advisors, followers, and soldiers.

    And this castle was for those soldiers, and then, at the highest levels of the castle, for the Order of the Dragon and Ignar¡¯s father. What would he even say to his father? What questions might he ask, and what questions might be left unasked?

    He entered through another gate into the castle yard, and from there he soon found himself in the main castle itself, taking steps on old stone stairs that would lead him to the top. He walked past many people, all soldiers who either stood guard, some of whom were training in the castle yard and some who were on their way somewhere.

    He was stopped only once during his visit, and that was at the castle gates. There, they only asked for his name and business, and when they found that out, they asked for forgiveness, for they had wasted his time.

    They knew who he was. They all knew. Words travel fast, especially the words of a god, repeated by the many mouths that had heard the voice of God just a day before.

    The guards who had stopped him advised him where to find Kalla and again asked for his forgiveness.

    Ignar was stunned and wasn¡¯t quite sure what to say, so he just smiled and entered the castle.

    Life was complicated all of a sudden. And so much pressure had been thrown his way from people who were far above his status, understanding, and skill level. Even if he almost carried the name of a god, he was nothing before the two great men that he was now supposed to work for.

    And the eyes of others¡ªhow they studied his face and eyes, how they talked about him behind his back, how in their eyes, Ignar could see many things. Some would blindly look at him as if he himself were practically a god; some were far more cynical, perhaps wondering if he actually was related to the god; and some disregarded him the moment they saw him, as in their eyes, his relation to a god was not enough, as he himself was unproven in their eyes, and even in the eyes of Kalma.

    He climbed to the highest levels of the castle and entered through a double door. What he had entered was a war room. And this place was truly something for which he was unfit. Unproven for.

    In the middle of the room, there was a large table surrounded by multiple chairs; on each chair, someone sat, women and men, only two of whom Ignar recognized. He was there and then faced with all of those eyes.

    The blind, the cynical, and then those who disregarded him.

    He met the eyes of his father. The disappointed expression that he wore on his face and the eyes of a father who had not seen his son for many years. A man who had tried making his son into someone wise and just, into someone who would never bow to a god or a man. But what now had walked before him and had entered his war room was someone who had bowed to both.

    The eyes of the rest meant nothing. It was as if a cold hand gripped him by the heart.

    Kalla carefully eyed him from head to toe and then proceeded with whatever he was doing: ¡°We will raid twelve establishments tonight, all of which are somehow connected to the revolution and the leaders of the revolution. We will end it tonight.¡±

    Kalla then stood from his chair at the end of the table. He looked down at his son, ¡°After you¡¯ve reported my exact words to my father, you are to join me in my office... We will talk then.¡± He said and dismissed Ignar and the rest.

    People pushed past him as he stared at his father, swallowing down a piece that refused to go down, swallowing down words that wanted to be voiced out. He wanted to flare his anger; he wanted to cause a scene; he wanted to cause an outrage. But he held his tongue, and among the last who were leaving, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

    Outside, leaning against a doorway that would lead back down, a familiar woman observed Ignar.

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown taller,¡± she said, coming a little closer and raising Ignar¡¯s face to meet her own. ¡°A frown doesn¡¯t really suit your face¡ªbe a brave, young man, and you will overcome even his disappointment; after all, it isn¡¯t really your fault, now is it?¡± Erjen said, and then let her hand fall down as she smiled slightly. ¡°Now do as you are told, and be the man that I know you to be.¡±

    Her words of encouragement, her soft smile, and the look in her eyes¡ªshe knew him far better than he knew her. To him, Erjen was an acquaintance, someone to whom he had talked only briefly and only a few times. Yet her eyes told a different story as if she knew it all. Similar, but not quite, to the expression that was on Kalla¡¯s face the day that he awoke in his cottage.

    Ignar pulled himself together, saluted his senior officer, and marched on, to do as his father wished of him.

 Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Raid, Part One

    There have been many attempts to topple the tyranny of Kalma¡ªthe tyranny of their living, eternal God. But all of them have failed; without exception, each and every single one of them has failed. And from such revolts and revolutions, progress has not come. The times have not changed since the previous revolution; the sentiment to remove a god from his throne has not become more popular, nor has it garnered any significant number of followers or discussions that have seen the light of broader scrutiny and commentary.

    No philosopher has argued against Kalma, nor have they argued for a revolution; instead, many of them have called for people to trust in their god, for them to believe in the already-existing establishment, as it is there for people, to keep them safe and to keep them from harming the greater good, the great vision that god has surely planned out for them. But what is that vision that their god sees? No one knew, and only time would tell how it would happen, and only history could tell the people if it was a success or a failure.

    But does a god make mistakes?

    Kalla¡¯s office was grand; the sides of the walls were covered with bookshelves filled with books, documents, and even memorabilia¡ªswords and small statues brought from previously fought wars and from the loot of a dead enemy. What stories would such items tell? How they were used, the people they depicted, and whose story they told? A small statue could be an idol of an already forgotten god or a king; a sword used in many battles against countless enemies; or a symbol of status, of being better or equal to the men that were around the person who carried said sword.

    Kalla himself sat on his chair, investigating a document that was before him, at times turning pages and writing down a note for himself of an important detail that he had found within said document.

    Years had passed since they had truly conversed with each other, and now that years had indeed passed, it was easier to notice how a man grows older. The wrinkles on his scaly skin were more apparent, and his eyes were more deeply set than before; his hair was now white and lacked even the gray that it had held before.

    Perhaps it had not been just time that had brought such significant change to the man, but instead the stress and the long hours that he found himself working, at all times trapped in his mind with a mission given to him by a god who cared not for the health or ails of his own son.

    How long had he been alive, and how long would he continue to live? This was a question a child would always ask in his or her own mind, as years went past and life went on, as one could soon see as their own parent would visibly change, as they would get older and more sick...

    But a child would always deny the mortality of their own parents. A child would seldom ever wish for the death of the person who brought them to this world.

    But it was also something that a child would have to face in the end.

    Perhaps it was Ignar¡¯s frown that awoke Kalla from his deep thought, or just the fact that he had finally gone through the document that he had so keenly investigated moments before.

    Now their eyes met again, but Ignar looked away, not wanting to find in the eyes of his own father disappointment or, worse, pity.

    ¡°Are you now an obedient soldier of Kalma, another knight of the Order of the Dragon?¡± He asked, and without looking and truly facing his face, Ignar could imagine a mocking smile as the primary expression held on his face.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ignar replied as loud and as falsely proud as he could, yet he did not seek his eyes as he did so.

    Kalla scoffed. ¡°Good, then you might live a longer life than I will.¡± He said, and soon sighed loudly, ¡°But I digress; we have more important matters to discuss.¡±

    ¡°A raid, its objectives, and the part that you are to play.¡±

    ¡°We both know that you are not qualified enough to work for me or to even take part in the missions that we are to take. Yet I have to take you with me, as these are the commands given to you and then to me by Kalma himself.¡±

    ¡°Here are your orders, and they are quite simple so that even you can understand and follow them without dying: Soon, you are to arm yourself and then report to me at the gates of the Palace Grounds.¡±

    ¡°From there, you and some of my men are to follow me to the Adrian Estate; we believe that a significant portion of the capital used for arming and funding the organization behind the revolution comes from there.¡±

    ¡°The raid will be total; no one is to leave the estate alive, and everything inside is to be either questioned, tortured, interrogated, claimed, and then moved to a different location, or just killed.¡±

    ¡°These are your orders; these should be enough; more are given at the estate itself.¡±

    ¡°Am I understood?¡± Kalla asked lastly, and his eyes keenly observed any and all facial expressions that Ignar might make and any movements as well.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ignar replied, this time not as loudly nor as falsely proudly.

    Kalla nodded, more so to himself than to anyone else. ¡°Then go and prepare yourself.¡± He commanded, thus dismissing Ignar, who left after saluting his father, no, his commander.

    In the barracks of the castle, in a room that he shared with many others, mostly just normal soldiers, he sat on his bed and polished his saber. Its blade was the very same he had used during many duels; there really wasn¡¯t much use for him to carry it to where he was going. What could a blade, a mere sword, do against the barrage of magic that could so easily break it?

    He didn¡¯t need to take it with him, but he would either way. He was used to it by now. It brought him comfort; it was like a companion that would never reply during a conversation, but it was also one that would not betray him; he could only ever betray it.

    He could lose a duel; he could place the sword in danger, place it in between him and magic, or place it against a blade and arm much stronger than his. A blade can break; even if a saber could bend somewhat, with enough pressure, it would break in two.

    He had severed hands with it, he had pierced someone during a duel, and he had removed ears from where they were supposed to be; the blade had never betrayed him. Which is why he solemnly took care of it. Which is why he would take it with him into the Adrian Estate; perhaps there is no need for it.

    Ignar scoffed to himself, remembering the words of his father, how he so dismissively treated him, how he ridiculed his own son and the skills that were taught to him. Yet he knew that his words were correct.

    He wasn¡¯t the right man for the job¡ªnot a job like this, at least. The only reason why he had received the rank that was given to him was that he was family and because Kalma needed someone he could so easily influence among Kalla¡¯s men.

    He wasn¡¯t a killer. He had never killed anyone. He hadn¡¯t even killed an animal. During hunts, he was, for some reason, unable to kill the target that he had hunted. It always led to Kalla doing the killing for him.

    He was soft¡ªmuch softer than the man he called father, much softer than most of his peers at the cadet school. Sure, he could remove a hand from a man, and then he could as easily heal it. But that was the thing. He never removed someone¡¯s hand with a sword to kill them; he did it so that he could win. And he could always heal a wounded man, but never a man who had no life.

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    He had to become tougher. He had to become someone who could kill. He would have to become a man who would not hesitate when having to kill, and he would have to become a man who would not think back on such an action, not the action of killing a man. He would have to become a man who would not regret his actions, one who would feel guilt because of the actions that he had to take.

    But if he had to kill a man, if he were commanded to do so, was it then even his choice? Was it then even his action? Sure, he might¡¯ve killed a man, but who is to blame a soldier who just does his duty? Does one blame the sword for the head that was removed or the man who carries it?

    The death that he would cause would always fall on the shoulders of Kalla, and from there, on the shoulders of Kalma. His conscience would be clean.

    So he got up from his bed, placed the saber into the scabbard on his hip, and walked out of the barrack he shared with so many men toward the gates, from where he would not be a man but a soldier. His mind and his actions would not be his own; for this night, they follow only the commands of Kalla; tonight, he would be nothing more than a sword.

    When he arrived at the gates, he noticed many familiar faces. The faces of the people that he had seen earlier that day huddled around the table in Kalla¡¯s war room. They were knights like he was, and they had formed groups, each of which would have a different target for tonight. Kanrel had no idea about the other targets; he didn¡¯t know where most of them would go; he only knew where his group would go, a collection of just four people. Kalla, as their leader, and Erjen, who stood right next to him, listened closely to what another man was saying.

    As Ignar walked closer, he could make out some of the words that he spoke, something about ¡°danger¡± and the ¡°useless member of their team.¡± Ignar could guess who he meant with that last remark, and perhaps even the first remark was tied to the latter one. Maybe Ignar would be a cause for danger for his team, as he was the ¡°useless member of their team.¡±

    He braced himself and walked to them, saluting them and announcing his arrival. Instantly, he got many eyes on him¡ªother knights that were in their groups that now studying their latest and youngest addition. Even Erjen did so, but on her face, there was an amused expression.

    "Boy, do you realize what we are doing here tonight?¡± Kalla soon asked, and even on his face, there could be found an amused expression.

    ¡°Yes, sir. Something about questioning, torturing, and killing.¡± Ignar answered promptly, causing the only member of his team whose name he did not know to snicker out loud. Ignar stared at him, this strange man who seemed nothing more than a local alcoholic that one could find around the more unsavory establishments of the city. One could imagine him to have found himself in a holding cell meant for drunks during one of his many long nights spent drinking out in the open, perhaps with friends or prostitutes, but most likely he would have done so alone.

    There was just something about him that loudly, and for some reason, very proudly, he exclaimed to the world his interest in long walks at the park at night¡ªthe ones where you can¡¯t really tell if you are walking straight or if you are on your back against the cobblestone street suffering from extreme vertigo.

    ¡°Your son is very formal; as far as I can tell, there is nothing similar about the two of you.¡± The man pointed out whilst snickering and tapping Kalla on the shoulder, then he suddenly straightened himself and saluted to Ignar, ¡°Captain Wechter at your service!¡± He exclaimed mockingly, then his posture collapsed back to his ¡®I-drink-at-least-two-bottles-of-hard-liquor-a-day pose¡¯ and he added, ¡°But you can call me Urgur; that¡¯s what everyone else calls me either way, even though I am a captain and all, and a very distinguished one at that, I¡¯ll have you know!¡± All this time, Wechter had a toothy smile on his face; he even offered his hand to Ignar so that they could shake hands, but before Ignar could do anything, the man had already moved one.

    ¡°So,¡± he said, the man had become very serious all of a sudden; his voice was no longer jolly, and had become even, perhaps more natural than before as if his earlier voice was nothing more than a well-practiced lie that he had used many times to fool those who he didn¡¯t really want to deal with.

    ¡°When we exit through these gates and then enter the night, as we go through the streets and reach our destination at the Adrian Estate, when we enter the goal of our raid, can I trust you to not get in my way?¡± He asked softly. His voice was ambrosia. A silky, smooth tone, a voice that did not match the body nor the face of the man that carried it, that used it. A voice one would expect of a man who would spend his days swooning maidens and inexperienced men.

    Ignar was visibly shocked, and he felt that the sound of him swallowing could be heard by all.

    ¡°Urgur, don¡¯t tease the boy; he isn¡¯t one of your targets.¡± Erjen scoffed, trying to sound stern, but anyone could see her amused expression.

    Urgur turned toward Erjen and curtsied mockingly, then he faced Ignar again and winked slyly.

    ¡°Well then, shall we get going?¡± He asked soon, again changing his voice to the jovial alcoholic that he had been just moments before.

    The Adrian Estate wasn¡¯t located far from the palace; after all, House Adrian was one of the wealthiest and most influential in the Empire of the Dragon, and they too were like any other rich, distinguished family: believers, zealots even, all followers of the great Kalma.

    One would hardly ever question or doubt them for things like heresy or revolutionary beliefs, not to mention funding those beliefs. After all, how could they ever hide a secret¡ªa crime so large¡ªright before the eyes of their own god in what was basically just an extension of his backyard?

    Another lavish collection of buildings, one could call it a palace of its own; of course, it could never be as large or as impressive as the real deal that was basically around the corner, but it did try to overwhelm architecturally anyone that might see it, and furthermore, anyone that got closer to it or sought entrance to it.

    Even if it was smaller and not as impressive as Kalma¡¯s Palace or Palace Grounds, it still remained impressive. It was stylized like a chateau in the middle of a massive city, and it wasn¡¯t even the only one like it; there were many more like it around Kalma¡¯s Palace, of manors and estates of different rich and powerful families that wanted to bask near the glory of their closest sun.

    It was amazing; it was awe-inspiring, just the sheer artistry of the building and other buildings and parts of the estate connected to it, not to mention the massive garden that was behind it. But then a simple issue crept into Ignar¡¯s mind. One attached to a number; surely it was just an estimate, but that number was four hundred. There had to be at least four hundred rooms in a construction like this. How in Kalma¡¯s name were they going to raid it?

 Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Raid, Part Two

    Urgur was a great friend of the art of subterfuge; he seemed like a man who would not do anything directly unless it was the best thing to do in the moment. Like a dagger that swiftly stabbed the chest of an unassuming victim, one who had no idea of the reasons as to why they were stabbed or who even stabbed them, such a sudden stab, one so direct you could never quite anticipate it, was the great plan that the man presented them when he just walked to the front door of the estate and with an overtly dramatic double-punch released a great wave of magic, which caused the doors to explode right open, then of their hinges and on to the floor that was on the other side.

    The man wiped his hands, as if there were dust on them, and turned toward his party. The man had another toothy grin on his face as he said, ¡°You could say that I am an expert at sleight of hand; no locked door can remain locked or in my way, as I gently use my tools and lockpick that bad boy.¡±

    He then winked at Ignar and added, ¡°I could also unlock your heart¡­¡±

    Kalla scoffed loudly and pushed past the fool. ¡°The door wasn¡¯t even locked.¡± He said as he entered the estate, his vision was soon greeted by multiple guards who came running from three different directions within the building.

    Erjen patted Urgur on the shoulder as she followed their leader. ¡°And a bad boy you are...¡±

    Urgur kept his grin wide and happy, then he scoffed, the veil of the jovial fool gone in an instant, and his silky-smooth voice returned as he said, ¡°Come now, sir second lieutenant, we have a job to do.¡± He grabbed Ignar by the arm and pulled him with him, right next to Kalla and Erjen, so that he could face the twenty or so guards that now stood before them in a semi-circle.

    Men and women, all wearing similar clothes garnished with the same crest, a two-headed crow with the sun placed above them, all this on a red painted surface, all of it gilded. They were all prepared for combat, with sabers already in hand and the others prepared to cast the most lethal spells that they knew.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± One of the guards asked while raising her voice; she stared directly at Kalla, and it was clear that she knew who he was. By now, most who worked in a similar position would know the face of the son of their god.

    Kalla let out a long, frustrated sigh.

    ¡°I am here, in the name of our Lord Kalma, to raid and to arrest everyone and all who happen to be in the Adrian Estate on this lovely evening.¡± He explained, and as he explained, he made sure to look at each of the men and women who now stood before him.

    A silence fell between them as the guard who had spoken to Kalla side-eyed her colleagues, perhaps to see if any of them had anything to say to such words or to just count how many of them were there. Then her eyes locked on Kalla, and she unleashed her magic, instantaneously forming and then hurling thousands of blades at her enemies. And with that, all hell broke loose.

    It was pandemonium.

    The other guards began forming their own magics, and a barrage of fire, ice, stone, and more blades flew their way, but all uselessly, as Kalla, with the most simple of actions, perished the fire, the ice, and the stones dropped on the ground long before they could even truly fly. All this was done as the man slightly furrowed his eyebrows.

    The momentary pandemonium came and went in just a few seconds, as the guards found themselves staring at the man, whom they all knew, in shock. It was unnatural, for no man can control the magic of others so seamlessly. It wasn¡¯t even done one by one, but instead all at the same time. In one instant, he had nullified enough magic to kill a small army.

    Another long sigh was heard, and the son of God seemed more bored than anything else. ¡°Urgur, next time just use the fucking knocker. It really isn¡¯t so hard for us to just enter and do our job.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯ve gone and broken the fucking door for no reason. So fix it. Now.¡± He commanded through his teeth, then snapped his fingers, and the female guard that had spoken to him lost her head. It just popped into nothingness. There was no blood flying anywhere, nor were there pieces of brain membrane or matter, not even pieces of the skull.

    Her head just disappeared, and her body collapsed to the floor.

    The silence returned, and it was so calm. Even though panic and fear ruled the other guards, their expressions now seemed rather worried. By now, they all knew that they could never defeat the man before them.

    The silence was broken by a cough, and everyone turned to look at the origin of said cough, at Urgur, who managed to look rather embarrassed. ¡°General, you¡¯re standing on the door,¡± Urgur said as politely as he could.

    Kalla then took a step forward and urged Erjen and Ignar to do the same, and the moment they stepped off it, it began to levitate as Urgur carefully moved it to its original place. He even fixed the busted hinges of the door. And then he went ahead and tested that the doors would work; he tried opening them, but they would not open. He smirked widely, ¡°See!¡± He said loudly, ¡°It is locked, HAHA!¡±

    Kalla just stared ahead and rolled his eyes, and a silent ¡°whatever¡± could be heard. But soon he returned his full attention to the rest of the guards, saying, ¡°I could kill each and every single one of you with a snap of my fingers.¡±

    ¡°So will you behave, or shall I continue the beheadings?¡± He asked and began snapping his fingers in a slow rhythm, and the sound of each snap echoed in the vestibule. The guards stared at the very imposing man, and one by one, they placed their sabers carefully on the ground.

    ¡°Great! Erjen, incapacitate them, and this time for just a few hours, please¡­¡± Kalla commanded and then began studying the three hallways that would lead into different parts of the building.

    Without a word, Erjen did as was demanded of her, and one by one, the men and women fell to the ground, their eyes still very much open; now all they could do was blink as Urgur went through their pockets while mumbling something about ¡°coins and diamonds¡± and how they ¡°shine.¡±

    Erjen walked to Kalla, with Ignar following closely behind. ¡°Sir, shall we split to investigate what we can find?¡± She asked the man, who seemed to now be looking at the ceiling, where one could see engravings of creatures with wings all done in white stone.

    ¡°Sure, you and Ignar can go to the left, Urgur will take the right, and I¡¯ll go forward; as far as I remember, there are multiple stairways to get to the second floor where the Adrians actually live. The first floor is more or less for kitchens and other utility things; there are also multiple libraries and a ballroom for Koren Adrian¡¯s little court.¡± Kalla explained while still studying the ceiling.

    ¡°If you find a way to the cellars, do not go down.¡± He added and then wandered off while looking around, exploring the walls and ceilings as if he were a tourist in a museum.

    Erjen grabbed Ignar by the arm and began leading him to the left-side hallway, while Urgur was left behind as he systematically and very carefully pocketed coins into his purse while profusely apologizing to the guards for the inconvenience, saying things like, ¡°I just have to confiscate these for the investigation, nothing more.¡± And, ¡°Surely you can trust a trustworthy face like mine.¡±

    Lavish was an understatement. This became more apparent as they entered rooms one by one, most of them uninhabited, some of which had a clear meaning behind them, some of which were just lavish for the sake of being so. This was all to show the wealth that the Adrians had garnered, and that wealth was great.

    Koren Adrian and his forefathers were collectors of fine art, paintings dating as far back as the first Renaissance, almost a thousand years ago. Such paintings were then much older than the walls that inhabited them. The estate was constructed during the Second Renaissance, a time of great art, progress in technology, and magical innovation. But such things seldom come without a great cost.

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    The Adrian Estate and its construction happened during the reconstruction of the city of Anavasii, which occurred because of Kalma¡¯s wishes to remodel the city so that it could be planned more effectively and that it would become more modern in its style of architecture.

    During these times, the people suffered greatly because of it, for many had to leave their houses as they were forcibly demolished and then had to partake in large construction efforts all around the city, mainly through forced labor, for which they were only compensated with food and shelter.

    Because of this, large camps of newly homeless people were established around the city, none of them too far from the construction or demolition sites. This great reconstruction lasted around three to four decades to complete, and for nearly half that time, most of the people lived in said camps in terrible conditions.

    But at least the richer and more powerful members of society greatly benefited from such efforts. Now with large castles as their private property and then the riches gained from leasing land for new houses to be built on, and then even leasing property around the city to the less wealthy members of society, the very same people who had been forced to build those same buildings.

    It was beautiful, in a way. The way was certainly cruel and absolutely exploitative, but those days are now long gone. Surely things had changed for the better.

    Oh, how he could just smell it all around him¡ªthe smell of cash. The smell of gold, and coins, and jewelry, and gemstones, and diamonds, and blood. All the paintings and all the riches that, at all times, looked him straight in the eyes demanded that he witness the wealth of one singular family.

    On the walls of the corridors, he could witness many different faces, most of whom seemed to share some common traits, such as a long jawline, which was often mentioned when one spoke about the Adrians. It was unknown as to why such a prominent feature was so common within this family, but it at least made it easy to differentiate between those who were born into the family and those who married into it.

    Among those who had married into the family, there were some true beauties and some very handsome individuals. Even some of those born into the family seemed to retain some of the beautiful and handsome traits that were brought in by those who married into the family. But even still, the long jaw would somehow tarnish the beauty that was there.

    Ignar didn¡¯t find such a trait to be beautiful or handsome at all, but as he walked in the corridor and observed the faces of many of the long-dead members of this old family, the long jaw suddenly gained a new meaning: wealth.

    Perhaps this very feature, one quite unseemly on the face of an otherwise beautiful maiden, was there as the easiest indicator that this person was indeed born into considerable wealth. One could never mistake a member of the Adrian family for someone else, as someone who lacked wealth.

    Not to mention the very prominent amount of scales that populated their faces, giving proof of their strong capabilities and possibly even talent for magic. In a way, they were bred to be not only a part of a wealthy family but one that was known and respected for their powerful mages, some of whom have long pages written about them and their exploits in warfare and studies into magic and the theory of magic.

    Such a family could never be just about wealth. Such a family would always have a plethora of very talented individuals, capable and ruthless, for that was something that would always be demanded of them. A family like the Adrians was no ordinary rich family; they could not be compared to those that Ignar had met at the cadet¡¯s school, for they would always be more than those present. Because if they were not more, if they lacked the talent, if they weren¡¯t near perfection, then were they even a member of such a distinguished family? Such a family with a longer history than some kingdoms of times long past.

    But his thoughts were brought to a halt as they entered yet another room, this one filled with people.

    It was a kitchen, and it was one that was more busy than you would guess to be so late into the night. However multiple cooks worked with their specialized magic to prepare different dishes and exotic foods that they might present to their masters. Men and women... all more than talented in the culinary arts.

    Just witnessing this made Ignar''s stomach crumble. It had been a few hours since he had had the pleasure of eating bread and pea soup. Something that wasn¡¯t nearly as appetizing or intriguing as the things that he saw.

    This was the last door at the end of the long corridor that they had had to walk down. They had opened many doors and inspected many rooms, yet this one was the one that impressed Ignar the most. But maybe that was just the hunger speaking...

    One of the cooks noticed them and yelled, ¡°What the hell are you doing in my kitchen this late at night?¡± The man sounded furious as if they had just entered his house in the middle of the night and awoke him suddenly from deep slumber.

    Erjen scoffed. ¡°We are here in the name of Kalma to inspect the premises of your workstations, the storage rooms that might lay behind the next door, and even the cupboards if we really have to. This mission includes you, all of you.¡±

    ¡°You are all to be taken into custody, then interrogated.¡± She announced loudly, keenly observing the reactions that the many cooks might have; she had the attention of most of them.

    The cook who had spoken to her cursed loudly, ¡°Can I at least have some proof that you are actually here in the name of Kalma? If not, then you can both fuck right off! You see, I don¡¯t have time for chatter or to be taken into custody. Can¡¯t you see that I am working here? Can¡¯t you see the art that we are producing!?¡±

    ¡°My Lord Adrian will be most displeased if his breakfast isn¡¯t perfect early in the morrow!¡± He exclaimed as if in despair.

    ¡°Well, your Lord Adrian will not be having any breakfast ¡®in the morrow¡¯.¡± Erjen announced loudly, ¡°In fact, in the morrow, he might be quite dead... That is if we aren¡¯t allowed to do the work that we came here to do!¡± She then shouted; her usually slick and calm demeanor had disappeared altogether as she now stared down at the short cook. In her eyes, there was steel, a sharp edge, as if a challenge of sorts, which entailed a promise: If you don¡¯t do as I say, there won¡¯t be a tomorrow for any of you.

    The cook stared fearlessly back, which was quite commendable or foolish. Then he grabbed his chef''s hat and threw it on the floor. ¡°Fine! Search the damn place, interrogate us, or whatever; just know that today you have murdered art!¡± With a tear in his eye, he tried to storm off but was stopped by Ignar.

    ¡°What do you want, young man? Do not further break the heart of an artist!¡± He hissed loudly, and one could quite clearly hear the hurt in his voice.

    ¡°No, not at all; I just want all of you to form a nice, neat line, and then we¡¯ll escort you out of here,¡± Ignar said while moving his hand to pat the man gently on the shoulder.

    The man stepped backward, ¡°Do not touch me, you... you scoundrel!¡± He protested, but even still, the other cooks left their stations and formed a neat line behind the very emotionally distressed and hurt head chef of theirs.

    Ignar sighed but still forced a smile. ¡°Now, now, it will all be over soon.¡± He promised and began leading them to the vestibule. Erjen placed herself at the back of the line, and they escorted them near the guards, who remained very much incapacitated on the floor, and soon one could hear as one by one the cooks fell to the ground, unable to do anything about anything.

    Erjen found the head chef and looked deeply into his teary eyes, and with a wide smile on her face, filliped the man''s nose, knowing well that it would hurt quite a bit. Then she left the chef behind with an even wider smile.

 Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Raid, Part Three

    In the eastern wing, they found nothing of interest, only a way to the cellars in the storage room of the kitchen; thus, Erjen and Ignar went back to the entrance of the building and awaited the return of Urgur and Kalla.

    They sat on the floor in absolute silence while the prying eyes of the incapacitated guards and cooks lay on the ground, their eyes wildly shifting around. Such an experience had to be incredibly traumatic. Ignar had gone through something like that before, but not while awake. He had had a dream where he was suspended in a dark globe, unable to move. Around him, he could see figures that seemed somehow familiar, as if he had seen them before, although most of them seemed to not be Sharan; instead, their faces lacked scales and looking at each of them in turn, he would feel a different feeling. There was an older woman whose face brought him this strange, gentle feeling as if the gaze of that woman brought him safety and joy. But there was also a young man whose face brought him feelings of regret, guilt, and this powerful feeling of yearning. From such a dream, he would always awaken with tears flowing down his cheeks.

    There was also another dream that he would sometimes see, another nightmare, one where he lay on a bed, again unable to move or do anything, while men without scales on their faces approached him, then slowly pierced his body with rapiers. From such dreams, he awoke only to his own screams.

    Ignar was certain that he had never truly experienced such things or known such people. But somehow, it felt like he should remember something important. He just wasn¡¯t quite sure what he was supposed to remember; what had he forgotten? And if he even wanted to remember, for there are two things that he found the most terrifying: forgetting and remembering.

    His train of thought was suddenly disturbed by the loud, approaching whistle that he could hear from his right side. And as he turned his gaze toward the location of that sound, he could see Urgur dancing his way to them; he was waltzing to the tune of his own whistling. This surfaced another memory, this one of a woman who had held Ignar¡¯s hands and danced with him.

    ¡°What a wonderful adventure we have had tonight!¡± Urgur exclaimed in his jovially drunken manner, ¡°There were some fools back there who thought that they could defeat me... Poor men had no idea who they were dealing with; they even ignored my very serious warnings that I gave them.¡±

    ¡°They were quite rude indeed, and because of them, I had to make another mess... I doubt that it will be easy to remove their blood from the carpets. Or to find their body parts...¡± He continued as he came closer. He sat down next to one of the incapacitated guards and loudly whispered to their ears, ¡°I scattered them around the rooms.¡± His voice was so soft now, and a shy smile came to his face.

    ¡°Did you find anything?¡± He then asked, still staring into the scared eyes of the guard beneath his gaze.

    ¡°These cooks here and a way to the cellars; so basically nothing,¡± Ignar reported.

    ¡°I am not surprised; I found nothing as well. Just the fools who died way too young.¡± Urgur said mournfully, then he suddenly perked up and pulled something out of his pocket. ¡°Oh, and this necklace; see how beautiful it is... I think that this one would go rather well with the ring that I confiscated from you.¡±

    ¡°Though I did take it from your ring finger, are you perhaps married? Oh, but you can¡¯t speak or really move, now can you? Look up and then down if you¡¯re married." He commanded, and soon the guard did as was ordered.

    ¡°How wonderful is that? Young love¡­ You know, I was married once. To a woman, no less. She had eyes, a mouth, and even a nose. Me thinks that we had many things in common, though for a long time, a broken heart wasn¡¯t a thing we had in common, so I did as any man with a broken heart would do, I took hers and sliced it into pieces.¡± Urgur spoke, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

    ¡°God, I miss her so.¡± He said, and a singular tear ran down his face.

    Erjen scoffed rather loudly, ¡°You¡¯ve never had a wife.¡±

    Urgur sprung back to his feet. ¡°Well, if I had one, then I would surely miss her!¡±

    ¡°Right, before or after slicing her heart into pieces?¡± Erjen asked.

    ¡°I would surely miss her at one point in time.¡± He said and seemed to think for a while, then a confused expression came to his face: ¡°How would I know? I¡¯ve never had a wife.¡±

    Erjen sighed. ¡°That was what I was getting at.¡±

    ¡°But enough about hypothetical wives and hypothetical feelings of missing one; we should get going and find Kalla,¡± Erjen said and got up from the floor.

    ¡°Not ¡®wives¡¯ but a ¡®wife¡¯, you know, one singular wife,¡± Urgur corrected.

    ¡°Are you then hinting that you¡¯ve had many?¡± Ignar asked in turn; he got up as well, and they went on to the hallway that Kalla had gone down hours before.

    ¡°Exactly! I¡¯ve had many wives and many husbands as well, and you know, there is always room for another.¡± Urgur said with another toothy grin on his face.

    Past the corridor, they found their way into a large hall, one supported by many pillars all around it. Through the middle of it ran a dark red carpet, garnished with golden symbols of two-headed crows with the same sun above them. Such patterns ran on the sides of the carpet, which led all the way from the corridor to the end of the hall, where a lone throne sat.

    It was a court, one just for the Adrians; it was unlikely that Kalma would ever visit such a place, so who else would sit on that throne and accept guests of honor and people during balls and such other than the great Koren Adrian himself?

    Though castles and palaces for different rich families did often have such a throne, it was usually there as a symbolic presence, one to remind that their God would see all, that he would be there in his indomitable spirit, which is exactly why this throne was made out of obsidian as well.

    But somewhere in Ignar¡¯s head, he couldn¡¯t help but believe that this Koren Adrian would be a man who would purposefully sit on the throne and act like a king before his guests and others who might come to him while seeking support and wealth.

    There were three other rooms, one on the right side of the hall and one on the other side of it. Both of these rooms were, in a way, extensions of the hall, mainly used for dining and smaller, more formal gatherings.

    The third room was behind the throne, a smaller room, more like an office space. There were many books on the shelves that surrounded the circular room, as well as stacked envelopes, papers, and ledgers filled with information related to the many different investments of the Adrian family.

    This is where they might find some proof regarding the alleged collusion with the rebels. They could investigate further later, and as there was no sight of Kalla, they figured that he had already gone upstairs.

    The main staircase was located at the entrance to the building itself, with two stairways that formed a semicircle that led to the second floor. There their way diverged into three, one through a door that would lead to a great library that was located on top of the hall below; and then there were two corridors that would first lead into the apartments of those who lived in the Adrian Estate, and then later to the West Wing and the East Wing of the chateau.

    There is also supposed to be another set of staircases that would lead to the third and final floor of this massive building, and surely there were the towers as well, which would have many more floors, but they were just that, towers. If they found nothing here, then they would have to go through them as well.

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    The doors to the library were already open, so they went ahead and entered. What greeted them was the largest collection of books that Ignar had ever seen in his life; the same could probably be said for all of them.

    The thing about such a collection wasn¡¯t just that there might be information that would be extremely important for anyone to learn, but it was more so about the show of wealth; thus, the information that was collected here was such that it was difficult to first find and second to even buy or own.

    There were rows of shelves dedicated to archaic and otherwise lost civilizations, often in languages that no one had spoken in centuries or millennia. There was nothing mundane or normal about such a collection. One could only wonder if it went unappreciated here. If anyone had touched some of these books in decades, if this almost extinct information would be lost to the ages just because one family dared to keep it all for themselves and never utter of its existence to anyone else or let historians or philologists study and preserve them for future generations.

    What mountains of knowledge and wisdom were then thus lost to the ages? To a library that lets none enter its domain of unbroken silence.

    This was perhaps the place where he would have liked to spend the rest of his life. Just reading all of this, making sure that none of it would be forgotten. To make sure that the stories of those who wrote them would forever be remembered by even those who probably caused the destruction of their civilizations and kingdoms. Was that not the least those who came as conquerors could do for those they conquered and then destroyed?

    There were a total of four entrances to the library, one on each side of the room, all of which connected to the two corridors that they had chosen not to investigate quite yet.

    It was strange. This great building with rooms for hundreds of people, but there seemed to be no one on this first part of the second floor of the building. Thus, they stayed together and went ahead, navigating their way and trying to find doors that were left open. This way, they found their way toward the western side of the building, toward one of the apartments, the one meant for Koren Adrian himself.

    And as they entered through the very first set of doors to his domain, was it then made clear why it was so quiet¡­

    Men and women without heads were lying on the sofas in the first room they entered. They had perhaps died in mere moments, without the ability to react to whatever or whoever came for them, for their bodies were in positions where someone expecting death would be.

    There was a woman, who was wearing a blue dress, who sat on one of the couches. On her lap, there was a cup that had spilled its insides all over her dress; perhaps that had been a cup of tea she had keenly drank whilst conversing with the man right next to her.

    At least he hadn¡¯t spilled anything, for his cup was placed on the table right across from him. There were five bodies in total, and they had all been sitting down, just minding their own business, spending the late evening with each other. One could wonder if they had been innocent or if this had been something they deserved. If this was called for.

    Kalla was a brutal man. This was now clear to him, and as they first inspected the corpses and then went ahead, past the next set of doors, past the small living room, to a large bedroom connected to another office space, this brutality became more clear.

    On the bed, there lay a naked man. His hands were spread to the sides, and so were his legs, all tied to the bed posts. On top of him lay a woman, one who wore nothing more than a veil that covered her petite shoulders. She and the man both had no heads. And on a chair sat a man who keenly seemed to be reading through a ledger. Kalla, in all his glory, acted as if nothing had happened here on this night. As if he had not been the one to kill so many. As if his brutality were to be first expected and then accepted.

    And when the trio entered through the door, he raised his gaze from the ledger and soon followed their gaze to the pair that lay on the bed. He scoffed. ¡°They were like that when I got here.¡±

    ¡°Though they did have their heads still on back then.¡± He soon added and got up from the chair, tapping the cover of the ledger for no particular reason. He stepped past the trio and out of the bedroom. ¡°Are you done staring? Let¡¯s not waste any more time here. Urgur, you¡¯re to lead further investigations into the things that can be found within the property. Extract everything that could be used as proof; go through the ledgers, the books, any and all documents that you get your hands on, read even the fucking diaries of the guards and cooks of this damned place, leave nothing out, and then report your findings to me.¡± Kalla commanded, ¡°Erjen, you, as always, will be questioning those who are still alive. Demand, torture, whatever; I don¡¯t care; just be thorough.¡±

    ¡°And you, Ignar... Report to your beloved God what you have witnessed here tonight. Tell him that Koren Adrian is dead, and with him have died the hopes for a better future for the Sharan.¡± He spat out his last words, and then he stormed off, never once looking back at the things that he had done.

    Ignar was left speechless and confused. He could barely recognize his own father in his actions, yet in his words, there remained a hint of it. The bitterness in his words was so clear. The regret that would haunt him for the things that he had committed¡ªall the things that he would have to share with Kalma¡ªunless he lied, but could one lie before God?

    Erjen and Urgur went ahead and did as was demanded of them. They asked no questions as if they knew exactly what had happened here and how it had happened. For them, this was normal. This was Kalla, and this was his truest form.

    Ignar left the Adrian Estate behind, with only a bundle of mixed emotions. He had killed no one that day, so at least he was blessed with nothing having dirtied his hands with blood or violence. But his mind was soiled; perhaps he had not witnessed blood, like he had done so on that day so many years ago now, the day when he had run away from the field of corpses, into the forest, into the safety of Kalla¡¯s cottage in the middle of nowhere.

    But what had become soiled was his understanding of his own father. Bloodless, the scenes of the dead might be, but death is a death. A murder remains a murder, even when done in the most painless manner.

    And what could be their excuse? What could be Kalla¡¯s excuse? Would it be the same one that Ignar had wanted to use in the case if he had to kill someone? Was Kalla also nothing more than a sword in Kalma¡¯s hands, one used for swift execution, one used for such brutal acts, one used like this before¡­

    He should not hate or criticize his father for this, not for anything that has happened. Instead, he felt defeated in so many ways. He had not become the man his father wanted him to become. Ignar had bowed before God; he had bowed his head before the hubris of man.

    The disappointed eyes of his father would be forevermore ingrained in his memory.

 Chapter Sixty: Let Thy Will Be Done

    This night was perhaps different from all the others, for the court was closed and only he and Kalma were there. No one else, not even a shadow of another man, not even a single guard or a servant.

    Only Ignar who was on his knees, and a god who sat on an obsidian throne.

    It is an intense stare. A stare that captivates you, that calls you, and demands you answer it. To remain on your knees and never look past him, never to avert his gaze... But he had to; he could not take it. He felt like nothing. He was nothing before a gaze so intense. That judged him. Under the gaze of a god, he was nothing.

    But in those eyes, there was something past the judgment. Perhaps a question or a command. Either way, a thought would soon come to the surface and would reach past the intensity of his gaze and become transformed into words, into those commands and questions that there might be.

    But the first words that God uttered to him weren¡¯t born from such thoughts: ¡°And so a traitor dies.¡± Words soon followed by a singular nod: ¡°Wonderful. I had anticipated that you would not disappoint me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve earned my trust, Ignar,¡± Kalma said and rose from his throne; he now stood tall and imposing. Looking further down at the man, who was no more than a youth in comparison to the many years that he himself had lived.

    But then he stepped off his pedestal. One step at a time, he descended the many stairs that were between them and soon stood right in front of Ignar. The youth who trembled, the youth whose hands shook, whose whole body had now tensed up.

    Ignar¡¯s eyes only saw his feet, the scales that covered every inch of their feet, and the sharp nails that one could use to kick someone to death. To stomp on those he deemed to be nothing more than maggots and bugs beneath his feet.

    ¡°Arise.¡± Kalma commanded, his voice stern and filled with authority, ¡°Do not avert your eyes.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t help but swallow; his body was so tense now; it was too tense, for he found it difficult to get up. And as he got up and as he faced Kalma, they stood as equals in height. Their eyes were on the same level.

    Piercing and white, yet so... dead? How can something so beautiful seem so dead? How can the eyes of a god have no life in them? From so close, he could now see things that he could before see only a hint of.

    Pain. So much pain. There is enough pain to give up on the notion of pleasure or the notion of life itself. What is life if you¡¯ve become unable to die? If you¡¯ve become death¡­

    And those eyes, they stared at his. Mezmering him until... nothing. Until... there is just the abyss. And it''s so cold here. It is so lonely here. It is so... dead.

    ¡°Time means nothing to me.¡± God spoke, ¡°Life and death are just the same.¡±

    ¡°I lived once in a hut made of clay and hay. I was a child back then, and I had not dreamed of a world of marble and gold. There were no such things for someone like me.¡±

    ¡°But... behind our hut, there was a garden, and in this garden, there grew not only flowers that populated the earth beneath my feet but also a tree, a singular apple tree.¡±

    ¡°I cannot remember the face of my own mother, nor can I remember the names of those who I called family.¡±

    ¡°I only know that they must have existed.¡±

    The sharpness in his eyes was gone, and past the once judgemental gaze, now came truth.

    ¡°I can remember the hut, the flowers, and even the apple tree. But not the faces or names of those who I should love the most.¡±

    ¡°Instead, I can imagine myself laying beneath the shadow of that tree on a bed of flowers, and all I am in this moment is lonely.¡±

    ¡°I, under the shade of a lonely apple tree.¡±

    ¡°In this vision, I have. There is nothing else. There is no face that I love. There is no life, just me.¡±

    ¡°And I wonder...¡± He whispered, his brows twitching slightly, ¡°What does it take to forget someone you love?¡± He tilted his head.

    ¡°Did I even love them?¡± He asked, and he blinked as tears wet his eyes. ¡°Ignar, tell me, am I then a monster?¡±

    He dared not breathe, lest his breath upset the God who cried, and now that he could not hold his breath a moment longer, he breathed in heavy breaths of air. In his mind, just this: How... how mortal a God can seem...

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡± He blurted out the only answer that he could give. His body stopped trembling, and fear had been set aside, but now it roared once more; it returned like the wind on the sea; it returned as the eyes of God sharpened once more. As they became callous, they became dead once more. As the judgment had begun anew.

    It was like the tears were never there. Like those words had never been said. Kalma now spoke: ¡°You¡¯ve gained my trust, but now you must earn the name that you and I must share.¡±

    Kalma turned around and, in long strides, returned to his throne, but he did not sit down; instead, he witnessed as Ignar fell to his knees, looking up at God, who had graced him with his presence, with his tears.

    ¡°The leaders of the rebellion are not dead yet. They breathe, and their breath upsets me.¡± Kalma spoke, and each of his words was spat out: ¡°You will be the one to kill them; one by one, you shall make them fall; you shall make them enter the eternal night; you shall become mine; you¡¯re of my blood.¡±

    ¡°Become death¡­ Become like me, and forevermore shall I love you as a father should love his own son.¡±

    Ignar trembled violently. Fervor. This was fervor. This was what those who believed felt when they prayed to their gods. This was ecstasy. This was bliss. As if against the wishes of his own body, he awkwardly bowed, placing his head on the ground, and announced, ¡°Lord, may your will be done.¡±

    Every night since then, he has visited him in his dreams. And they would walk in a garden meant for just them. Where the flowers would never wilt nor wither, and where the apple tree¡¯s fruit would be plentiful and its apples ripe and sweet. A garden so beautiful, a dream so beloved, that it took his nightmares away; that took all the other dreams with it and made them not matter. Nothing matters¡ªnot the pains or the ails that have plagued him in his life. Nothing mattered, not like the garden, not like the tears that made it grow. Not like the promise that parted the lips of God.

    If he could, he would build the temple of Kalma¡¯s desires; he would build it on the highest hill with his very own hands. Even if it would take a million years, he would construct such a creation and dedicate it to someone so great.

    It was the seventeenth day after the raid on the Adrian Estate, and finally, he had word of where he could find one of the leaders of the rebellion. Apparently, they had gone into hiding after the many raids that had happened, but they did not hide far away, but instead, just on the outskirts of the city, in an impoverished part of the city, in a building that was perhaps once a normal inn but then had become a brothel, one of the many similar establishments that populate the outskirts of Anavasii.

    Prostitution was not illegal; it was only frowned upon. Who cared if some girl or boy ended up as one of the many workers of the night? If they have no education or significant powers or skills, then should they just starve away en masse? No, no¡­ The Sharans believed that everyone has a place in society; even those who are deemed to be worthless by most have worth to some. There will always be someone who wants to alleviate their most carnal instincts. And for such situations, one only needs a coin to find someone who can help.

    And on the very street where Ignar now found himself, there were many who would gladly take his coin and help in any way that they could. P¨®fos is a place for all forms of lust. Sex, fetishes, even the sating of one¡¯s intellectual lusts¡ªyou name it, there was everything that one could desire.

    As a young man himself, he found that he could only stare at the many things that were around him. People so openly showing themselves, customers, not caring that they were seen, then approaching houses that seemed quite active, finding men and women most attractive, joining hands with them, and letting them lead them indoors to those many houses of so many desires.

    He was out of place. He had never touched a man or a woman in such a way. He often even wondered if he had such desires. If he felt lust, would he want something like this?

    Even with all these things present, he ventured forth, keeping his gaze from meeting the eyes of the women who were far too beautiful in his eyes, or the men who¡¯d make you swing another way, or would at least give a good run for your money.

    There was a rather famous brothel in the center of it all, one not only famous for its services but also for the name that it so proudly carried: the Gates of Urul.

    One could guess what such a name could refer to, but Ignar chose not to even question the meaning of the name, and he doubted that he would even like to know.

    And now that this house of lust was before him, he was surprised that such a building had even been built in this part of the town. It looked out of place. A building of marble on a street of rubble.

    The owners of this establishment had clearly garnered much wealth through the years, and it was no wonder it was the place to be. It was where those who had money, not just coins, would find the most premium treatment with the most diverse selection of options and a cast with varying levels of expertise in a given act.

    But there was a selection that was far above any other. The most popular option was a simple, private conversation.

    Prostitution isn¡¯t always about sex; there are many men and women who suffer from loneliness, many who wish nothing more than an understanding ear to hear their ails, or just a simple acknowledgment, to be called by their name, to be tightly hugged, and then warmly lead out, back into the night with whispers and promises that they would always be here for them, that they would always be waiting for them, and they would be glad to offer their ears again... for a price.

    One could argue that it was sad. But there was also beauty in this. It was rather innocent. It was also proof of a simple, almost universal law: if there is a need for it, then there certainly is someone who is willing to provide it, thus there will be someone willing to pay for it.

    At the doorway to the Gates of Urul, there stood two people: a man and a woman. They seemed to work for the establishment, so he chose to approach them. At first, he thought that he should just enter through the door, but after observing and hesitating for a while, he managed to witness someone enter before him: another man, who seemed to talk for a while to the two people before being allowed entrance.

    As he walked up to them, he could already feel their evaluating eyes on him as they looked for three things: signs of wealth, signs of power, and signs of danger. And when he reached them on the face of the woman, there was already approval.

    ¡°Good sir, are you looking to enter the Gates of Urul as a customer, or are you perhaps looking for work? And I mean, no offense, there would be many ladies who would like to spend their night on top of you or under you.¡±

    ¡°If you happen to swing that way, but if you don¡¯t, then surely you wouldn¡¯t have even a moment in lonesome as many men would come to you; oh, how they would crawl before you... I think they would let you do anything to them if you so desired.¡± The woman explained with such great passion that it was difficult to be offended.

    But taken aback, he was, and the way his scales changed color in almost an instant to a darker shade. But this only brought a more joyous expression on the woman¡¯s face: ¡°Just magnificent, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± She said and tapped the shoulder of the man next to her, who just grunted in agreement.

    Ignar cleared his throat. ¡°Well, I am not looking for work at the moment, but company on the other hand.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± She exclaimed in disappointment, "Well, you may enter; of course, you seem wealthy enough, and I realized the moment I saw you that you just might say no to my suggestion... but I will keep a hint of hope by my side. Enter you may, but when you leave, promise that one day you will return here, and then we might talk business." Her smile was so coy, and as Ignar thanked her and entered through the door, she let her fingers ever so slightly linger on his shoulder.

    It was like a jolt that ran through him as he found the desire that he thought he might not have. But alas, he was here for a simple job: murder.

    <hr>

    The entrance to the house of lust was a corridor that was divided into three parts by three veils, all of a different color. As he stepped past the first one, he was greeted with the smell of perfume. There was a smell that reminded him of the woman he had walked past moments ago. He swallowed.

    The next veil brought with it a feeling, one that began in his head and ran through his whole body, as if it were a touch, or many, that gently caressed him, seeking what a man like him would like; what was the touch that he sought?

    And the third veil removed all doubt. It removed the feeling of shyness, the pressure one could feel, and even the nervousness of the one who had entered in search of pleasure.

    His whole body receded; he had never felt so free to do as he wished. There were many things he wanted to do, so one question remains: Why not just do them? What is the harm in seeking pleasure and the touch of another? Now he could do it all, even the mission.

    Past the third veil opened up a large space, a great room that was more like a bar or a tavern than anything else; there were tables and booths, couches that filled those booths with people idling and conversing with each other, often with people much more beautiful than they were. But on the faces of each individual, there remained an illusion of intrigue: the customer that a prostitute was to serve this night was not old or ugly; for them, for this night and perhaps many nights after, they were beautiful, they were filled with youthful energy, and everything they said was interesting and important.

    There was also a desk with two sets of stairs on either side. Ignar studied the room, the people that were there, and the new faces that he had never seen before. The way they interacted with each other, as laughter at times, would fill the air around, or when a woman would place their lips on a glass and drink the nectarine, which would bring her courage.

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    And the man that soon approached him, on their face, an expression of curiosity, they reached him and soon asked, ¡°Sir, I¡¯ve not seen your face here before, so might I guide you through our grand establishment and even recommend services that may be of interest to you?¡± Their speech was steady, and the smile on their face never left for even a moment. With both of their hands, they gestured toward the desk.

    Ignar accepted this offer and followed the man. They stopped at the desk, where a woman worked behind the counter. She wore a revealing black dress that brought out the white of her scales. She for a moment glanced at Ignar, and her eyes sparkled in shades of gold as the yellow iris of her eyes met the eyes of the young man.

    She went ahead and wrote something on a note, which she folded and then placed on the counter. Her eyes met Ignar¡¯s eyes again, and a coy smile conquered her face. ¡°I know what you¡¯re here for.¡± She said, ¡°Ules, I think you should man the counter for a couple of hours.¡±

    Ules stared at the woman with a confused expression on his face, then an understanding smile removed such confusion as he scoffed. ¡°So you know this young man?" He asked and looked at Ignar in turn. ¡°I never thought that I¡¯d see the day when you would have customers of your own.¡±

    His smile widened. ¡°But I do approve of your choice; this one seems to be able to go all night.¡±

    The ever-confused Ignar had to battle to not let the blush on his face show as the woman took him by the arm, grabbing the note with her as she led him upstairs. They climbed the stairs at a normal pace, but after each step, Ignar could feel the rhythm of his heart quicken. He wondered if the woman could feel the sweat that had begun to form on his hand if she would be able to see how blushed his face had become, and if she could find the lust deep beneath his gaze.

    On the second floor of the establishment, there were rooms on either side; at first, the space in between was quite small, but at the end of the corridor, after walking past ten or so doors, the woman opened the door to the left and pulled Ignar inside with her.

    The room was large, and it had been divided into three sections. The first section was a space where one could place their shoes and coats; there were also three couches and a small table that was in the middle of them. The second section had a large bathtub in it, with a large window that overlooked the street beneath. Then there was the third section, the largest part of the room, equal in size to the other two combined; a large kingsized bed with silk sheets and multiple pillows placed all over the bed, not to mention a balcony with an even better view of the street below; and then there were wardrobes filled with who knows what, and lastly, paintings that garnished the walls.

    Around the room they had entered, there were many lights hanging from different places, creating a sensual mood for the room, combined with the fragrant smell that came from the bathtub.

    Ignar couldn¡¯t help but feel the urge that came with such a setting, but the woman let go of his hands. She looked deep into his eyes and placed the folded note in Ignar¡¯s hand; her expression was serious as she whispered, ¡°You do what you came here for. There should be no one that will bother you, and the rooms are soundproof. I will be waiting here for you.

    Ignar stared at her for a moment longer and then read what the note contained. A room number: 309.

    He again looked at the woman, but she had already sat on the couch, and she kept tapping the armrest. She was nervous. Perhaps even afraid.

    Ignar let out a silent sigh. In his mind, he damned the whole mission. Couldn¡¯t he instead have fun in this fine establishment? He left the room and silently closed the door behind him. He searched the door and soon found its number: 209. He looked at the other side of the corridor, at the door that was there, and its number was 210.

    He returned to the staircase, making note of each door and its number as he went by. Based on this, he figured that the room that he was looking for was on the third floor, a room that would be above the room in which he had just been.

    The third floor had the same layout as the second floor, but the only sounds that he could hear were those that came from the first floor¡ªthe sounds of laughter that silently echoed through the stairway and up to the floor on which he now was.

    He sneaked onward, again taking note of how the rooms were numbered. The rooms that were in use were marked with a sign that hung from the door handle. On such signs, it usually reads ¡°Do Not Disturb,¡± or just ¡°In Use.¡±

    The numbers followed the same logic; the first number was the floor, and the ones that followed were the room numbers.

    At the end of the corridor, he found the door he was looking for; it was numbered ¡°309,¡± and on its handle was a sign that read ¡°Do Not Disturb.¡±

    Without even trying the knob, Ignar knew that the door would be locked, but that would not be an issue. There were many ways one could break down a door; it had not been long since Urgur had showcased one way of doing it, but he would not break down the door. He needed to be more careful; he needed to be as subtle as he could.

    Thus, his only feasible option was to lock-pick the damn door. The only issue was that he had never done anything like that before, and he wasn¡¯t sure how long it would take before someone would enter this floor. And he wasn¡¯t that sure if the rooms being ¡°soundproof¡± meant that the sounds coming from outside would also be muffled, and not just those that were formed within the rooms.

    But really¡­ How complicated could a lock even be? He thought to himself and began thinking of the different locks that he had seen in his lifetime. There were padlocks, warded locks, and magical locks; this one was obviously a magical lock, so there really wasn¡¯t a need for a keyhole, even when the lock had one, but it was there for most aesthetic reasons, to kind of notify anyone who might try entering that the door could be locked.

    Magical locks were by nature complex, but the complexity of the lock itself then befell the person who created the magic for it. If he had been unlucky, then the person who had created the lock for this door would have been someone much more magically gifted than he, but thankfully such was very rare.

    And in this case, the creator of the lock had not been someone who was greater in magical ability than he was, but still, they had been someone who knew their shit. Thus, even if the person had less aptitude for magic, they made up for it with knowledge.

    It was eerily silent as he just stood there and looked at the door and its lock. The only sounds one could hear were his own heartbeat and the laughter, which was very muffled, that came from downstairs.

    Maybe he could not unlock the door, but he could remove the magic that kept it locked. For that, he was powerful enough. He carefully sought the magic within and formed it into a nullifying spell, one that, if it came into contact with any magic that was either lesser or equal, would become nullified. It was as if two forces met each other and then became naught afterward. The nullifying spell would become nothing and so would the magic that meets it.

    In most scenarios, it was almost like a show of force. He could remember the way Kalla had done so against the guards of the Adrian Estate¡ªhow everything that they threw at him became nothing or was instead stopped by other means. If it were just the nullifying magic that he had used, then perhaps it would¡¯ve been less impressive, but that mixed with how he controlled the magic of others, on the other hand...

    Ignar released the magic that he had created; he could feel the magic of the lock and his magic; they were as if connected by tethers one could not see so easily; they struck each other, and Ignar could feel how these two forces first battled, seeing which were stronger, then they both collapsed and became nothing. The feeling that remained after was cold, and there was an absence of that which once was.

    He quickly opened the door and entered, knowing all too well that the person within could easily notice such magic; the first glances that he could see of anything were a similar layout to the room that was beneath it, and then an ice lance flew toward him. Ignar closed the door behind him and formed a quick code to block the magic thrown at him.

    The ice lance shattered as it met a well-placed stone shield that had materialized in its way. The sharp icicles flew in many directions, but all of them Ignar scorched away with quickly formed flames.

    And then, at last, he could see the person he was supposed to kill. A man with a grin on his face; his white hair flew around wildly as he conjured another spell to remove the enemy that had entered his room without his permission.

    A man with far too familiar facial expressions; a man who stopped doing what he was doing the moment they too realized who they now faced.

    All movement stopped; all creation of magic ended; instead, two men stared at each other. A father and a son. Kalla and Ignar.

    A smile on the face of the old man as he finally spoke, ¡°So this is the assassin my father sent for me? How thoughtful of him!"

    Ignar took a step forward, ¡°What is the meaning of this? There was supposed to be a leader of the rebellion in here." He asked, but he already knew the answer. He already knew what Kalla thought of Kalma; he already knew where all this would go; he could guess how it all would end. Unless¡­

    ¡°Yes, and here I am.¡± Kalla said and spread his arms, ¡°The man who gave birth to resistance. The man behind whom so many stand¡ªthere are so many that follow me and that which I believe in."

    ¡°So I must die.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Ignar said, ¡°I will never do something like that. I refuse. We can¡­ we can¡­¡±

    ¡°Run away?¡± Kalla asked, to which Ignar nodded, for he believed that it was the only choice. But Kalla scoffed, ¡°To run away from a god? From a creature that has so much more power than anyone in existence, who has so many followers that would do his bidding... And you suggest that we run away from him?¡± He sneered.

    ¡°Have I raised a fool as my son?¡± He scoffed again, but beneath his veil of jest and outrage, there remained a hint of sadness, perhaps not for the accusation that he himself had voiced but because of the reality of the situation.

    ¡°At this point, it doesn¡¯t matter what you desire. One of us has to die.¡± Kalla smirked as a flash of something like insanity could be seen in his eyes, but a flash is a flash, and from that flash, that unexplainable emotion in Kalla¡¯s eyes returned. Again, as if he knew something that Ignar probably should know as well. Such knowledge could be seen there, and that smirk faded away.

    He first scoffed and soon burst into laughter, one that had more tears than one would think. And when he was done with this burst, he examined Ignar, the assassin sent to kill him.

    ¡°Do you remember the deal we made the day we first spoke?¡± He asked, ¡°I would give you a name, and I would become your father; I would feed and clothe you; I would have you live in my house; and in trade, you would do what I ask you to do, no questions asked.¡±

    ¡°So be a good boy and execute me; chop my head off and bring it to my father. He will be pleased; he will be happy." His voice was so low now, and his smile remained there, one that tried to be brave but would at times falter to showcase the truth of a man who was afraid of death, as is any real man.

    There was silence after his words as Ignar stared at his father. He was in between tears and laughter, not knowing which was more appropriate for the situation. The absurd reality of it all. Within, he knew that he could not, but above all else, he knew that his father was correct.

    It would be foolish of him to try to even escape with his father. It would be foolish of them to try to do such a thing. It was foolish to even dream of such things, for what is a man before a god? What is a man before power that you can¡¯t even calculate; that you can¡¯t even imagine?

    What could someone like him do? Or even Kalla? Surely his father could kill him in mere moments; he could decapitate him; he could remove his head and thus his soul from this existence, and Ignar was unsure if he could do anything to stop him.

    He was left with just this one option.

    Tonight, he would not be a man. Tonight, he would not have feelings. Tonight, he would be just a weapon used by the hands of the god he now served. Tonight, a son would not kill his own father, but instead, a weapon would kill another weapon.

    Tears ran down his cheeks as he began forming a code, a smile came to Kalla¡¯s lips, and he closed his eyes and said before it would all end, ¡°Be brave, my son.¡±

    For a moment, Ignar faltered; not only did his vision shake but so did his whole body as he released it. He released death. A golden disk formed in between them; it spun so fast in place that one could hear a high whistling sound in the room, and then he released it.

    It struck at Kalla¡¯s throat; it severed his head from his torso and then dissipated before it hit the wall behind the bed. A loud thumb was heard as two objects hit the floor: the body and the head, now two separate entities, and just blood that gushed out of the two sides, soiling the carpet beneath.

    Ignar stared at his creation, his eyes twitching and shivers running down his spine. He was disgusting. He was so disgusting.

    From the bedsheets, he ripped a silken cloth large enough to carry the head. In silence, he kept his cries muffled as he cased the head carefully, not wanting to look at it but still having to face what he had done. Kalla¡¯s eyes might¡¯ve been closed, but on his face, there was this tension that remained: unfathomable pain caused by the moment of impact, by the moment of death... His eyes closed, but beneath his lids, there would always be that disappointed look for him now. The disappointed eyes of a father who now had a murderer as his only son...

    He picked up the head and left the room, leaving the body on the carpet. He closed the door, wanting to perhaps lock it, but he did not know how. His mind was empty as he walked down the hallway, each step frail, his knees almost giving up as he went down the staircase, his hands violently shaking as he opened the door to room 209.

    There, the woman still sat, now biting her nails. She perked up and stood up the moment Ignar entered the room. She witnessed as Ignar closed the door behind him, as he stared at her, as he dropped the veiled head on the floor and began to weep.

    The woman was first confused, but soon she approached the man and, in silence, comforted him, but the tears would not stop flowing.

 Chapter Sixty-One: So-Called Heroism

    Drifting and wandering. There is neither aim nor destination, not one that he quite knew that he¡¯d reach. It was so late by now; most of the streets were dark and empty, and only some roamed so late in the night. It was so late that it would soon be another dawn.

    In his arms, there was a piece of cloth that he held like one would hold a baby. It was precious. He can¡¯t drop it; he can¡¯t get rid of it. He had to bring it with him. He had to carry it somewhere. Somewhere that was not here, somewhere far away from where he had gotten it from. He should¡¯ve never left the safety of their little cottage in the middle of nowhere. He should¡¯ve never been so eager to please or try to prove himself.

    Where was he even? These streets¡ªhe couldn¡¯t focus on them; they were there, but he barely noticed them. Not the buildings that he walked past, not the people that still found time to enjoy the night.

    His head was confused. Why did he do it? Why would he ever do something like this? Why? What the hell was wrong with him? Had he lost his mind? There is a word for what he had done, and it wasn¡¯t just murder; it was patricide.

    Why couldn¡¯t he be that weapon in Kalma¡¯s hands? The one that felt no emotion, the one that did as was expected of him to do. There was a city around him, but was there really one? He walked, and it was as if on either side of him there was a void, and he walked on a thin line, trying to keep a balance so that he would not falter and then fall into that nothingness.

    He had been here before. Not just this city, but this thought, this image. To his knowledge, he had never contemplated the embrace of such a void; he had only ever looked further into it. Further and further, until one could only see nothing. Until he would become one with it.

    Somewhere past the horizon, the sun was rising. With it would come another morning, a new dawn, and a new beautiful day. But it was so cold. He needed to find warmth. He needed to feel alive again. He needed to not be the man that he had become.

    Men are nothing more than their actions. Their words hardly matter; their beliefs are just that¡ªbeliefs; everything and all that matters not unless an action brings it forth as a reality.

    He had claimed that he did not believe in gods, yet he kneeled before one. He believed that there would never be a reason to kill and that his garden of thoughts, values, and beliefs would be one where no weed could ever grow, yet he had killed another man.

    He had believed many things; he had said many things; but those things matter, for actions have shown the world what men really are and what kind of man he really is.

    Is there a world in which he was in the right when taking the actions that he had taken? Was there a world where his actions didn¡¯t make him a coward and a hypocrite? Perhaps only if one believes in gods.

    It is easy to say that you could do nothing else; that the choices made were the correct ones, where for every direct attack toward your own beliefs, you had not yielded but kept those beliefs intact. Deep beneath the horrid actions that you have committed, you are in fact not a coward but a man who did what he had to do. As if there were no other options.

    But isn¡¯t there always another option? Some of those other options just might lead to death. But when choosing between one option and another, the one where you yield, where you kneel before God, where you then go ahead and do his bidding, where you then kill... And then the only other option given is death. You have to choose between two deaths. Should he not protect his own ego and his own life? When someone else gives their life willingly to save yours?

    He stopped. Before him were the gates to Kalma¡¯s palace. Multiple guards stood before him; they looked past him, but Ignar knew that they keenly observed him and made sure that if he were a threat, then he¡¯d be promptly dealt with.

    He had walked the fine line between abysses. And through his thoughts, he found two solutions to deal with the betrayal of his own beliefs:

    One, he must give himself in; he must pay for the crimes that he has committed. Otherwise, he will never be released from the regret and guilt that he feels.

    Two, you lie to yourself and make yourself believe that the evil that you¡¯ve committed was not wrong; in fact, it was not evil at all, and if it were evil, then that evil had to be done, for there was no other way. The actions that he has committed must become just, or else he will falter and be consumed.

    But there was an issue with both of these rationales. To whom could he, in a situation like this, admit his faults and his crimes? He was the only one to think of such deeds as crimes. And if he were to lie to himself, would that not slowly change him¡ªthe very core of his values? Wouldn¡¯t that make him more like the criminal that he thought himself to be?

    How does one rationalize murder? How does one, in any line of argumentation, make it completely just? Laws and such barely mattered, for laws can often be different from the subjective view of morality that one has. A thing might be legal or illegal, but a person could always see it differently. One could easily, in their own mind, think that stealing in certain situations is hardly immoral, yet another could easily think that all forms of stealing are equally immoral.

    The same could be said about murder, or a situation where one kills another, be it with purpose, be it an accident, or even a situation where the law sees that the person doing the killing was in the right.

    But again, none of that really mattered. It only mattered how one perceived these crimes or actions and the outcomes of those actions. It didn¡¯t matter that, in the eyes of the law, Ignar was in the right. It only mattered that he believed that he had done something that was unacceptable and that he had done something for which he should pay the highest price. But what is such a price? Should he then accept the abyss as his only answer, either through a metamorphosis of the self, by becoming a monster through the deeds that he had committed, or by accepting that only eternal darkness could give him relief from such crimes? For if there was none to whom he could confess his sins, then he could never atone for said sins.

    Patricide was one thing, and grief another. He would deal with such things accordingly. He just had to find his way to atonement first.

    Everything about him was tired. His eyes were still red from the amount of tears that he had shed, and if one were to meet his gaze, they too could see the sadness that was present, but one could never guess what he carried in his arms as he announced himself to the guards: ¡°I am Ignar Orcun, and Kalma wishes to see me.¡±

    There was no protest from them, and they let him enter the palace grounds, first to a garden and square where Kalma would at times greet some of his armies while looking down on them from the balcony that oversaw everything. Under that balcony was the grand doorway to his palace; the steps into it would lead anyone who wished to grovel before Kalma to his throne hall.

    Each step he took with labor, holding tighter the cloth in his arms, not looking at it, and barely even noticing that he held it so tightly. He kept tears at bay as he entered, as he first laid eyes on the man they all called god, their emperor, their king¡ªthe dragon.

    There were people already in the court, knowing all too well that Kalma never slept, that he was almost always there, and that he would accept visitors from the early morning to the late evening. He did not eat, he did not sleep, he did not crave the touch of women or men, he did not feel tired, nor would he ever feel hunger; there was no lust in his eyes, not in his words or manners. He was a god, and gods don¡¯t feel such things.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    But they were all things that Ignar felt far too well and far too often. Above all else, he felt fear. He was afraid. He feared what would happen next¡ªnot the disappointment of his god, but the reverence of his own actions.

    Everyone had their eyes on him, and he could feel the anticipation in the air. All the questions they would have: why had he come here so early in the morning, and what did he bring with him? By now, they all knew who he was and how he was related to the creature that sat on his obsidian throne.

    Ignar¡¯s legs shook, his body trembled as he kneeled, and the bundle of cloth that he so carefully had brought here left his embrace as he offered it toward the throne, not wishing to truly part ways with it. At last, his eyes met the eyes of God.

    ¡°Ignar, arise, bring forth the gift that you¡¯ve brought with you,¡± Kalma commanded, on his face, no expression that could be easily understood or read. If there were such things as regret, grief, satisfaction, or anger, such things could not be seen; this was not the vulnerable god that Ignar had seen for but a moment not long ago. This was the god he remembered meeting when he first arrived here.

    Ignar arose, and he felt so sick. Every step that he now had to take brought him closer to that abyss, closer to the man that he did not want to become. The stairs and their steps, veiled with colors and a long carpet, were not much different from the carpet on which he had slain his own father. How is it possible to remove the head from the shoulders of another man? How easy it was to kill. How easy such an action was to take, but how impossible it had been to not do such a thing... He had to believe such a lie.

    Again he kneeled, now just in front of Kalma, and he presented him with the bundle that he had carried all the way from that room in that brothel, through the busy street that was P¨®fos, through the streets of Anavasii, past the gates that lead to the palace grounds, through the garden and the square, all that which was beneath the very creature to whom he now presented it. All this while walking on the thin line that he had chosen for himself to walk, as two different forms of abyss sat on either side, waiting for him to embrace one or the other, to transform or to die.

    And now that bundle parted ways with his hands. And it was lifted and then unveiled, the bloodied cloth falling on Ignar¡¯s hands, and the head of his father securely in the hands of the god that had willed his death.

    This silence is so palpable. Were they all so surprised that a head was presented to their god? Or was it just because it was a head that most would recognize?

    Kalma received the head of his son and lifted it to be equal to his own sight. He observed the severed head and smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Ignar.¡±

    Then he presented it to the crowd; his voice was triumphant as he announced, ¡°Behold, the head of a traitor, the head of a man who once was Kalla, my only son.¡±

    Silence was the only response.

    ¡°But he is no longer fit to carry my name or my legacy.¡± His voice was filled with passion that one seldom would hear come out of his lips; their god was happy, their god was filled with this ruthless emotion that he now presented to all of them, and in a form so clear that even the most aloof men could hear it, they could all feel it.

    A smile. A toothy smile on the face of that creature, as he then, with his other hand, forced Ignar to stand up; he forced Ignar to face the crowd; he forced him to take their admiration as he then announced, ¡°Now this is my only son. From the very moment in which I laid my eyes on him, I could tell that we weren¡¯t that different, that we were more than kin. We are the exact same. Formed from the very same blood that calls for us; forged from the necessity to become great, far greater than anyone."

    ¡°He too will one day become a god.¡±

    ¡°He will receive that which Kalla denied.¡±

    ¡°He, Ignar, shall carry my name; let him be then called and revered as Ignar Orcun, the son of God!¡±

    The silence of the crowd was subdued; it was forcefully removed; it was broken and ripped apart as the hundreds of people at the court roared and filled the hall with their cries of reverence. His name was chanted along with the name of Kalma, and damnation was wished on the memory of Kalla, a traitor.

    All this, all these deafening screams. All this, which he wanted none of. All this made him feel more disgusting than he was. All this made him a criminal who had no path toward atonement. For him, there would be no redemption, only apotheosis, through the reverence of all these people and through the wishes and plans that Kalma had for him.

    The rest of the day was a vortex, as he was forced to sit beside Kalma as he accepted those who had come to see him, those who had come for his guidance, and those who had now come to see the head of the traitor and the new son of their god.

    This lasted for hours until Kalma commanded him to go to the quarters that had been prepared for him in the palace. The rooms, which were once Kalla¡¯s, are now his. A set of servants guided him through the palace, to the higher floors of it, through many corridors, halls, and rooms, all of which were like a blur to him. They led him to a large apartment that was part of the whole complex that was Kalma¡¯s palace. An apartment that was the size of the Adrian Estate. A place where one could get easily lost.

    Perhaps the servants could easily tell that their new master was beyond tired, so they led him to his new bedroom, where a familiar woman sat on the bed with a fearful expression on her face.

    The servants dismissed themselves and announced that they would hear his summons and that they would come and serve him if he ever just called for them. Ignar was now left with the woman from the brothel. The woman who had given him the number to Kalla¡¯s room and who had then comforted him when tears would not stop flowing.

    She got up from the bed, and she seemed rather nervous; her fear was still there, and she dared not speak unless spoken to.

    Ignar stared at her, asking in his head questions about her true involvement in the whole ordeal, but instead of asking any of them, he asked the only other question that came to his mind: ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    The woman conjured a brave smile on her face. ¡°I was ordered here to serve you.¡± She then glanced at the bed.

    Ignar let out a long sigh and navigated his way to the bed. First, he sat down, and then he let his body relax; he was too tired to do anything. He was too tired to argue with anyone. He was too tired to think or even grieve.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to.¡± He announced, and his first words were muffled by the yawn that forced its way through him.

    He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, but soon his eyes forced themselves shut. In his mind, there were no thoughts or memories that would beckon him to investigate them further; there was just darkness that wanted to claim him for the rest of the day.

    He could hear the woman moving, perhaps walking away, so he gave up on everything else but sleep. But soon he felt a soft touch as sheets were pulled over him, his head was lifted slightly, and a pillow was placed beneath his head. It was comfortable, but either way, he forced his eyes open, and all he could see was the worried expression on the face of the woman.

    Deep within, he felt bad about it. Perhaps he should offer her words, commands, or whatever. But he could not; he again closed his eyes and entered the darkness of sleep as a soft hand gently caressed him, welcoming him to the dreams or nightmares that might be. And when the darkness at last takes him to the lands of dreams, tears break the mask of his serenity.

 Chapter Sixty-Two: Years of Scorn... and Home, Bitterly Remembered, Part One

    They made him a general and the man who would lead the Order of the Dragon. There were no other reasons for such a decision; just that, Kalla was no more, and Ignar was the only ¡°suitable¡± successor to him.

    And within the first few meetings, it was made clear to Ignar that he was unwanted. His deeds were unpopular among the other knights. They didn¡¯t much care if he was the so-called son of God, nor did they care that Ignar was ordered to do what he did. All they saw was what Ignar saw in himself: a murderer, a coward, and a tool.

    Most of the knights were people who had spent most of their time as knights, following the direct orders of Kalla. They had more allegiance to him than they had to Kalma. Many of them had done terrible things throughout their lives in the name of Kalma, but all of it was done under the careful administration of Kalla. A man who they could trust; a man who saw them as their equal instead of acting as their tyrannical leader. A man who had earned his seat at the very table where they all gathered and discussed many things.

    And now Ignar was forced to take that seat, and he was to give them commands that came directly from Kalma. And among the knights, he found that he had no friends or allies that could give him guidance, for even Erjen looked at him with that same look that everyone else seated at the table had when they looked at him¡ªsheer contempt.

    But what was he supposed to do about it? He had no wish to prove them wrong or remove the contempt in their eyes. For him, their contempt was the judgment that he felt like he deserved, not the admiration that was given to him by everyone else who came into contact with him.

    But regardless¡­ One has to move on; one has to do the job that they are given; what else is one supposed to do?

    And this is how many years went by: Ignar would receive information directly from Kalma¡¯s spies, which he then would present to the other knights, who would then, without the help of Ignar, come up with plans on what to do with the information that was given to them. The rebellion wasn¡¯t over, and those who had believed like Kalla, were plentiful.

    Ignar could see it so well in the eyes of the other knights¡ªhow they didn¡¯t truly care for the wishes of Kalma or the wishes of Ignar¡ªand how they managed their missions, barely achieving what was wanted of them, but Ignar made no comment about it. Even if they had contempt not only for him but for Kalma as well, he decided that he would not intervene. He didn¡¯t wish to have the blood of Kalla¡¯s friends in his hands as well.

    He could feel their scorn, he could feel contempt, he could feel their mistrust, their blame, and more, and not once was he allowed on any of the missions that they went on. All he received was a written report on their findings and the actions that they had to take to fulfill their commands. He then would present these reports to Kalma whenever it was wanted of him.

    For years, it was like this: his only company was the prostitute who had become his closest servant. He couldn¡¯t quite trust her; he knew that he would never be able to. In the end, she was just another one of Kalma¡¯s ears, another mouth that would, without hesitation, share the things that the ear had heard.

    But either way, he befriended her. She was the one who helped him with his grief when there was no one else to whom he could talk. There was no one else. Life had become a bore. He had no courage to seek absolution from the other knights, but he did not let the transformation happen. There had to be something that he could keep for himself, something that would make him not be the monster that he believed himself to be.

    His anguish was for all to see, but none would comment on it. They never asked about it. They never talked about it. And the memories of loss that he has caused to himself bring him to that memory of a cottage, a small house he shared with Kalla in the middle of a forest, one far from others.

    But then one day, he received another mission, one not much different from all the others¡ªa simple hunt for the new leaders of the rebellion.

    He stood at the table, in his hands, the documents that he had read through many times by now, but he could not present them to the knights that sat on their chairs and idled away, at times throwing annoyed glances at the man who was seemingly wasting their time.

    In an awkward silence, Ignar stared ahead, and he knew what he had to do. His eyes sought Erjen, who stared at him. On her face, there was a curious expression, since in the past few years Ignar had always done as they had expected him to do.

    Their eyes met, and an empty smile came to Ignar¡¯s lips. ¡°This mission is different from all the others.¡± He announced, breaking the silence and finally forcing everyone''s attention on him.

    ¡°Get on with it.¡± Someone sneered.

    Ignar¡¯s eyes flared, and the person who had spoken flew from the chair toward the wall that was behind them. It caused a great sound of wood breaking and the scream of a man who had never expected that such an attack could ever come, and so quickly at that.

    A new silence was born, just that this one had the anticipation of violence in it.

    ¡°I will accompany you on this mission, and if I am refused, then I will subjugate you.¡± He stated, as if it were a fact, as if he could do so easily, as if it wouldn¡¯t be even a challenge.

    The silence was broken with laughter, and a very familiar voice soon asked, ¡°Do you truly think that a boy like you could defeat even a singular person here?¡± The voice was soft, but there remained an underlying threat in his tone.

    Ignar met the eyes of Urgur, and a bewildered look came to his face. ¡°And do you truly think that people like you can defeat the man who killed Kalla?¡± Each word had weight to it; it demanded a reaction.

    And one he got: multiple knights arose from the chairs, with anger clearly flaring in their demeanor and magic suddenly filling the air. There was enough magic to kill everyone in this room and perhaps everyone in this castle.

    But Ignar¡¯s smile widened, and he showcased his abilities. He overwhelmed the insignificant amount of magic that they showcased; he veiled their magic with his own, magic that covered everything in a mile-wide area. His eyes sparkled as he looked directly into Urgur¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°I have nothing to lose.¡± He said.

    If one studied the expressions and demeanor of all the other people in the room, one could easily see fear. This wasn¡¯t something that they had expected. Not the way their so-called leader had behaved, and never the amount of magic he so easily was able to showcase. Their discomfort was visible.

    Urgur scoffed. ¡°Fine, but do not expect to receive any help from us.¡± He said, and after his words, the situation calmed down. The people who had gotten up and prepared their magic sat down, and Ignar dismissed the magic that he had been more than ready to release.

    He cleared his throat and began, ¡°This next mission will take us far from the capital, to the northernmost parts of the continent, into a forest, which I know far too well.¡± He let his gaze wander through the eyes of the knights until he again met Erjen¡¯s gaze.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°You¡¯re all familiar with the fact that Kalla spent nearly a hundred years in a cottage in the middle of nowhere; that cottage was our home. Through our intelligence, we¡¯ve learned that much of the movement of the rebels comes from around there. Which indicates that somewhere in that forest there is either a command center or an otherwise important location for the rebels.¡± Not once did Ignar avert his eyes from Erjen¡¯s.

    ¡°That is where we are going next, and out of anyone in this room, I have the most knowledge about that forest and its surroundings.¡± He placed the documents on the table and said, ¡°Now, begin planning whatever you wish; in that regard, nothing changes; you just must account for me in those plans of yours.¡±

    There was a moment of silence after his words, but soon the knights began planning as they usually would.

    There had been an important conversation that Ignar had with Kalla some years ago, perhaps during his late teens¡ªone that he remembered vividly, for it was how he liked to remember him.

    They discussed the nature of good and evil, the very question of what is evil and what is good, and what these words mean. As such they had agreed to disagree to a certain point; Ignar¡¯s own rationale had been that good or goodness comes from the actions that bring forth happiness, joy, and so on¡ªemotions that are by nature positive. And that evil is pain, and to be precise, pain that is formed without the consent of the other and pain that is meaningless; pain that is produced not for the sake of the other but for the sake of the self. So an action is committed in search of something that brings the evildoer some sort of selfish gain.

    But there was a conversation that followed it¡ªa conversation about life and death:

    ¡°Father, why is it that some men want to die?¡± He had asked after reading a story of a man who had killed himself after the end of a war that this man had not been on the losing side, but instead, he had been considered a hero and a great warrior, one talented in destructive magic.

    Kalla lifted his gaze from within the words of the book and studied Ignar¡¯s face, and he then said, ¡°No one necessarily wants to die; they just sometimes choose to do so.¡±

    ¡°You see, no one likes pain, no one wants to suffer, nor does one want to live without reason or without meaning.¡±

    ¡°Boy, one day, when you have the chance to speak to someone who is chronically ill, only then can you truly see for yourself what something like this looks like.¡±

    ¡°This person might say that they want to die, that life has nothing else to give them except pain and more suffering, so death would do as an antidote for this suffering, the disease that they might have.¡±

    ¡°But if you were to offer him something that would take the pain away¡ªsomething else than death¡ªhe would take it in almost a heartbeat; he¡¯d at least try it even if there was a risk of finding out that such a magical antidote does not exist. Most people still want to live; most want to believe that they can still live.¡±

    ¡°But life is suffering. This is what we¡¯ve mostly concluded through our many conversations."

    ¡°So what then is the antidote for life itself? What is the antidote for the inherent suffering that is caused by life, the yearning for life, the thirst for life, and the many ails, evils, horrors, and other meaningless things that one has to live through and suffer through?¡±

    ¡°I wonder.¡± Kalla smiled¡ªa simple smile with a hint of sadness in it. His eyes seemed to wander somewhere far, but soon they found reality again as their saddened smile dispersed and a grin found its way in and replaced it. ¡°And then I wonder of another question: If life is pain, and we have concluded that unnecessary pain is evil, is life then evil?¡±

    Kalla had said such a thing in jest, yet Ignar could not help but wonder if there was some truth to his jest. For life to not be so... evil, one perhaps had to find meaning within that pain. Perhaps one has to conclude that life is meaningful and that all the pains that one has to go through have meaning, instead of just being there as they are, as just something that happens to one or the other based solely on some perverted form of luck.

    We all suffer, some less than others, but still, we suffer. Even Kalma has suffered, and for his suffering, one almost wants to say that their suffering was what made them become who they are now, but also that the suffering that they went through is now something that they deserved.

    And the same could be said for Ignar. He, too, would live a long life. He too would one day wonder if the suffering that he has had to live through has any meaning to it, if he too would have to see an antidote to life, to pain, and to suffering. But for such thoughts, he felt that he had no right to them. He now had to believe that he deserved the things that had happened to him and the suffering that was the byproduct of the things and the suffering that he had brought to others.

    For now, he would condemn himself as he was. For now, he believed that he did not deserve any form of salvation. Torture was all that he deserved; let it rip through his mind; let it count every error and wrong committed; let it then observe them and then judge them; let his mind be flayed for the crimes that he had committed.

    But at least, one has memories. Though they bring forth pain, they make one question more about the things that have been done. But memories are all we will have at the end of life.

    What does it mean to have lived, perhaps a long time, surely partaking in many possibilities and choices in one¡¯s life, perhaps even creating life anew, becoming a parent, and remaining not only a child but also someone deeply responsible for a child?

    All the people that you must¡¯ve met, loved, hated, forgotten, and all of those that still remain after you, that still remember you, as you were, or as a version of you that once was...

    What are the implications of life and the effects it has on others? How about the end of life? How about death?

    What does it mean to have lived a life until a timely or untimely death? One that is more so a tale of people that you have met since the memories that remain after are the ones that are owned by others and not by yourself. Everything that you remember¡ªevery thought and ideation, every grief and worry, every joy and smile that you might have ever had¡ªis something that dies with you, at least the subjective version that you once carried with you at all times.

    What remains are the memories of others. How they remember you. How they remember your smile, your words, and your presence. That is all that remains afterward.

    Grief for those memories now forever forgotten, and some of them rekindled in the minds of those who might¡¯ve been a part of your experience among their own experience.

    How lovely is that? How a life can keep on living even after death.

    Kalla was dead, and he had killed him. Kalla was dead, and the murderer would fondly remember his victim.

 Chapter Sixty-Two: Years of Scorn... and Home, Bitterly Remembered, Part Two

    There was something so familiar about all of this. The angle from which they would enter the forest was something that he had seen so many times before. Not just forest, but this specific field, on which a memory now lay.

    There was no proof of anything ever happening here; the memory was only his. He remembered... bodies, the field, the birds, the smell, and the... door? Why was there a door? It wasn¡¯t here, not as a physical manifestation, but for some reason he remembered one.

    Why would there ever be a door in the middle of a field? One overlooking a forest, and before that forest was a scene of brutal murder, a killing of innocence¡ªnot only his but the removal of so many lives, none of whom he remembered.

    He had always wondered: Why had they died? And how they had died... He knew that they must¡¯ve died through magic, for there was no other way in which such a scene could be possible in his mind. It had to be a group of people or just someone who was powerful enough to best perhaps a hundred other people and then lay waste to their corpses.

    Who had done such a thing? Who would ever do such a thing? But, for some reason, it felt like he could¡¯ve done something like that¡ªnot then, but now. If Kalma were to command him to do something like that, he would do it. He didn¡¯t think that he could resist his wishes or go against them in any way.

    He was a coward. But everyone is one. Everyone fears standing before a god.

    But Ignar knew, somehow, that Kalla knew about what had happened on that field. He somehow knew, just by looking at Ignar on that day¡ªthat look in his eyes, that knowledge, and the pity that came after. Was it Kalla who had done something like that? Was it done following the commands of Kalma? Or was it just a random act of murder, a massacre with only one survivor?

    But does one really survive something like that? Can a child remain pure even after witnessing something so horrible, something so traumatic? Ignar wondered such a thought, for perhaps, since that very moment, he had gone wrong; from that very moment, he too carried the thought of death with him.

    The plan is simple: enter the forest and search through it. They would enter as a line of people, all of the knights, and then they would systematically walk through it; they would shift through it and find anyone or anything that might prove that the rebels use this forest as their base of operation. Or just a sign that this forest has some significance other than the fact that somewhere within still stood a cottage Kalla had called his home.

    It was all really foolish. Everything about this. The conclusion of Kalla¡¯s life. Why would he ever do something like this? Why would he ever try to resist his own father, the creature that was greater in power than anyone else on this earth?

    Why do men find such a dream? A dream against tyranny; a dream where there might be a form of freedom. A dream where the Sharan would no longer be slaves. One where their lives would become more than just another fleeting moment before a creature far above their stature. Where gods would remain in the stars and not claim to walk among us.

    If there were no rebellion, then there would be peace. Don¡¯t we all want peace? Don¡¯t we all want a world where people don¡¯t die uselessly? But again¡­ What is peace without justice? For there to be peace, war must exist. For there to be justice, injustice must exist. For there to be life, death must exist. There is nothing that can be without the other.

    Sure, what people want is peace; they want the war to end, but above all else, people want justice.

    They want the peace to be just.

    They go to war to demand justice.

    This is perhaps what Kalla wanted above all else. But can such a dream become a reality? When the resistance seems so futile, when the lives lost become greater, and when each moment proves that they never had a chance.

    So they entered the forest as a great line of knights. Perhaps in their hearts, they knew that before night would fall, there¡¯d be peace, but there¡¯d be no justice.

    How long had it been since that day, during which he crawled on the forest floor to find a place¡ªa suitable bed of moss¡ªwhere he could give up and die?

    He wasn¡¯t that weak child anymore. He wasn¡¯t starved, and his mind was more or less sound. He had grown stronger and more powerful than even Kalla. But none of that seemed to matter. Here, he would always be that child, or he would long to be that child. A child, even with the memories of nightmares that he had, had the ability to dream of adventure and of something greater, which would be past the trees and the fields. A child who had not grown cynical quite yet.

    On his right and on his left, tens of meters apart, he could see Erjen and Urgur; each of their steps was careful and taken with great intent; their eyes were sharp, and they were ready to react to anything that might be thrown their way. The very air around them had become more concentrated as the presence of powerful magic surrounded them, perhaps as protection, perhaps as a weapon, or perhaps as a reminder to Ignar that he would not kill them so easily, even if he were far more powerful than the both of them combined.

    In the forest, there was a clearing, one with many stumps sprinkled between young birch trees, covering that which was once a place where Ignar had spent many hours of his many days just chopping wood, and during breaks, he would lay on the grass floor, his back against one of those stumps, as he looked at the skies and wondered what there might be past the trees and who he might be years from now.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    During such moments, he would also face the doubts he had about himself. The uncertainty of the self and the experience that he had. Questions like: Am I really who I think I am? Are these feelings and these emotions mine, or do they belong to someone else?

    It had always been so, or for as long as he could remember; he had always doubted himself, or the so-called self that he has. These thoughts¡ªare they his? Would he have taken those same actions if he were in a different body? Or if he had a mind that felt more right¡­

    He furrowed his brows as they walked past the clearing. He didn¡¯t need to look at his sides, for he could trust that if there was something, then others would let him know. So he stared only ahead, in great anticipation, as with each step and with each moment that went by, they would come closer and closer to a place he had once called home.

    First the field, then the forest with its moss floor, then the clearing with the birch stumps, and now... an overgrown path he walked upon. It wasn¡¯t a thin line¡ªnot one where he struggled to keep himself intact as a man with the morals that he believed in.

    This path was much different. Perhaps it was like redemption. As if the day when he had left was the beginning of an adventure that had taken years off of his life, and now, this path and the arrival on it. It meant something new; it was a redemption in the form of a return.

    An ending to a journey of sorts. An ending to his adventure.

    You yearn for it. You always want to return to it. You always wish that you could be as you once were. Before one becomes so sentient. Before one sees that the world around oneself is not so pleasant.

    He believed that we all remember our childhoods. All our fears, all our anxieties, all our pleasures, all the things that make us¡ªthey come from there, from years ago, from those years spent in a form of innocence. They all came from that period of time we call childhood.

    And we look back at it, even if we think that we don¡¯t, and we miss it so dearly. Even though he had such a dark beginning to his childhood, even when he was unable to remember all of it, he still wanted to return here. To that time and place. To submerge in a stream of memories, in happy moments shared with loved ones.

    A child should never be forced to kill his own father.

    How can one live like this? When had he truly lived? When had he felt alive? When would he feel like someone who had worth¡ªlike someone whose life was worth something? When will there be forgiveness for actions that cannot be forgiven?

    A door. This door was one he remembered. More clearly than the image of a door on a field. This door was stuck to something¡ªa wall¡ªand together they created the facade of the cottage.

    It looked the same. Every detail remained pristine. It was like he had just left and arrived, but a day later. He had come to a halt, and he stared straight ahead, not daring to take another step forward. He did not dare break this image, this vision, this illusion¡ªoh, it had to be an illusion.

    What if¡­ What if inside there was Kalla? What if he were sitting down on his chair, reading another book of his, and when Ignar walked inside, Kalla would call for him, and he¡¯d ask him another seemingly random question to which Ignar would have to figure out an answer in a way that was clumsy, like a boy searching for an answer, thinking out loud, and trying to figure out the truth that he could find within?

    Then they would eat. Stew, pea soup, something. They would converse until it was late, and then Kalla would tug him into bed. And he¡¯d sit back in his chair and continue reading. Because he knew that his child was afraid of the dark¡ªnot because there would be something there, but because it would be so lonely¡ªand not because Ignar had ever told him of his fear, but because he was his father. And that is what a father does for his child.

    He couldn¡¯t take another step. He didn¡¯t want to break this illusion formed from memories. He didn¡¯t want to face the possibility of it not being real, so he averted his eyes from the door, from the wall, from the cottage, and from the illusion that veiled his mind with regret.

    And when he broke his cycle of thoughts, he only then realized that the others were staring at him. They had gathered around him. They weren¡¯t the rebels, but they were his own men. He could feel the air; it was so dense. It was violent, this gathering of magical energies, and the hostility in which it was wielded.

    Even then, even in this dire situation, this realization of what their plans were for him¡ªthe illusion that he wanted to hold so dearly¡ªremained. It would not subdue.

    So he let out a long sigh and turned around to face the other knights of the Order of the Dragon.

    ¡°It would seem that you¡¯ve purposefully left out this part of your plan.¡± He said, his voice hoarse from tears that he wanted to shed but could not. Perhaps his thoughts and his emotions were more visible than ever before, for as he met eyes with Urgur, he could sense hesitation, and on the face of this jokester, there was a crack, something that allowed one to see past the mask they wore so carefully.

    ¡°Ignar Orcun, we¡¯ve lured you here, to this time and place, with only one purpose in mind.¡± Urgur soon spoke; his voice was even, and the mask on his face became whole again¡ªa wall without a window.

    ¡°There must be justice, and there must be retribution for the crime that you have committed,¡± Urgur announced, and again, Ignar could feel how they braced themselves; they were all ready to dispose of him if he made any sudden moves or if he even tried to gather magic for his disposal.

    Ignar smiled, turned away from those who had betrayed him, and stared again at the cottage. Here, he could not do anything. Here, he could harm the things that were around him, lest the memory die with the cottage and its surroundings.

    ¡°I yield.¡± He whispered, and from his hip, he pulled his saber and let it fall to the ground.

    Perhaps they were surprised by this, or perhaps they all knew that this would happen. He soon felt a hand on his shoulder, and he could hear Erjen whisper to him, ¡°This is for the best.¡± There was no hate in her voice, no scorn in her actions. In this moment, she was like she had always been toward him.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He muttered, and he let them escort him further, toward the cottage, to the door where Urgur announced to him, ¡°You are to be judged by our oracle, by the soul of our revolution.¡±

    And so the doors were opened, and he was pushed in with only Urgur and Erjen following behind; the doors closed, and a familiar room opened before him, but this one was different. There were six others; they all wore masks of some sort; they hid their faces behind grotesque masks, the likes of which he had never seen before, but they clearly depicted Sharans.

    But then, there was a woman. She sat on the chair where Kalla was supposed to sit. She sat on the chair, where the illusion of a loved one was supposed to be. She sat where his father ought to sit. Where he would read, and from where he would ask his questions.

    The woman had her face covered as well, and so was the rest of her body; one could not even see their eyes or their lips past the veil that covered it all.

    But one could imagine a smile on that face beyond the veil; one could imagine that the woman who had the audacity to sit on his late father¡¯s chair was someone who knew it all. She was someone who held all the answers to every confusing question that Ignar had. He could just feel it.

    ¡°Kanrel,¡± they said, their voice flat, for there resides no emotion in her words, yet there was so much emotion found behind that simple word... That name¡­

    ¡°You have had to travel further than most for the answers that you sought. So I ask you now: Do you understand?¡± She asked, and her question almost lacked all meaning to him, but somehow, that name brought not only emotion but also a flood with it. A flood of memories.

 Chapter Sixty-Three: A Flood of Memories

    Then it burned. Everything did. His memories came in like a flood of hellfire, like liquid fire that ran through his whole existence, making him squirm in pain and scream aloud, knowing well that everyone would surely hear him, but still, he could not hear his own screams; the memories overwrote it all. There was no space for a scream in his mind¡ªnot a scream that had a physical manifestation; only the scream that ran through him like fire did. It scorched. It burned. It burned so much. When would it end?

    One moment, you are Ignar Orcun, a broken child forced to do things he never wanted to do¡ªa child whose whole life is dictated by other people instead of himself. A child who is lost; a child who has only regret. A child who had a hint of heroism to himself. A man who became something he could never tolerate. A man who walked a thin line between two abysses, straying away from the destiny that seemed most apparent for a child who kills his own father.

    But then¡­ He was Kanrel. He was a child without true parents, and so was Ignar. As Kanrel, he was a priest who also carried with him such regret. A priest who had killed. A priest who had watched his friend die. A priest who was betrayed by said friend. They weren¡¯t so different; these two clashing collections of self, of memories of who you were and who you are...

    Then came disgust. A question, and a confirmation of a fear he had held for what felt like years: Is this who I really am? Is this the mind with whom I share this body? Just another criminal, another murderer like myself... But after all this, who am I?

    Surely, he knew now that he could not be Ignar. He was not Ignar; all he had done was live through someone else''s memories. Then he could only be Kanrel, but who would want to be Kanrel? Who could ever wish to be that man¡ªthat useless priest, that useless man with no future, that useless man who had lost his way, the same one who had lost his chance to return home?

    The cottage was no more; instead, Kanrel and the Angel, with all the other people who had gathered in that cottage, were now in the round room from where he had entered a door and stepped upon a field.

    The Angel was no longer veiled, as they had been mere moments before. Kanrel could see their face, that familiar expression on their face, and something past that, something like an apologetic look.

    ¡°It is difficult to remember.¡± They said with that sad smile on their face, perhaps veiling another emotion that they tried to hide. ¡°Especially when one remembers a past self, we never really want to remember who we were as we were; we¡¯d always like to remember our past selves as people who were happy or better than we are now, as something we might want to return to.¡±

    ¡°We cannot go back in time; we can only go forward; a mistake we¡¯ve committed will forevermore remain as such, and not all mistakes can be rectified. Some will persist as an anchor of sorts, a core memory to which we always return and then use as a reminder of what we should¡¯ve never done or should¡¯ve never become.¡± The Angel had a plaintive smile on their face, as they soon whispered, ¡°And for us, there are so many such memories, and there isn¡¯t a night in which we do not regret and question the creatures that we have become.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, Kanrel, do you know what it is like to look into a mirror and only see a monster?¡± They asked and let their words hang in the silence for a few moments before continuing, ¡°But I digress, for there is more to this past that you saw, a much longer story than a childhood soon soured; there is a war to come, and then a great battle between Kalma and us.¡±

    ¡°There was something that Kalla once told us: ¡®My father once said that from chaos and war, goodness can be born, a new world that is slightly better than the one that we inhabit. I used to believe the same, for didn¡¯t the wars against Kashro¡¯On and his Kernen give birth to Anavasii, a city that meant freedom for the enslaved? But what I¡¯ve noticed is that from war, sure, goodness can be born¡ªa generation that remembers the evils of war, a generation that wishes only peace. But from war, chaos is what truly comes from it. There might be some sort of forced moment of order within it, but it is still order that is born from chaos and peace that was born from war. But often the issue with war is that it births men and women, who surely despise war, but they also despise the enemy that has forced their hands. For there to truly come goodness from war, there must be peace that is just.''¡±

    ¡°And I also once believed like this. So long ago, we all wanted to believe what he believed in. We all wanted justice. But just how foolish and naive could we be?¡±

    ¡°In fact, we never even stood a chance against Kalma. We weren¡¯t even nearly powerful enough to kill him. We weren¡¯t strong enough to remove him from his throne. We knew this, yet we had to believe that we were in the right.¡±

    ¡°But now I wonder, were we really in the right? Is so-called freedom really worth the millions that died because of it?¡±

    ¡°In the end, he taunted us. In the end, he announced that he would live on; even in death, his touch would be felt by all of us. And he was correct. He released his magic; he tainted the land around us. He killed even more, leaving us a land which we could no longer toil, one that became poisonous to our touch.¡±

    ¡°All this, and for what? For a perceived sense of freedom..." Regret was all that could be seen on the face of an Angel; they stared deeply into Kanrel¡¯s eyes and soon continued, ¡°Humans, like the Sharan, dream of eternity, of immortality of sorts; this is present in the human desire to have a life after death, or the afterlife, as it is often described.¡°

    ¡°We wish to have an eternal kingdom, an eternal city, the eternity of the soul, one that lives on even after everything else fails, dies, and disappears.¡±

    ¡°The Empire that we had and the city that was later built were for this very reason. To have a connecting physical realm, one that we all could identify with and prosper with, many would live here and many would die, but the city would live on¡ªthe soul of our people.¡±

    ¡°This ego, of wanting to live forever, at least in some form, and the wish of being a part of something greater than oneself. How a city becomes part of one''s identity, and how a religion does so as well. It becomes a part of our truth, and we want that truth to live forever.¡±

    ¡°We ask ourselves a question: Who wants to live forever?¡±

    ¡°And the answer is that we all do, perhaps not physically or mentally, but we wish to live forever as a people, as a philosophy, as this thing, which is greater than all of us.¡±

    ¡°This is our desire for self-preservation; it is apparent that one cannot live forever¡ªmen die, and our minds might not exist after the end of life. But a city, a kingdom, or a thought might live past our time, and it might live for thousands of years. The memory of a man might live as such as well.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°And if one becomes a god, they might live forever, as his or her name will carry on in the thoughts, words, and prayers of those who believe in your presumed divinity.¡±

    ¡°We wish for divinity for the sake of eternity.¡±

    ¡°And what we fear the most is not death itself, but the uncertainty of it, the open-endedness of it, for we do not know if there is something or if there is nothing at all after all.¡±

    ¡°We are more likely to say that a terrible thing that has happened is a divine punishment brought down on by a god, instead of accepting the open-endedness of a terrible thing.¡±

    ¡°A genocide that affected our people, even if created by men, is a divine punishment brought to us by a god because of our corruption.¡±

    ¡°We place meaning in everything, even things that have no meaning.¡±

    ¡°A terrible thing, terrible things overall, often happen, and often they have no meaning. There might be reasons as to why something happened. The people of another land might¡¯ve needed something, so they decided upon war, and after the war, what are you to do with the new people that you now govern over? Do you rule over them, with the risk of them rising in revolt against their new masters? Or do you punish them and cleanse them from the population so that you might replace them with your own?¡±

    ¡°Every ''now'' contains its own past and its own future. The past is always the image of the future."

    ¡°And Kalma was as Sharan as we were; he strived for the same things that we in the end wanted as well. For him, it was apotheosis through the death of others, and for us, it was the same, but through the birth of a utopia that could transcend our minuscule understanding of reality."

    ¡°Even when we said that we didn¡¯t care for eternity or godhood, we still became gods; we still reached eternity, or something like that. We built a city to become a beacon for our eternity, for our vision that we had for our people.¡±

    ¡°We, the Nine Magi, are no better than Kalma, and one could easily argue that at times we were worse. The war we began killed more people than the building of another temple would; our actions led to a dead world; and the city we then built was doomed since the laying of its foundations.¡±

    ¡°I had foreseen it. I had seen the future, every single future that there ever could be, and each would end the same, but through different means; our extinction was inevitable since the moment we left our world, and even I and the rest of us will all fall. We will all one day enter another form of eternity.¡±

    ¡°Kanrel, don¡¯t you see? Death is for all.¡± The Angel pronounced at last, and Kanrel could witness as one by one, the other seven dispersed like ash in the wind: first went Urgur, then Erjen, then many who he could not name, then two men, one who looked like Astor and another who looked like Jaren, two of his comrades from his time at the cadet school... Well, two of Ignar¡¯s comrades...

    And all the while, Kanrel just witnessed it all. Time¡¯s words, the memories he had as Ignar, and the memories that he had of his own life and of his own experiences. Yet all the while, with all these answers given, there were still so many questions left unanswered, and he could tell that this Angel would answer perhaps a question or two.

    ¡°But which one is Ignar Orcun? Which one is the angel behind the attacks?¡± He asked after a while, after connecting a few dots in his head, some of which had become so apparent. Who else could be so powerful that they would be able to scorch a room full of people at the cafe? Who else could make him feel so tiny and nonexistent?

    The Angel gave him a sad smile. ¡°All I can tell you is that you¡¯ve seen their face.¡±

    Their face? He had seen Time; Order and Chaos; War and Peace; Lies and Truths; and Light and Darkness; thus, he had seen more than half of them. Each of them was likely in their own way, although it was unlikely that Light and Darkness would do something like murder, for in their eyes and actions there was clear regret.

    War and Peace seemed far too saddened by what was about to happen. Lies and Truths seemed far too insane. Order and Chaos seemed like they did not care what would happen one way or another; it was unlikely that they would ever leave their observatory.

    Time, on the other hand, they had seen it all, right? So they must¡¯ve seen from the beginning who was behind the murders and the attacks and had always had the power to do something about them but chose to never do anything. So even if they weren¡¯t the ones behind such terrible things, then they were at least guilty through their lack of care for the lives that had been lost.

    He couldn¡¯t help but stare at the Angel before him and ask, ¡°Are you Ignar Orcun?¡±

    To which the Angel just smiled and simply said, ¡°All I can tell you is that you¡¯ve seen their face.¡± Thus, they gave no answer to relieve suspicion, nor cast it onto another; they did not deny anything or agree with anything; instead, they gave the same cryptic answer he had received now twice.

    And for some reason, that face¡ªhe couldn¡¯t remember it. Not the face that he carried as Ignar Orcun in those memories. Kanrel furrowed his brows. Why could he not remember? Why did he remember everything else so clearly? But not the face that he had carried for a long time? But then again... He had not once stood before a mirror and just stared at himself.

    Did the Angel, once known as Ignar, have any vanity in himself?

    ¡°Which one of you is Urgur, or Erjen?¡± He asked.

    To which the Angel shook their head, ¡°I cannot tell you; I am not allowed.¡±

    Again, he received such an answer, one that was most infuriating. An answer that was most useless. An answer that gave no answer. An answer that was because of a stupid rule or a restriction...

    Why couldn¡¯t things be more simple? Why did everything have to always be so difficult? He let out a long sigh.

    ¡°Do I now get to enter through another one of your doors?¡± He asked.

    The Angel shook their head again. "First, you must rest; you wouldn¡¯t want to forget who you truly are now, do you?¡±

    Words that made Kanrel hesitate. Would he truly want to remember who he was? Would he truly want to remain as Kanrel? Couldn¡¯t he just be Ignar? But then again, who would want to be Ignar?

    It seemed like one had to choose between two murderers, between two people filled with regret, between two people who seemingly had no control over the things that had happened to them...

    But at least Kanrel had killed far fewer people; Ignar, on the other hand, was someone who had long ago lost what made them innocent. For Ignar, there could never be redemption, not like he prayed for.

 Chapter Sixty-Four: Memories of Two, and the Tyranny of Love

    What is that which forms the identity of a man? Surely his experiences and the life they have lived. All the people they have known¡ªall the good, all the bad, and all the ugly¡ªlive in our memories; they affect us, and they are what make a man.

    But if, for a long time, you find yourself to be someone else, perhaps one who lost his memories and previous experiences and then lives another life of his own, with a different name, with different people around, in what seems like a different world, even though it is the same, or at least not that different from what you might¡¯ve already once known before, but even these new experiences and new people that one would meet form the identity of a man. When one remembers two lives and has two sets of such memories, they can become interwoven; they can become the meeting of two differing identities, and together they can form another identity of a man¡ªa new person.

    But now, there were many memories to deal with and to remember. It was as if he were again staring at the doors in the hallway, where he could see different endings to his life and different forms of the man he could¡¯ve been.

    Behind each door lies a memory, either one that you¡¯ve already experienced before or one waiting to happen, waiting to be discovered. The doors that the Angel of Time presented him with were the latter, and the other doors in this house of his childhood gave him the former.

    But things get complicated. One asks a question: What is the difference between Kanrel and Ignar? In the end, are they not the same? Aren¡¯t they fundamentally the same person at this point?

    Perhaps the experiences that have happened aren¡¯t his own; perhaps even the choices aren¡¯t his own, but the thoughts must¡¯ve been. And the actions Ignar had to take weren¡¯t so different from those that Kanrel would take, or so he felt.

    At least those actions that he had to take during the Empire of the Dragon.

    Kanrel could relate to those actions and the thoughts behind those actions, even when at times they felt like they were not his own; even when they felt like they were destined to happen, they were predetermined outcomes that he could not change.

    The Angel of Time was correct. We cannot change the past. We cannot go back. We can only regret the choices we have made and hope that we do not repeat them in the present or the future; we can only hope that there won¡¯t be more things to regret in the future.

    But to again remember who you are, or rather who you were, and to become whole with that past self again. Once more, lacking the ability to feel the emotions he had once before, in the vision, he could tell that there were people that he loved. He could feel warmth when encountering them; he could feel alive¡ªmore alive than he had felt in such a long time.

    He was jealous of a murderer. Even in the most tragic of times, he could feel love the way one is supposed to feel it. There would be this target of affection, be it a family member or another, and there would be this feeling of goodness and warmth¡ªa genuine smile brought to the face of a man.

    There wasn¡¯t just the tyranny of love, the one to which we are all subject to. This tyrannical love doesn''t mean that we would take tyrannical actions toward the person, or people, we love, but our mind would be tyrannical with ourselves. It would constantly remind us of that love, not always in the form of warmth or happiness, but often in deep yearning and the fear of severance from that other who has taken a place in the heart of another man. It is apparent that it is not easy to peer into your own heart, but for some reason, other people find their way in, sometimes quite easily.

    And this tyranny of love is something we can do nothing about. We just have to hope that our love is accepted, that it is rightful, and that the person who has their hand around your heart doesn¡¯t die away or rip it apart, leaving behind shreds of a broken heart, one that soon grows regretful and afraid to love once more.

    How long does it take for a heart to grow whole again? He wondered as he grasped his chest, feeling the emptiness and the yearning that he had had for so long now. He missed home. He missed people. He missed his friends and family. He missed his mother. He missed life as it once was.

    What can one do? It isn¡¯t even that one can control who they fall in love with. In fact, he believed that one doesn¡¯t really fall in love; instead, they one day realize that they are in love; they just find it out and figure out that this has happened, and many don¡¯t even understand this. You can¡¯t force yourself to love someone; it just happens, and there often aren¡¯t good reasons for it. It is not like you can explain and describe the mystery of such a thing.

    It is not like you can control the tyranny that you are now subject to.

    But truly, it is complicated. For now, he realized that there were many more people that he loved than there were before. Now, he loved Kalla; he loved Erjen; he even loved Urgur; and somehow, he found that he also loved Kalma.

    Even with fear mixed in with this love, even with the knowledge he had of this creature, this god, this man, he still loved him. This feeling, this complicated feeling, would not go away. It could not be explained in words, truly. But it could be understood by others¡ªpeople like him who have had such a complicated form of love toward another.

    One could imagine it this way: If a mother finds out that her son is a murderer, will she then not love him anymore? Wouldn¡¯t she love him either way, even with all the things her son had done incorrectly, even when they had grown terrible and, perhaps, evil?

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He sat on a bench in the small garden where Jan once spent much of his days, taking care of the lonely apple tree and the flowers that grew beneath it. There was snow; it was no longer the first days of winter but a summer in bloom.

    He could remember this house, the flowers, and even the apple tree; to this day, he could remember all of it. He could imagine himself lying beneath the shadow of that tree on a bed of flowers, and in that moment he would feel pain. He would not be lonely, and he would remember the faces of the people that he loved. And it would hurt, for he would not be able to see many of them ever again. He would only carry a memory of them. A fragment of someone who once was. A love that still remains, a complicated feeling that forces its tyranny upon you, a form of hollow radiance within that seems to persist through time.

    Until time runs out, and memories are forgotten and love dies, so does the memory of that love. In the end, even that form of tyranny will end, and another form will take its place. The tyranny of forgetting, the tyranny of falling out of love, the tyranny of life, and then the tyranny of death. All things that one can¡¯t do anything about.

    Before, he wished that he could forget; now, he wishes that the memories would always remain intact, that they would remain there as faces and as moments from where he could find those that he loved; and in the future, he would wish that he could still remember; he would become like Kalma, wondering if there was ever only the hut, the lone apple tree, and the bed of flowers beneath it.

    By now, it had become quite clear: We need our memories, and we want so much more of them. We want to be remembered, and we want to remember those we loved.

    He now believed that he didn¡¯t really want to return to a static moment now long gone, but rather he wanted to create more memories that were as happy as those that he had had before. He didn¡¯t want to be that child that he had once been; he wanted to be who he was now, just less sad, less regretful, and still able to enjoy life as it is.

    He didn''t necessarily want to become happy. Such a desire was outlandish to him. What most people want is to be ¡°just alright." Somewhere in the middle of our emotional landscape.

    You can¡¯t really be happy all the time, nor can you be sad. If you were either or, then in the end, you would surely either become happy enough or sad enough, as your emotions would plateau. It is like the feeling of excitement; it peaks, and then it dwindles off, and the next time you do that thing that made you excited, the amount of excitement it might garner is less, or your ¡°tolerance¡± to it is higher.

    So it must work with other emotions. A sudden burst of happiness feels greater than its slow approach. A sudden sadness is dramatically more life-altering than one that comes gradually. The things that we don¡¯t expect, the things that seem to fall upon us, form the greatest moments of our emotional turmoil, be it a moment of ecstasy or an entrance to depression.

    So in the end, he figured that his situation wasn¡¯t that bad. What he had was constant. Sure, it didn¡¯t feel great, and it would never feel great as it were, but generally speaking, it would be better than jumping between bliss and woe.

    At least he could sit here and enter memories of something that was better than what is now. At least he had been informed that this was something he could perhaps cure, that there might be something past the two abysses, something brighter, and something far wider than the imagined fine line.

    For some reason, he was more or less pleased with such an ending to his thoughts. Even when it was likely that he would return to such thoughts, as he had done so many times before, even when it was likely that he would change his mind about something, it still felt like the right moment to stand up, breathe in the summer air around him, and once more enter the interior of his childhood home.

    To again walk among the memories and the doors that might rekindle them. But there were doors far more important that he would have to open.

    The room was round, and where there once were walls, an emptiness laid itself bare toward each direction. The door from which he had entered, when he looked back at it, was no longer there, nor was the house he called his home, nor were the people that he so dearly loved.

    There again was just Kanrel and the Angel of Time who peered into that emptiness, as if it were the passage of time itself, as if that darkness was the essence of that dimension we know so little about. Its purpose is more or less a mystery to us, one that beckons us to think that we ourselves invented time as a tool for us to chronologically measure things happening in the past, those that are even more in the past, and those that came right after those moments.

    In the middle of that round room, there were three doors. One was open, and on the other side, there was once again the field that he had entered, perhaps years ago. Or just moments past. It didn¡¯t feel like that long, yet it did. The new memories from this other life made him think that it had been years. But his own inherent memories made him believe that he had just now entered through that door and then returned right back. It was a curious experience, this confusion of time within. And he dared not ask how long had passed, lest his mind have been tricked into believing that a longer time had gone by, or worse, that he had lost decades of his own time.

    The other two doors were shut. The second door was very different from the first door, for there was no handle, only a keyhole, and the door itself seemed far more sturdy than the first one. On the other hand, now that he looked at it more closely, he could remember a door he had seen before. It wasn¡¯t the door that led into the cabin he had shared with Kalla; this door was the door that held behind it the last moments of Kalla¡¯s life. A magical lock nullified, and a carpet waiting on the other side, only that the carpet he could see was made out of grass instead of the one that lay beneath the lifeless corpse of his father.

    He gritted his teeth and asked, ¡°Where might the second door lead me?¡± His voice was muffled as he couldn¡¯t help but battle against the bitter tears that wanted to show themselves to the world.

    The Angel soon snapped out of the deep gaze they had held with the abyss, on their face a confused expression as they peered at Kanrel. Soon they recognized the person standing before them: ¡°As I told you before, behind this door is the so-called present. Not the one that you expect, not the one from your own life, but one from the life of another.¡±

    The door slowly opened, and a loud creak could be heard from all around. Kanrel looked inside, only to see something that reminded him of a courtroom. A figure sat behind the bench: a judge.

    He took a step forward, and he could hear as Time whispered, ¡°Enter, and let the judgment begin.¡± As he entered through the door and onto the wooden floor beneath, he was greeted with the sounds of a gavel hitting against wood, and the words soon declared, ¡°Good afternoon, fellow Sharans. This courtroom is now in session, as we are here to assess, address, and judge the actions of the plaintiff, also known as Hartar Agna.¡±

    He looked around and saw many others. The person who just now spoke was the judge, and this was a courtroom, and the court was now in session.

 Chapter Sixty-Five: The Trial

    ¡®I am not innocent. I am guilty. I¡¯ve done things; I¡¯ve killed others... I am a murderer, and this is my trial.¡¯

    Such thoughts were only his own. Such thoughts were those of someone like him, someone who deserved to be here in this moment, standing before everyone who had gathered here. This courtroom, this trial. His trial.

    No¡ªnot his; it was theirs; it was Ignars¡¯s trial; and it was Hartar¡¯s trial, but it might as well be his. At least he deserved to be here; he was the one who should be standing trial and who should be accused of murder. No matter how righteous that murder might have been, it still remained as such. No matter that the first was mostly out of self-defense, the two that followed were not. Should he have used so much force?

    This feeling, this heavy guilt, forced itself on top of him, on top of his mind and his heart. It lingered above the confusion¡ªthe things that had happened the past few days. Decades? He had no clue how long he had been stuck in this collage, this gathering of visions. Doors kept opening. They kept closing. All at once, together.

    Everyone was looking at him. In their eyes only disgust, they witnessed a murder. Why were they looking at him? His hands trembled uncontrollably; they refused to stop trembling. His heart refused to feel right in his chest. The world looked different, and the colors were more vibrant than they had been before. The people¡ªthe many Sharans that had gathered here¡ªwere all so tall. They were all so beautiful. And he was¡ªhe was¡ªinsignificant. He shouldn¡¯t look at them; he should not speak to them. They should never be in the same room.

    He tried to speak, to plead, but no words came out. Of the many accusations that he had and the many confessions that he might make, none of them found their way out of his mouth. His tongue felt so clumsy and weak. There was so much ache, so much pain.

    They should not have hit him; they should not try to force out a confession from him. Out of them. They were innocent. But he was a murderer.

    There were tables, there were chairs, and there were people everywhere. They all looked at them. They were all here to witness justice, to see a murderer be condemned for their crimes, and to see them sentenced to death. To see Hartar Agna, a murderer.

    His hands. They were different. Strong, yet so small. Rough and worn, seen through many days of work and labor. Hands of someone who had worked all their life. Hands that were younger than his but seemed to have seen more work.

    A gavel hit wood, and a person wearing dark, long robes stood. This demanded the eyes of all be set on them, for all to see only them and no one else, yet they themselves peered at the crowds, and then lastly, at Kanrel.

    ¡°The prosecution may present their case.¡± They announced, their eyes staying on Kanrel, observing him, measuring the person who was in the eyes of so many guilty before stepping into the courtroom.

    A tall Sharan who wore dark robes and had hair grayer than ash stood up. They cleared their throat and began: ¡°Your honor, based on the many investigations done by the Office of Peace and the Office of Justice around the death of Wiltem Torna, the tragic victim of a murder committed on the 23rd day of the 9th month in the 1207th year of the Common Times, has brought out much evidence related to the murder itself, the subsequent calls about corruption at the Office of Peace, the character of the victim, and then, the character of the prosecuted Hartar Agna.¡±

    ¡°We are ready to give all the facts and nothing but the facts.¡± They said and then presented the court with multiple files of written material about the investigation and the presumed evidence that they might¡¯ve found.

    ¡°In these files, we have outlined our investigation from that very tragic day to this day of justice, and to condense these materials, we might as well say that the plaintiff is to be put behind bars to rot for the rest of their existence.¡±

    ¡°So let us begin with the simple facts: on Olruan Street, on that very tragic day, a body was discovered, a beloved member of our city now known by many, their character praised by all, as it is reported that they were an active member of the community, a frequent donator to charity, and someone placed in trusted positions in our city.¡±

    ¡°Wiltem Torna was a civil servant, a city guard, to be most precise, and their job was to keep the streets safe from people like Hartar Agna; in fact, our investigation has concluded that on that very day, they witnessed the plaintiff partaking in illegal activities, mainly the selling of explosive material, which was then later used in a terrorist attack on the 31st day of the 9th month, killing no less than a hundred people. Investigations on this matter are still at hand, but Hartar Agna¡¯s involvement is clear, and there is plenty of evidence to back up this truth.¡±

    ¡°Wiltem Torna tried their best, but they were overpowered by those who would do such terrible things; thus, we do not only blame Hartar Agna for the murder of the beloved and innocent Wiltem but also for the planning, abiding, and partaking in the attack on Cafe N¡¯Sharan and the deaths of over a hundred people.¡±

    ¡°And in these files.¡± They announced, taking a stack of them and walking up to the judge¡¯s stand and placing them on top of it, ¡°We¡¯ve gathered the testimonies of hundreds of witnesses¡ªpeople who vouch for Wiltem Torna and his character, and then the hundreds of testimonies of people who condemn the actions of Hartar Agna, but also who tell us of the character of this vile murderer.¡±

    They took out one file and began to read, ¡°This is a witness testimony by someone known as Uliad Brevn: ¡®They have shifty eyes, they do, that Hartar fella... You know, I once saw them practicing destructive magic in their little bakery, the one they share with their parents. You know, you should question them parents as well. The apple never falls too far from the tree; who knows, maybe they were a part of it?¡¯¡±

    The prosecutor stared at the audience and then shifted their eyes toward Kanrel, who sat in silence, unable to fully grasp the severity of the accusations thrown at him, all of which were more than incorrect; they were all just made up, and they were all just wrong in more ways than one. It was incredible how something that was supposed to be used as a means to find out the truth was used in such a vile way.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°And this is just one of many such testimonies... Alas, we cannot spend all of our precious time quoting them, but, as a means of transparency, these documents will be shared with the public after this day at court, after the promise of justice has been fulfilled, after we all know that we can rest well, knowing that such a monster is put behind bars, or better, executed for his crimes against not only a fellow Sharan, but our city, our rules, and the morals which we all have agreed to abide by.¡±

    They placed the file back on the table, then turned to face Kanrel again, saying, ¡°The prosecution would like to question the plaintiff.¡± They announced with a gleam in their eyes, one that was hard to read at first but could never bode well.

    ¡°I will allow this.¡± The judge replied, and soon the prosecutor stepped closer toward Kanrel, soon reaching him and even leaning forward as they said what they wanted to say: ¡°Even if you are such a vile murderer, I, like many other Sharans that have heard of your terrible deeds, wish to know if you would like to confess to your crimes; if you¡¯d take accountability for your terrible actions.¡±

    ¡°Confess, Hartar Agna, and there might yet be retribution for your soul.¡±

    Kanrel sat in silence; his mouth felt dry, his hands still shook, and so did the rest of his body, but the reason behind this was different than before. This was anger, one that was more justified than this performance that he was made to witness¡ªthat he was forced to sit through and experience.

    Mere moments ago, he held within this confused sense of guilt, even when they had gathered to discuss the crimes of another, but to hear such accusations thrown at the body, which was Hartar''s, was wrong. It was all so wrong. It was all to cover up corruption; it was all to vindicate the Office of Peace from all responsibility regarding the death of one of their own, not to mention the many that had suffered because of similar corruption.

    He opened his mouth and spoke; his voice was so soft, and he pronounced the words that he himself might¡¯ve not believed about himself but believed about this body: ¡°Not guilty.¡±

    It was simple; it was perhaps more brave than any action that he had been able to take in such a long time; yet in the end, it was meaningless; it was done after the fact. It was no more than a useless cry for help, words interpreted as lies by all others either way. In a way, it would¡¯ve been better to not mutter a word, but defiance was now all he could have, even if it was the defiance of someone else, for someone more pure than he was, for someone he had promised to save but could never save.

    Tears forced their way out, fulfilling the pitiful creature that Hartar Agna had been from the beginning: a frail child.

    Anger flared on the face of the prosecutor as they slammed the table before Kanrel. ¡°Your words of denial are no more than further evidence of your guilt!¡± They yelled and stormed back to their seat, and before sitting down, they announced, ¡°The prosecution rests their case; we¡¯ve nothing further to add; we don¡¯t need to.¡± Then they promptly sat down.

    The sound of the gavel echoed in the silence of the courtroom once more, muffling out the sounds of a child crying. ¡°Normally, the defense would now present their own case, but there was none who would dare to do so, so we shall move along, and instead I shall take my turn, and I shall give you all the conclusion to what I¡¯ve come to, what the Office of Justice has come to, and what the very conclusion that the Sharan of Judgement has come to.¡±

    They cleared their throat and soon continued, ¡°To present a case with so much damning evidence is almost unheard of; to even bring it all to court seems nothing more than a waste of everyone''s time, for it is apparent that the person that is brought here before my eyes can only be the criminal, the murderer behind the tragic death of a beloved member of our city.¡±

    Their eyes were sharp and full of disgust, like they knew it all¡ªlike they themselves had been there that day, like they themselves had witnessed how Kanrel ruthlessly murdered the three men.

    ¡°Hartar Agna, there is no one here to defend you; even your family refused to be here. Yet, for the life of me, I cannot understand the mind behind such a fragile frame, which still makes excuses and still accuses others of the crimes that you yourself have committed.¡±

    ¡°Never has a trial become so reported; there are so many that want to see that you are brought to justice and that you are sentenced fairly so that the memory of your victim can be fully respected.¡±

    ¡°So I have found that there is only one way to sentence a criminal such as yourself: a death sentence.¡±

    ¡°But it cannot be so simple; the laws of our city do not accept a death sentence so easily, so the only way it can be achieved is via a death sentence through games, through combat.¡±

    ¡°I will be criticized for this; the whole Office of Justice will be criticized for this ruling that I have had to make; but there will be justice through combat.¡±

    ¡°Twelve sets of fights, each more cruel than the previous; not just duels but melees with many others that have been sentenced to death, and even fighters that would just love to see you dead.¡±

    The gavel struck the table again: ¡°Thus I shall announce the sentence of Hartar Agna: death sentence through combat, twelve sets of fights, which, if you survive, you shall live, but I pray to the Nine Magi that there will be justice, that the body of a murderer will be severed and removed from this city.¡±

    There was an uproar, and the crowds began shouting vociferously. So many were against such a way; they wanted blood, and they wanted it now.

    All the while Kanrel sat in stunned silence, his teary eyes kept on the face of the judge who had banged the gavel against the bench, who had then promptly gotten up and left without any further words. In Hartar''s eyes, they could see guilt where there was none, yet there was. There had to be. They must have somehow seen past the eyes of Hartar, past the tears that were only as real as the mind inside the body; they must¡¯ve seen the murderer within.

    Two pairs of strong hands grabbed him; one placed chains on his hands, and the other forced him to stand up. He felt so heavy, he could not move; he found no strength to fight back; he had no such strength; this body was famished; it was mistreated and beaten; it was broken and tortured.

    Who would do such a thing? Who would torture the so-called truth out of someone so frail? This time, at least, Kanrel didn¡¯t have to experience it himself, but in a way, he wished that he had. He wished that the pain that this person had felt was his own, that it was something they never had to go through, that it was all just a dream, all just a vision like this, all barely real.

    Couldn¡¯t this all be just that? Just nothing¡­ Just a vision and nothing more¡ªa spark of insanity that had gone too far, that had gone unchecked, and then became this device of torture pointed at him and no one else. If only it were so. If only this were never true or the truth, for reality should never be so brutal, it should never be so unfair, and it should never treat people who were more or less just children like this.

    But the world wasn¡¯t so nice, now was it? The world didn¡¯t care if things were fair or unfair. Why would it? Such things hardly affected it in any way. People were either just a mere moment in the grand scheme of things. A passing thought, soon forgotten as the eternal darkness would claim all that was left behind, not even a memory of that which once was.

    It was so dark here. The cell in which he now awaited his death.

 Chapter Sixty-Six: Into the Arena

    The door to the cell was without a handle, and the only light that entered the cell was through its keyhole. A bright light for he who waits for absolution, only to never receive it from those he wishes it the most.

    He sat in the corner and looked at the door, for there was nothing else to look at. Everything else was veiled by that darkness; everything else was meaningless to he who wanted freedom; to he who wished to open that door and leave this place¡ªthis back of his mind that now lay claim to all of him.

    It is dark in here, and only the finest amount of light is allowed to enter to brighten the vision of the one who begs forgiveness for the things that he cannot be forgiven for.

    This door was one he never really wanted to enter. The memory behind one he never wanted to experience, the future that might be, was one like this: just this that conquered the edges of vision, cornered by a brave light, cornered by guilt and regret, the anger one has for himself, and the anger one has toward those who he believes to be the cause of his pain.

    It is difficult to remember and to understand that not all dreams¡ªvisions¡ªare real; it is difficult to shake yourself awake and to see that none of this is real, that all of this shall pass, and that none of this should affect you as much as it all does.

    At least, there was solitude and silence. Oh, how he adorned this silence. It allowed this torture to be ever-present; it allowed him to remember who he was and what he had done. We all forget, but there are some things we wish we could but never can.

    And as one''s mind enters the circle from which it cannot run away and continues to pound you with its truths, judgments, and beliefs about who you are and what you deserve, if it finds that you deserve anything at all, or if men even deserve anything, things like love or peace, do such things exist as something a man deserves, or anyone, really?

    But a circle, even if infinite in its sides, will have to end for a creature who knows nothing of infinite things. The mind of a man is finite, so is his blight, and so is his time, and there will be a point in time where we find ourselves empty, unable to find words to use against ourselves. Perhaps one could call this mercy, but it could never be so, for what is scarier than the emptiness that reaches from within, covers you with its pale touch, and surrounds your mind with a fog through which you can¡¯t see? The light that serves as the cornerstone of this darkness might as well not exist. Not in moments like these.

    In silence, there is solitude; in silence, there are just your thoughts, and I do not wish to be alone with just my thoughts.

    It is like a trance, a sleepless state, one without rest, one without a moment of peace; there was just the in-between of these two feelings in a constant repetition: first, he¡¯d enter his thoughts and find only regret and harsh words and judgments for himself, and when the circle would for a moment open and let him leave, he would find himself in another, one more harsh than the previous one; one where he was afraid of himself, one where he was just alone, and nothing else.

    He didn¡¯t want to be alone, but there was none to accompany him; there was no strength to call for anything, not even that Voice he now so dearly missed. If only there¡¯d be someone to tell him lies, someone who would say that it all would be alright, someone who would promise to him that he deserved absolution and that he too deserved the things he now dreams of. That he too deserved to deserve things.

    The door was slammed open, and the bright light that was produced by its keyhole was there, but now more magnificent than before; it encroached all, and in the middle of that light, there was a figure casting a shadow upon the young Hartar and the mind it carried within. The figure entered, soon followed by another.

    It was too bright, and so he was unable to see who they were or what they were like, but by their touch and words, he could figure out what they wanted of him and what they felt about him.

    ¡°Get up!¡± It was all he heard: a rough voice followed by a pair of rough hands that forced him to stand, and then the coldness of chains that locked his arms together. On his head, they placed a bag to block his vision¡ªto block the light that might be outside of his cell. Again, he entered darkness, but this one was more potent than the previous, for this one brought so many sounds with it.

    He could hear his own breath as he exhaled and inhaled in quick succession, the sound of blood gushing in his head, the sound of steps as he was pulled out of the cell, almost carried; he couldn¡¯t feel his own legs; they seldom touched the floor as they carried him out.

    Then came the sounds of people; it was speech, many people who muttered somewhere, then the sound of doors opening, and that sound of speech became more apparent; it became a storm of voices, an assembly of different tones, low and high, but their words remained similar, their chants telling a simple story: ¡°Death to the murderer!¡± ¡°Murderer!¡± ¡°Traitor!¡±

    He could feel the mass of bodies around him as they carried him down the stairs. Then they came to a sudden halt, and he was forced to go into something that soon began to move¡ªa sound of humming¡ªthey had entered a steel carriage they called an automobile. A somewhat impractical invention, but one that none would dare stand in front of lest they wish to be crushed.

    The sounds of people were still around, but as the carriage continued on its way, the voices were left behind, and soon there were just the sounds of that machine as it bumped around on the cobblestone streets and made its way toward a place Kanrel could already imagine. The center of all entertainment in N¡¯Sharan, the Anandam Colosseum, commonly known in the city as the Offices of Joy and Suffering.

    It was a grand creation yet a relic of the past, a homage to the times during the Empire of the Dragon, made for great sorcerors and duelists to show their skills and to entertain the masses so that the people of N¡¯Sharan could always be happy. At first, it was something quite popular with the Sharan, as many would enter and showcase their talents to the world, but as time went by and there were fewer and fewer Sharan with significant amounts of magical talent, the games began to die out, becoming far and few.

    So, to revitalize this near-ancient tradition, the Offices of Joy and Suffering made a deal with the Office of Justice to provide them with criminals¡ªthieves, murderers, and worse¡ªso that they might fight for the entertainment of the masses while also, hopefully, dying for their crimes.

    There¡¯d then be both entertainment and justice.

    The vehicle stopped, at last, and he was soon pulled out, forced to the streets once more, and then escorted, or rather dragged, at least a flight of stairs up, and soon through perhaps a corridor to the right, and then at last, multiple flights of stairs down, all the while a cheer could be heard. A great cascade of sounds, of cheers, of joyful laughter, and of screams more vile than those that demand death for a murderer... ¡°Kill!¡± They screamed¡­ ¡°Kill!¡± They demanded¡­

    That sound became muffled for a moment but soon returned, almost as clear as it had been just moments ago. But instead of getting thrown in front of such an audience, he was thrown into another cell, the bag covering his head was removed, and so were the chains keeping his hands together.

    All he could first see was a dim light that came from somewhere behind him as he faced the cell wall next to which a few simple things were located: a bed without a blanket or even a pillow, and a weapon rack that stood proudly at the end of the bed; it was far better kept than the bed or anything in this cell. And on it, there hung a sword, one whose shape was far too familiar to him by now¡ªnot through memories of his own but through memories of another.

    A saber. A curved blade that once was the very symbol of nobility, strength, and destructive aptitude. How he yearned to wield it, to once more duel a friend or foe, to let that which was akin to dancing take him somewhere else... The two who had brought him here had already left, not muttering a word to him and just leaving him here with such a piece of art. How could he not touch it? So he did.

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    He approached the weapon, and with a gentle pull, he released this weapon and its blade out of its scabbard. It was as it was supposed to be. Sharp and well kept, a blade worthy of a general, but in his hands it felt... wrong. It felt heavy. Why would something he had wielded so many times before, and with ease, suddenly become so heavy?

    His hands. His arms. This body. It was all wrong. None of it belonged to him. Nothing of it. Just this mind that tried to hold a memory of another as his own... Either way, he tried to get used to the weight he would soon have to carry. But it just felt so awkward. There was barely enough muscle¡ªor technique, even¡ªto wield such a weapon.

    Then he stopped, and it dawned on him. The reality of this situation and what had happened to Hartar so long ago. This was death. These were the last moments before death. It would all end here. Someone who was nothing more than a child would face people who would be much stronger than they were, and then that child would die.

    His grip tightened around the hilt. But he could not change his fate. Why would he be unable to do so? But then again, he had tried before, and still, the things that were supposed to happen came to fruition. All he was doing here was experiencing a predetermined set of events, all of which would lead to the death of innocence.

    He couldn¡¯t help but scoff. It was all just so bitter and useless. The Angels? The Sharan? Kalma? Kalla? All of them... All of these things were the cause. They all tried to bring a solution of their own; they all had their greed and beliefs, yet the destination was like this. This is what they wanted? No, this was just the product of their faults.

    And sure. It was all doomed from the very beginning of this useless expedition¡ªthis fever dream that refused to end¡ªthis nightmare forced to the very core of his existence. It would all end soon. But he would not give up like the rest did. He would not drift into the awaiting darkness that so allured him, that so awaited for him to enter, to return to that beckoning void.

    He smiled. A smile without any other emotion than these bitter feelings¡ªthese things he would try to do out of spite and nothing more.

    Hartar Agna was as good as dead, and perhaps he would die with them. He would die as a man who had lived the lives of Kanrel and Ignar, just to die as Hartar. He would die in a body that was innocent¡ªthat, at least, was something.

    Kanrel returned the blade to where it belonged. It was clear that Hartar had no aptitude for the blade, but they had something else¡ªsomething that was perhaps barely there, but still, it was something at least. So he sought from within a familiar feeling, one that he could now recognize easily.

    Power. Magic. This is the destructive aptitude one needs to wield a sword in the Empire of the Dragon, but this aptitude was barely there. It was so minuscule, yet somehow Kanrel could tell that it dwarfed that which he had for himself.

    What the Angels had given to humanity, to their baptized priests, was nothing; it was just a speck in an endless ocean.

    He formed a flame as easily as he could breathe. All the while, he wondered: when would he deplete, and for how long could he burn? And would it be enough to survive even a singular battle out of the many that he might have to fight?

    He had knowledge. That is all he needed. Practice? He had had practice as Ignar, even the knowledge of the blade, but this body just wasn¡¯t enough to carry a saber. So all he needed was just this, a moment in which he could enter his mind with a different thought than he had had earlier today. This mind wanted to survive, or at least show the Voice that had brought him here that he would not just simply die; he should at least show how much roaches and humans have in common.

    He let the flame dwindle and sat on the bed. He closed his eyes and began to think. He had no clue how much time he had or if he would have any at all, but each precious moment that he could harness was more helpful than a moment in despair.

    He could still hear the crowd outside, but at this moment, it was all meaningless. They did not exist. They did not matter, and the storm within engulfed his insides as he meticulously went through memories¡ªso many of them, so many that were painful¡ªthat made him more bitter and more spiteful. But even if such emotions were among that storm, he relived them, harnessed them, and found what he was looking for. He found the last spiteful acts of a dying man.

    He only opened his eyes as the cell doors were forced open and an unfamiliar person walked in. Their face was nearly fully covered with scales, and they were built like a warrior, lean and strong. From their careful mannerism, Kanrel knew that if he made a mistake or one action too fast, he would lose his head, and this chance to vent his spite. So he stayed still, and they soon just stared at each other.

    The person scoffed, their eyes scanning the small frame that sat on the bed. ¡°You seem calm for someone who might die tonight.¡± They said, their voice deep and surprisingly gentle, but then a sudden grin came to their face, and one could see teeth as sharp as those that were in the jaws of Kalma.

    ¡°Perhaps tonight will be more fun than I had anticipated.¡± It was a purr. An excited exclamation of someone who yearned to see violence and blood; someone who yearned to commit such acts...

    He felt so cold all of a sudden. And he could not move; he could not say a word, yet in his head, there was a scream; there was recognition. This person¡­ He had heard of people like them. There were many men who were like they were. Lustful in the most perverted way a man could be.

    If Kanrel was a murderer, then this person was an evil incarnate.

    The grin deepened on the face of this person. ¡°Curious. Just a moment ago, you were so brave, but now..." They said and came closer, leaning in to whisper, ¡°I can smell your fear.¡±

    Kanrel stayed as still as he could and just stared ahead. The person was so close that he could smell them¡ªa normal fragrance, as normal as any Sharan that he had ever smelled.

    They chuckled and backed off. ¡°Get up now, will you? It would not do good for you to miss the show.¡± They ever so gracefully offered their hand toward Kanrel.

    The arm that was reaching toward him was smooth and scaled¡ªjust a hand and nothing more¡ªso he grabbed it, even though his fear had been found out. And as he was led out of the cell, the grin on the face of that person deepened and deepened after each step taken; they were now like a predator, leading their unassuming victim to be slaughtered.

    Down the hallway, the light became brighter, and the cobblestone soon changed into sand and dirt. He could now see the doorway out; it was larger than a double door and arched into a semicircle. The doors were open, and before going out, they came to a sudden halt. They stood side by side, and the grip that was around Kanrel¡¯s hand became stronger as they leaned closer and whispered, ¡°Survive this, and we might meet many times more; survive and entertain me; then I might offer you a wish, a gift for one who is bound to die sooner rather than later.¡± The voice was sweet like honey, thick like syrup, and the eyes he could feel upon himself were disgusting, and heavy, and saw only the things they wanted to see: blood, pain, and death.

    Cold shivers ran down his whole existence as he was pushed forward, out to the bright lights, and the booming sounds of the crowds that became greater by each moment, by each step that he had taken toward that doorway; this choir of sounds at last reached climax as they saw him for the first time.

    It was joy; it was pure bliss.

 Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Execution

    A choir of cheers, of screams, of words, of which so many became something he could not understand. There was fear; oh, he felt fear. It was all that was on his mind at this moment. There was no calm before that which could kill him; there was no calm, as he could feel the eyes at the back of his head. The person, their words, how they watched him, and how they observed him so carefully. There is lust in those eyes¡ªa lust no civilized person should have.

    Yet, it was all around.

    It wasn¡¯t just in the eyes of a singular person; if it were so, then it would just be an outlier, something that barely existed. Something one could accept is that yes, there are people like that¡ªpeople who are so broken on the inside that they would wish to see pain and that they¡¯d wish to see more than just simple pain. Eyes that wish to see that, which is practically torture.

    Those eyes of that one person weren¡¯t an outlier. They were the norm. It wasn¡¯t those eyes that were wrong; it was the target of those eyes that was wrong. He was wrong. He didn¡¯t fit. Thus, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder: What if Hartar would agree with something like this? If it were someone else than them here, would they have enjoyed watching such a show? Would such violence be a pleasure to them, too?

    Their yells were deafening, and he could see as someone walked past him suddenly, someone who walked to the middle of it all. The same person who just moments ago proclaimed that they had smelled his fear.

    And as they walked to the middle, the sight of him created more cheers than there had been the whole night, at least as far as Kanrel could tell.

    ¡°My fellow Sharan, rich and poor, tonight, here and as always, we are equal; for here we have gathered to once more see the glorious justice of our people, of our city.¡± He proclaimed and then pointed toward Kanrel, ¡°Behold! Hartar Agna, a murderer most foul!¡±

    In an instant, the choir of cheers became one of boos. And the smile on the face of the one who could be no other than an announcer for this establishment¡ªa director, of sorts.

    ¡°Tonight, and perhaps many other nights, we shall see them in combat, be it glorious or pitiful, be it victorious or ending in bitter defeat! We shall see them, and we shall make ourselves heard!¡± They continued and then pointed toward the opposite side of the arena, where another door was open, and a person of slightly larger size than Hartar walked in, carrying a saber as clean and well-kept as was the one in Kanrel¡¯s cell.

    This person looked far more nervous than Kanrel felt; their steps were so uneven, and they seemed dazed as they looked around the arena, seeing all the people, and then at last the person in the middle. And in an instant, Kanrel could see something in the eyes of that person. It was the most profound form of fear, not toward Kanrel or perhaps even the thought of death, but at the sight of the announcer, the director of this show.

    ¡°I present to you the opposition; the other contestant for this grand battle: Kal Licht, a thief, and not just a simple thief for a petty penny, but a thief who stole many hearts! And through their crimes, many lonely souls have lost all they have had, some who then ended their lives in a tragic suicide, some who might never get back on their feet or off the streets... And as I narrate these crimes, I wonder: which is worse? Murder through direct action, or murder through indirect action?" The announcer introduced the nervous-looking person, whose expression shifted between guilt and fear, and from there to a simple frown, one knowing all too well what their future might behold, even if they survived this night.

    ¡°But our most beloved audience, I digress, for I¡¯ve no say in such things, for justice is not in my hands! It is in their hands, is it not? So let me proclaim this with great excitement: Let the games begin!¡±

    There was no time to hesitate, not even a moment, for the nervous thief¡¯s demeanor changed, their eyes focused, and they rushed toward Kanrel with murder on their mind. Their saber was already out, and Kanrel was left running away, in his mind, figuring out the quickest way to get rid of this danger.

    He didn¡¯t want to kill, so he went for the hands, the arms, the legs, and the weapon in Kal¡¯s hands, producing a quick, well-placed steel blade that materialized behind them, hurdling toward the exposed arm. It sliced at flesh, but there was no effect. A sudden deflection, a quick formation of stone around the arm, soon crumbled away after the steel struck.

    The formed steel fell to the sands below, soon dissipating, becoming just more of it, another thin layer on which blood would be spilled.

    Kal was quick, and their eyes were now keen as they rushed toward him, preparing a strike while forming defensive magic to take care of anything that might be sent their way. But even if there was some skill, some simple knowledge of what to do in such a situation, they were still nothing in comparison to the memories that Kanrel now lay claim to. Perhaps this body was weak; perhaps the magic it held was nothing in comparison to that of Ignar¡¯s, but it was enough for this moment.

    Kal was much weaker than Hartar. Somehow, such a Sharan existed among the many.

    Kal reached him, striking down at him, preparing to leave him mortally wounded, or at least to force him to yield and let his life and future be determined by the audience and their bloodlust. It would hurt.

    Midway through the strike, they froze, their eyes first filled with surprise, and then that fear that was there before returned once more; now it was so much greater than it had been, for their eyes quivered, and their hands fell to the sands beneath, and soon they fell to their knees; now their hands and feet were separate entities. Blood gushed out, and a chilling scream filled the air, piercing past the yells and cheers from the audience. It brought silence with it, as Kanrel had stopped running as well. Instead, he formed another spell, this one to force Kal''s eyelids shut, unless he himself would allow them to open.

    It all happened in just a few seconds. Even then, he found himself panting and his whole body shaking violently¡ªthe adrenaline that ran through his veins made him feel alive, yet he remained scared for his whole being.

    Silence conquered the arena, and then it ruptured into magnificent cheers. They called for his name, and they pronounced him the winner, even when the battle had lasted for such a short time, and battles so short were rare, especially between contestants that seemed so fragile and useless.

    Kanrel looked around at the many faces in the crowds, and in a way, it felt proper. Even when it was produced by violence, such cheers made sense. But he just couldn¡¯t find a smile to form, not even a fake one.

    The announcer casually walked to Kal and inspected him, soon proclaiming, ¡°They are still alive!¡± On their face, there was a slight smile, one filled with amusement that was most profound.

    ¡°Dear spectators! It would seem that we have a winner, and in record time, no less!¡± They continued and stepped past the blinded thief.

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    "Thus, I must ask for your judgment! What is a proper reward for the defeated criminal, Kal Licht?¡± The announcer asked, and as they did so, the saber still in the severed hand of Kal rose from the sands and found its way to their hands.

    They inspected the blade that was left untouched and unspoiled by blood or sand. ¡°Is it life?¡± They asked, then let their finger run through the blade, leaving a streak of red blood that glistened in shades of gold on the blade. ¡°Or is it death?¡± They almost whispered, yet it was all heard loud and clear, for the audience in an instant burst into screams heard hours before: ¡°DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!¡±

    These screams were louder than those during the battle or during the moment of victory; they were louder than the fear that Kanrel had felt on this day; they were louder than the doubts, the shame, or anything else that he had felt today.

    ¡°Silence!¡± The announcer commanded, and the crowds went silent; instead, they awaited in anticipation. They carefully observed as the announcer turned around and faced Kanrel and the body of Kal that lay upon the sands of the arena.

    ¡°Is justice not beautiful? Aren¡¯t life and death the most precious things in our lives?¡± They asked and lifted the sword above their head. There was a grin on their face as they then commanded, ¡°Open your eyes! Witness the end!¡± And as the sword came down, Kal¡¯s eyes burst open, and they saw the blade coming down. Their scream filled the arena, but it was cut short, as in the truest form of violence, a life was stopped.

    It was swift, it was efficient, and it was brutal. And the crowd erupted with cheers. ¡°Justice!¡± They screamed, ¡°Justice!¡± They demanded.

    But the announcer was now silent, and they peered at Kanrel; there was no longer a need for them to use words, veiled threats, or anything the like. All could be seen on their face and in those eyes; in that grin that covered their face, that again showed their maw of sharp teeth.

    They left the blade buried halfway into Kal¡¯s head and stepped toward Kanrel; they lifted his head from the body and raised it to face their eyes; their grin faded, and a whisper was pronounced: ¡°Be a good doll, and smile to the audience. They love you.¡± Then they grabbed his hand and lifted it up. ¡°Applaud for our winner, Hartar Agna! Sing praise in their name! Sing praise, for they have allowed justice to happen on this glorious day!¡±

    The crowds erupted once more, now singing his name, paired with ¡°justice.¡±

    It was no less than the reverence Ignar had received in Kalma¡¯s court; it felt wrong all the same. Yet he smiled, for he dared not to...

    Soon the announcer escorted him away from the arena, back to the small cell where he had prepared for this duel, and even if he had expected that he would have to witness death today, he had not expected it to happen how it came into fruition.

    He stood still for a long time and tried to process the things that had transpired but could not. All he could find was this emptiness that besieged him¡ªthis emptiness that refused to let him truly face what had happened.

    All he knew was that he would not make it. He would die either way, but along the way, he would lose something that was more precious than life itself. He would lose himself once and for all. There was no absolution; there was only transformation¡ªthe metamorphosis of the once-moral landscape. He had to believe that the things that he had done thus far, the things that he would have to do, the things that he would have to witness, and the things that he had witnessed were all not at all as wrong or disgusting as his mind first perceived them to be.

    The thin line; the darkness in which he had walked; to enter this city of regrets; and these visions... It had always been there, and the darkness that lay on both sides was not there to beckon or wait for him, but instead, it would grab him, it would cover him, and it would swallow all that there was of him. And it looked at him, and it had become so difficult to separate him from that which had swallowed him.

    Could he still find a speck of humanity¡ªof something else, somewhere, anywhere else? Within or out there. Or was this just what being a man was like? A ship at open sea, drifting in the stormy weather, always doing its best not to sink, but it always would sink; it would always be submerged and merged with the deeps; always sinking deeper and deeper, yet never reaching the pinnacle of those depths; never finding the bed of the ocean, the seafloor where one might at least rest. Always suffocating, always drowning, but never truly dead... When would he die? When would it all end? When will the sinking stop?

    He collapsed at last. Reaching not the depths of the ocean or that abyss, but the floor of this cell. The cold embrace that it gave him and the restless dreams¡ªor were they just thoughts¡ªthat were forced into his mind. Whose were they? Were they his? Were they Hartar¡¯s? Were they Ignar¡¯s? Were they Kanrel¡¯s? Whose were they?

    He woke up as cold water hit his whole body, entering his mouth, and forcing him to gag for air and cough violently. It was as if he had been thrown into the ocean, as salty sweat mixed with the taste of fresh water. He began to shiver and tremble as he soon found the cause of this sudden downpour: the ever-smiling announcer, with their twisted smile and their cruel curiosity for violence and brutality that remained in their eyes.

    ¡°Good morning, my dearest doll. I see that you¡¯ve slept well¡ªbetter than one would expect for anyone to sleep after such a thrill, but I do understand... The lights, the cheers, the ecstasy of that moment, the release, the end of a life... It was all so beautiful, yet so... tiring. Yes, tiring¡­ Wasn¡¯t it just brilliant?¡± They spoke, their tone hovering between excitement and what seemed like confusion but was more like poetry, words uttered by someone inspired by what they deemed beautiful.

    Kanrel remained silent, not finding any words to return to this sadist. So instead, he just got up, walked to his bed, and sat down, still facing the creature that had drenched him just now.

    The announcer peered at him for a moment, then smiled as if knowing what thoughts ran through his head: ¡°Aren¡¯t I quite rude?¡± They said, ¡°It would seem that something most important has slipped my mind.¡±

    ¡°You see, dear doll, I haven¡¯t even introduced myself properly! No wonder you daren¡¯t utter a word as a reply!¡± They said and produced a sweet smile to veil their sharp teeth and twisted grin.

    ¡°But I can¡¯t really give you my true name, now can I? That would spoil some of the fun I am having with you, so let me use an artist name of sorts or something, as some people sometimes call me.¡±

    ¡°You see, even if I work here, in the Anandam Colloseum, I still don¡¯t work for the Offices of Joy and Suffering, nor the Office of Justice; instead, as in my work, I sometimes must execute a Sharan or two; so I must, by law, work at the Offices of Life and Death, for no other bureau of our sweetest city may legally put another Sharan to death.¡±

    ¡°Thus, here, they call me the Sharan of Death; but I promise you, I am much worse than they could ever be.¡± The Sharan of Death proclaimed as if it were just a matter of fact and nothing else; thus, they concluded their introduction, even bowing rather deeply and showing once more their sharp teeth.

    As they straightened up and faced Kanrel with a rather keen expression, they asked a simple question: ¡°Aren¡¯t you excited to serve justice once more?¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Eight: What One Deserves

    What even is justice? He couldn''t help but wonder as he met the eyes of the self-proclaimed Angel of Death.

    All he knew was that we all long for it, in one way or another. When we yearn for peace, we wish it to be just. We all long to be treated justly, without malice or injustice. We don¡¯t want to live in a world that treats us like dirt, and we sure as hell don¡¯t want to be unfairly treated for things that we didn¡¯t even do or receive words that don¡¯t, perhaps, describe us as well as we think they don¡¯t.

    Either way, ¡°justice,¡± as far as he knew, was something he didn¡¯t quite understand. All he knew was that this was unjust. He believed that it was perverse. It was a perverted form of justice, from the beginning to the end, toward someone who hardly deserved any of it.

    If it were him, and just him, who would be the target of this circus, then perhaps he could accept it as it was. When you believe that you are at fault, you then believe that you deserve all that there might be, as now everything is a form of punishment for the crimes that you have committed.

    But justice¡­ Was it not just another illusion? Another structure of sorts, like good and evil, but also something that one could use in the most evil ways known to men. One might construct a society where there is justice or at least a somewhat common and mutual understanding of what that justice is¡ªwhat one deserves and what one does not deserve. But justice is for those who have the ability to act upon it. Justice is for the powerful, and those who have enough power can enact it as they see fit.

    It is not that justice means law, but justice, the concept of what one deserves and what is fair, might form certain laws as they are. And those laws can be used, be it for good or bad.

    A tyrant will always use these laws and this so-called justice to his or her own benefit. Because why wouldn¡¯t they? Is it not in the nature of a tyrant to do so?

    Here, in N¡¯Sharan, it all began with the ideas and ideals of equality so that they might construct a society that is just, where all have mutual agreement on what justice is, what it might be, and how it might work. A common understanding of what we deserve, when we deserve it, and how we deserve it.

    Yet there were biases from the very beginning. People don¡¯t just change out of their goodwill or when they meet the error of their ways, the wrongs of their culture, or the brutality of their forefathers. Such things aren¡¯t good enough reasons to change, not for an individual or even for a society.

    A society built on slavery might be rid of it, but the scars of it will remain for generations. And there will always be a disparity between those who benefited from it and those who were abused by it.

    The elite that first followed Kalma with all their hearts is the same elite that then helped build N¡¯Sharan; they agreed to these new laws and ideas of what one deserves and what is right and what is wrong, but a law does not change the heart of a man.

    Those who had power and were powerful benefited most from the justice everyone mutually agreed upon because they had the capability to enact it as they saw fit. This does not, of course, mean that all of those who are powerful are evil, and not all of those who are powerless are good. It isn¡¯t so simple.

    Justice inherits the nature of men. And people aren¡¯t just good or evil, nor are they both or either. They¡¯re as complicated as the concepts we think of to explain how complicated we are. And this must be equally true of the Sharan.

    So when the so-called Angel of Death asked their question, ¡°Aren¡¯t you excited to serve justice once more?¡± He blinked his eyes for a few moments and soon produced a scoff that then turned into a bright giggle, one that conquered the cell and the ears of those who might be there to hear it.

    This left the Angel of Death shocked, or rather confused; their grin faded away, and they observed the petite Sharan, wet by the water that they had formed and dropped on top of them as they were asleep, as a means to wake them up. Kanrel¡¯s whole body shook as he laughed for the first time in such a long time¡ªnot because it was funny, nor because he could actually muster a true laugh, but because of the absurdity of everything.

    It was all so obscene. Not just the so-called justice he was asked to serve, but also his own thoughts and his own helpless situation. And then the bitter reality of his own beliefs: The Angels, his gods, were like this? These were the creatures he and the rest of the Priesthood looked up to as the pinnacles of morality and as guides through the darkness of night and the darkness of human corruption.

    His gods weren¡¯t so great. They were like him and the rest of humanity. His gods were as obscene as justice in this city.

    ¡°Was it something I said?¡± The Angel of Death asked, again leaning closer, and as they did so, the temperature in the cell began to increase as they formed a warm wind to dry Kanrel¡¯s clothes; they even swept the water off the floor.

    Tears ran down Kanrel¡¯s face as he was at last able to breathe and control the laughter that was so uncontrollable. ¡°I¡¯m going to die soon, aren¡¯t I?¡± He asked and let the warm wind dry his clothes; then he got up from the bed and took a few steps forward, just so that he could stand face-to-face with the person on the other side of the bars.

    They were much taller than this body was. They were much more powerful than Hartar could ever be, and he wondered if their power was similar to that of Ignar, or perhaps Kalla.

    ¡°Perhaps, but there are so many duels that you might fight; some of them you might survive; some of them might leave you without limbs to carry you; some of them might lead to your execution, and some of them might not. It all depends, my little doll.¡± The Angel of Death explained. Their voice had become solemn, and so far, it seemed more earnest and truthful than it had been since the first words that they had ever offered him.

    ¡°Then what is the point of serving this justice that wants me or doesn¡¯t want me dead? Is it to remove others who have done bad things? Is it there to absolve me of the crimes that I have committed? What is it there for?¡±

    The Angel of Death leaned back. A slow smile came to their face, one that was gentle and somehow sweet. ¡°It is there for you. Each time you win a duel, you¡¯re one step closer to freedom. Each duel brings you closer to justice.¡±

    ¡°This is hardly justice,¡± Kanrel muttered.

    ¡°Did you not announce on the day of your trial that you¡¯re not guilty?¡± The Angel asked.

    Kanrel nodded.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s your answer, and this is the only way for you to receive absolution; this is how justice works here; this is how it has worked here for a thousand years. It won¡¯t just change when one sees it as unfair, and sure, it might be unfair, but this is what our city has agreed upon; for us, this is justice. For us, justice is something one has to fight for.¡± The Angel explained, then they unlocked the door to the cell and said, ¡°Come now; your next duel is about to begin.¡±

    In the corridor, near the door where the corridor would meet the grounds of the arena, a light was cast upon the floor, an invasive force, a stark reminder of the spotlight under which he would fight another battle. The crowd was louder than it had been yesterday, and there was much anticipation for what was to come.

    Kanrel wondered if he had suddenly gained fame based on yesterday''s performance or if today just happened to be a day when many more could attend and witness justice in action.

    But then again, Hartar Agna was known by all who read the Times of N¡¯Sharan, so those who were there to watch came in anticipation of death¡ªthe death of a murderer¡ªjust so that there should be vengeance for the death of a beloved member of their community.

    The Angel of Death walked beside him, and on his face there was that now all too familiar toothy smile, the one that had seemed so lustful and ever-wanting to witness the release of death¡ªto even cause it for those who fell on the arena, unfit to continue another moment of combat. But now that smile, to him, seemed different; there was more to it than just lust, than just a psychotic gleam for death. There was, again, that perverted sense of justice¡ªa call for it, as if their given name ¡°the Angel of Death¡± was incorrect, as if they themselves would¡¯ve wanted to carry the name ¡°Angel of Justice.¡±

    The gates opened once more, and the Angel placed their hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forward. ¡°Dazzle them, doll.¡± They whispered, and so he walked to the spotlight¡ªthe lights that descended from somewhere above, artificial creations of magic and technology that cast a great glow upon the sands of the arena. The already loud cheers again became louder, and as they saw him, they all changed to boos. Now it was clear what today¡¯s audience wanted the most¡ªnot just any blood; they wanted his blood and his blood only.

    And as he again looked around, he saw so many more faces than the day before, but the faces were blank, like they themselves were the dolls that the Angel of Death referred to; like they weren¡¯t truly there, like there was no one alive in this arena; expect him, the Angel of Death, and whoever the poor soul was that would have to fight him.

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    Today would be no less easy than yesterday, but at least he was more confident, not in the process of things or where they would lead him, but in his own ability to at least fight back, to wield this magic that now called for him like the memory of one¡¯s first love would¡ªbe it a memory of heartbreak or one of yearning and innocence now long lost...

    ¡°My dear Sharans!¡± A sudden shout could be heard as the Angel of Death emerged from the hallway, entering the lights and entering the shouts of those in demand of justice and blood: ¡°Once more, I am bestowed this great honor of allowing justice to happen!¡±

    ¡°And no less to someone who seems rather famous already¡ªsomeone not so beloved by the audience, I must say!¡± They continued and walked to the middle, taking their place at the center of it all, the place where it all would happen, under their guidance and watchful eyes.

    ¡°But it matters not! For even here, in the arena of our ancestors, is equality granted to even those shunned by the audience¡ªno, shunned by all of society!¡± They walked around in the center, riling the audience and making contact with them, creating an ebb and flow, one with an entertainer and their audience.

    ¡°Yesterday we saw a murderer fight against a disturbed individual with fraud on their mind, and behold, justice was served!¡±

    ¡°But today is another day, another great duel to be seen and observed by you all so that you too might see justice in action! So here, tonight only, I give to you a spectacle! A murderer against a murderer!¡± They announced and pointed toward the other doors that now burst open, and all could see as this larger-than-life individual walked with great confidence to face their opponent.

    Again, this person wasn¡¯t someone who had a clear indication of great magical prowess, but even then, they were clearly more powerful than he was.

    ¡°You¡¯re all familiar with Hartar, the winner of yesterday''s spout, but have you heard of our other bastard? There are two types of murder, or so I believe our dear audience; one is like Hartar¡¯s, a calculated act done in cold blood, one where one might suggest that there was not even an ounce of passion in their crime; and then there is the second kind, one more graphic than the other.¡±

    ¡°One can kill with a stab or two, or one can kill with a countless number of stabs until there is nothing left of the person that received those stabs; nothing more than a bag of blood and muscle, all spilled on the streets of our dear city of N¡¯Sharan.¡±

    ¡°Meet Gama Vasco, our other contestant on this busy day! A Sharan, who once had a lover, and they claimed to love each other forevermore! But for Gama Vasco, there is no such thing as a gentle touch for a lover, for murder might be the crime for which he is judged here, but domestic abuse... hit after hit, long before the night of the murder, not even a drink did they have before or after each flailing.¡±

    ¡°Seventy-four stabs was the end of their lover''s life¡­ So I wonder: How many might Hartar survive?¡±

    "Thus, with great honor, I proclaim once again! Let the games begin!¡±

    There was no time for a moment of hesitation, as this time it was Kanrel who jumped into action, forming a powerful lance of steel to pierce through the chest of his competition; it didn¡¯t matter if he would kill... Now all rules were off¡ªit was kill or be killed, and even in this damned false life he had to live, there remained the wish to live. Somehow, through all of this, through every single bad experience and encounter, even through the Ritual, he still wanted to live. Why? He wasn¡¯t sure if it was something that was within, a human call for life, the yearning to live, as many called it, or if it was because of the sense of duty, the vows that he had made, and the loved ones that he still had to return to.

    It whirled, creating a loud whistling sound, forcing many of the audience members to cover their ears or to feel the pain that it caused. Then it flew, and in an instant, it pierced the chest of his enemy.

    Gama cared not. They felt no pain; instead, there was still a smile that promised a death most painful, one with more stabs than with which they had mauled and tortured their lover''s warm body.

    If there had been any hair at the back of his neck, he would¡¯ve felt them rise, in fear and anticipation, as powerful shivers ran through his whole existence. The danger he felt had never felt so great¡ªnot even in the home forest of Kalla and Ignar while surrounded by the Knights of the Order of the Dragon.

    All he knew was that the Sharan¡ªno¡ªthe creature known as Gama was someone who had never in their life felt pain; never in their life felt mercy; never in their life felt even love. Violence was their language, and it was the only language they were fluent in. And the most bone-chilling of things wasn¡¯t the hulking creature running at him but the many points of magic that formed around Kanrel: small spikes the size of a knife, readying hundreds of stabs to pierce through him one by one.

    How could something so large and muscled be capable of forming so many things at once? Why were they allowed to do so? What the fuck was wrong with this sheer imbalance of power that he had to experience again and again? How could he, a mere human, ever comprehend the true power of the Angels?

    With sheer will to survive, he did all he could; he formed shields¡ªmetal, stone, ice¡ªwhatever he could to protect himself from the impact that he could not dodge and that he could not individually react to in full. If only he had stayed prepared if only he hadn¡¯t been so greedy and tried to finish it in one go... If he only knew what he was doing and what he was against.

    A glass-like crackle could be heard around the arena, and for a moment the audience went silent; it was like the breaking of a thousand mirrors¡ªa thousand windows that now lay shattered on the sands below. In the arena, two people were left standing, surrounded by a cloud of sand.

    A tall Sharan with a lance piercing their chest, gulping in air, and eerily waiting for the sands to shift and subdue out of their way; and a small frame that stood in place, as if lifeless, not taking any action, not even breathing.

    Gama scoffed, and with a wave of their hand, the sand cloud was forced back to the ground; it stuck down like iron dust would to a magnet.

    Now they all could see the small Sharan looking ahead with their eyes glossy, them breathing in only slightly, some of their body pierced with small knives, most of the knives sent down were nowhere to be seen, some lay on the ground broken, some intact.

    They were alive, yet.

    Gama ceremonially pulled their sword from their scabbard, a beautiful saber that glistened in the lights that descended upon the two duelists in the arena. They walked to the small, framed Sharan and, with a wide grin on their face, announced, ¡°You remind me of them... So I shall take you as well.¡±

    A wide swing sent toward Kanrel¡¯s head, one that would go through skin and flesh, shattering the bone of his skull, ending all sense of vision and all sense of life that he knew there to be; it would end. Here. Now. Release!

    No.

    Gama faltered, their saber went past Kanrel, and they screamed with such furious confusion that the cheering audience was again left silent, as confused as was the hulking creature that fell on top of Kanrel, and began to twitch and shiver violently. Blood began running from the wound in their chest, as something happened that none could see.

    Only Kanrel knew what was happening, and only he knew how difficult it was to do it. The lance had begun breaking apart, forming smaller, yet sharper spikes that now bore into flesh, to any direction that they might go; what they were looking for was the heart, the brain, the lungs, anything and all that might be vital to life, all things that even the Sharan had.

    He could feel the warm blood touch him, soiling his already bloodied clothes. Gama was so heavy, and Kanrel fell to his knees, under the Sharan that was dying and unable to do anything about it, for within them there were more than a hundred stabs, slithering around, finding and destroying them from within.

    Kanrel just laid still because he, too, could do nothing. He had no strength left in this body; there were too many knives that had hit him; there was too much weight on top of him; and he was in too much pain. It was an ache that could be felt everywhere; it was like the vile shiver that the sheer presence of Gama¡¯s magic had forced him to experience, but it was greater; it was real.

    It was as if he were laying, again, in a simulation chamber in that damn hospital, going through the pain of dying while waiting for one of his fellow students to find a way to save his life, sometimes failing and sometimes succeeding... He couldn¡¯t help but smile¡ªa fake smile at last, one that he could muster with all the strength that he had left.

    Perhaps it was funny, or ironic, that he would miss those days. He¡¯d rather be on that cursed bed than anywhere near here. His sight began to fade, so he gave up on trying to even keep his eyes open. He let darkness take him to another place, wherever that may be, even if that place was nothing more than a form of death.

 Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Last Dance

    I¡¯m in a house where every door leads to the same room, where every mistake is the same one I¡¯ve already made before. I try to run away and open a door I haven¡¯t tried before. But the end result is the disappointment I¡¯ve already experienced.

    There is a mirror in that room. And in that mirror is me, but someone else. Not me, but someone who is like me. Someone grotesque, a face covered with scales that I cannot recognize. I am certain that I¡¯ve seen that face before, perhaps many times by now. In the eyes of that someone, there is defeat¡ªlike they wanted to do something but never quite could.

    They look at me with those tired eyes, and they wait. I don¡¯t know what, but I feel that I will soon know the truth about what they await. I wait for them, but nothing happens. I give up and look for another door to open. Just to enter the same room that I was already in. In that room, I await.

    It¡¯s lonely in that room, even though it¡¯s certainly me in that mirror. I have felt so lost for a long time, but only now can I recognize just how lost I¡¯ve become.

    Tired eyes meet mine, and I wonder, ¡°Why does it just stare? Why doesn¡¯t it move or run away from the mirror? Why is it so stuck? Why are we so stuck?¡± I must be crazy to think such thoughts. A mirror image can¡¯t move by itself, now can it?

    So I raise my hand, and the image in the mirror stays in place. I reach for it and touch the surface of the mirror. Nothing happens, so I go and find another door. I open the door and step back into the room, where its mirror is waiting.

    That room is without lights, but it¡¯s still bright. That room is devoid of darkness, yet it is dim. I can¡¯t tell which is which. I don¡¯t even know if there is any difference between the two, or is everything just the same? Like an image in a mirror, but only the opposite, which pursues the same cause as the other.

    I stood quietly in the middle of that house, the doors of which each led to the same place and time. There is no front door to reach, for even that takes me here¡ªinto this room, in front of this mirror, with a man covered by scales that stares at me with their tired eyes. Reaching toward me, touching the surface of the mirror.

    I sigh and look for the next door; that too I open and soon enter.

    There is a mirror in that room. And in that mirror is you. But someone else¡ªnot you, but someone other than you. That someone who is ultimately the same as me. The same one that reaches out of the mirror with your dull eyes. The one who tries to break this mirage; who tries to save me from the darkness and bring me to your light.

    That someone who reaches towards me, towards the door. Towards the route out of this house, its rooms are each the same; its doors each lead here. Each of its mistakes is its own mistake but carved from the same wood.

    I try to run away and open the door, but you catch me; you pull me into your reflection.

    <hr>

    ¡°Ah¡­ You¡¯re finally awake, my dearest doll.¡± Kanrel heard a familiar voice; this one came from far too close to his liking. His eyes burst open in that instant, and he could see with his own eyes a toothy smile that stared at him from above and a hand that caressed his head like the hand of a loving mother.

    He didn¡¯t dare to move; it wasn¡¯t like he could either way. The rest of his body refused to follow his commands. Why could he not move? Then a sharp pain struck his left arm, and he could feel a barrage hitting him from so many directions. His scream filled the small cell where he lay on the lap of the Angel of Death.

    ¡°Shh¡­ My dearest doll, save those screams for the arena; the audience loves a good screamer.¡± Their voice was sweet as they hushed the so-called doll with their hands. ¡°I will take your pain away; I will bring back your powers; I will allow you to finish what you started for as long as you win; I will help you; I will take care of you.¡±

    ¡°You can trust me, my sweet, sweet doll.¡± They finished and conjured another toothy smile to make Kanrel doubt the words even more than he already did. But then, the pain just stopped. It went away. It was taken from him. It was cut out. It was as if the sun were covered by the moon, for the pain was eclipsed, and instead, there was this sense of numbness, an odd sensation, as if this body knew that something was missing¡ªsomething vital to survival was gone. One needs pain to feel alive.

    He felt more dead than ever before. But at least he felt like he could move, so he hurried away from the Angel¡¯s arms, breaking apart from them and sitting as far away from them as he could.

    The self-proclaimed Angel of Death laughed the brightest of laughs: ¡°You were practically dead, and I brought you back, yet this is how you pay my kindness?¡±

    ¡°Doll, I never thought you would be so ungrateful.¡± They faked a frown but soon continued their bright laughter: ¡°Forgive me for the unwanted closeness¡ªI only needed your head close to me so that I might bring it back to life. You wouldn¡¯t want to remain braindead or in a coma, would you? Especially now when there is such an important duel today!¡± They declared and got up from the bed, "Soon, my dear doll, soon you shall once more show how little mercy you truly have within! Soon, my love, shall you spill justice upon the sands of history...¡±

    Their grin was wide and vile, their words worse than that, their face grotesque, and their beauty long spoiled. A face that reminded him more of the many paintings on the walls of cathedrals and temples around the Kingdom, but it wasn¡¯t quite there yet. It was like that face, in that very moment, was on its way toward that form¡ªshowing the world, truly, what lay within an Angel of their caliber.

    ¡°Tell me, oh great Angel, when I lose a duel, will you be merciful? Will you bring down your saber, not giving me a moment of fear or pain as my life gets sliced away? Could you do such a thing for me? Are you able to do so?¡± Kanrel asked suddenly, looking up at the much taller creature.

    The Angel tilted their head and stared back; their grin had faded, and for a moment, the beauty of a true Sharan could be seen on their face. Their scales slightly reflected the light that came from somewhere outside of the cell, and the sweet smile that found its way on their lips was like one received from a friend you had not seen for a long time.

    ¡°There are some things that even I am not allowed to do. But I will see what I can do, yet I cannot promise you a thing.¡± They leaned closer and said, ¡°Don¡¯t be too saddened, doll, if that which remains for you after is just torture. The pain is only passing; and even this, you might survive.¡± They brought their hand to Kanrel''s face, and with their longer fingers, they caressed the tiniest spot of scales that could be found on that face.

    And when they stopped at last, noticing the uncomfortable expression on Kanrel''s face, they scoffed again, ¡°Forgive me, your face is just... so alien to me? In my long life, I¡¯ve never seen a Sharan quite like you. One with so little magical heritage to showcase; you almost look like you are from another species." They pulled their hand away and promptly left the cell, closing and locking the door as they went, not even muttering another word.

    Leaving behind only anticipation for what is to come. Fear, for he didn¡¯t know when he¡¯d have to fight again. How many hours, or minutes, did he have time to find his strength again? He still felt no pain; he felt nothing. Now, without the pain, everything felt wrong. He wanted his pain back. Even pain is better than nothing.

    Now, he was more than aware that he should be dead right now. And this made him wonder if such a thing might¡¯ve happened to the real Hartar as well. Did they go through a similar experience? Did they, too, have to be brought back from the awaiting mists of death? Or was this experience unique to him?

    He had no idea. In a way, he wished it were unique to him. Because he could imagine how afraid they would be when held by the Angel of Death. Would they be able to break apart from their touch? He hoped that they could. He hoped that none of this might¡¯ve ever truly happened to someone as innocent as Hartar.

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    But again, time was running out. So he tried not to let this feeling of nothingness bother him as he closed his eyes and looked for answers within. A solution for the next duel¡ªa trick he could use to swiftly win before he is again ripped apart and left basically dead. He had no wish to wake up in that angel''s arms again, even if they had brought him back to life.

    The reality was just that he was running out of ideas, out of skill, and out of sheer magical ability in this body. He glanced to the right of him, and a familiar item lay on a weapon rack, untouched and clean. Beautiful and powerful. Kanrel got up from the bed and went to it. He grabbed it, the whole thing¡ªthe scabbard and all.

    In his hands, it felt so right. Even if this body lacked the strength or talent needed to wield it, to him, it felt just right. He could remember how he used to smile while dueling with such a weapon. Those were better days. Those days were long past. And they weren¡¯t even his own days; they were someone else''s.

    He didn¡¯t need to pull the blade out to know that it was pristine and perfect. It would be sharp enough; it would be able to cut clean through a man¡¯s hand if needed. Bringing it out there wouldn¡¯t win him anything; it wouldn¡¯t give him an advantage; on the contrary, it would be clumsy and most likely in his way.

    Yet he still wanted to bring it out with him. He wanted to go out with it in his hands; he wanted to hold it and face death as it would take him, perhaps for good this time, and fight to the bitter end. Oh, how bitter it would be!

    How many years had he wasted here? A lifetime was wasted on something he should¡¯ve never even come close to. If only... if only he could see the ones he loved before it all ended.

    He attached the scabbard to his belt, making sure that it would not fall or be too much in the way of his movement. Then he began taking steps around the room as if dancing to a rhythm only he could feel. A memory, to be precise, a waltz he once shared with a woman far too beautiful for someone like him. If only he could¡¯ve had that one last dance...

    In the face of death, it was better to try to remember all of the good there had ever been instead of brooding on all the bad and all of the regrets that he had had. But those regrets, even though they were so great, even though they weighed heavily on him, were still outweighed by the memories of those that he loved, that he missed so dearly that within the nothing that he had, within this feeling of nothingness, there was at least that pain of yearning for someone you love.

    He danced for who knows how long, not feeling exhausted even once. Not stopping until he could hear that cursed and far too familiar voice, ¡°I see that you¡¯re ready; let us go now, my dearest doll,¡± followed by the screech of an opening cell door.

    Kanrel stopped his waltz and faced the open cell door. He walked out, knowing all too well how each step that he now took would be closer and closer to the last step that he would ever take. He didn''t think he could win this duel. He could feel it. He could feel death in the air. He could feel the coming end to it all.

    The Angel of Death walked beside him; they too were somehow solemn. They, too, were so quiet in this moment. But they must already know whom Hartar will face in the arena. They too knew that there¡¯d be no hope for the young Sharan or the mind that habited the soon-dead body.

    Cheers coming closer and closer, a cold embrace within that that grabbed him like the cold hand of a dying soldier, a hand that grabs anyone that might walk past them, only to beg that they could once more see their loved one¡¯s or that someone would tell their family that they would not be coming back. It was cold, and there was fear, but soon there¡¯d be acceptance. Death is for all.

    They didn¡¯t even stop where they usually did; they just entered the arena through the hallway, out the doors, and onto the sands of the arena, the roaring audience, one greater than the last one. Who wouldn¡¯t want to see such a spectacle? A public execution; entertainment for the masses.

    He refused to look at that audience; they might as well not be there; they weren¡¯t there, not tonight. His eyes were already set on the door that was on the other side.

    ¡°My dearest Sharan!¡± The Angel of Death shouted, soaking in all the eyes of the audience, and began luring them into the narrative that they wanted to construct: ¡°We¡¯ve seen many duels on this arena throughout the years. We¡¯ve seen those who try their utmost to prove to the world that they are innocent of the crimes that they are accused of! We¡¯ve seen those who go further than most, winning many but ultimately succumbing under the immense weight of justice and becoming one with the sands of our arena!¡±

    ¡°But what we¡¯ve not seen for ourselves¡ªnot in a long time, I say¡ªis the possibility of someone doing their time here on the arena¡ªsomeone finishing what they had started and then proving to the world that they were innocent all this time! Tonight, we¡¯re gathered here to see the holiest moment in our temple of violent justice!¡±

    ¡°My dear Sharan! I give to you a legend of our arena, fighting against a mere murderer in this battle of wits and swords, of magic and will! You all know Hartar Agna, but tonight their name is nothing next to the one that will face them!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve won seventeen duels so far! And the other has won only two¡ªand what is a murderer to someone who has killed many? Nothing, I say!¡±

    ¡°Thus, I give to you the joy and pride of our colosseum: Quale Peirce, their crimes countless and drenched in the blood of innocents; murder upon murder. Witness, for Quale, carries within the very essence of murder, of that which takes lives!¡±

    ¡°Let the battle commence!¡± They announced at last, stepping away from the line of sight, not looking at either of them, not daring to witness what was to happen.

    The Sharan, known as Quale, was relaxed through and through. Their expression said nothing, and they hadn¡¯t brought a weapon with them. And just looking at their face, it was clear why. They weren¡¯t fully covered by them, but there were significant patches of scales all around their face, and they observed that which seemed like nothing more than a child that had been brought as the final challenge in their quest for freedom.

    Kanrel pulled the saber out of its scabbard; it felt heavy in his hand as he began to walk toward death. And soon he sprinted, running as fast as he could, forming responsive codes all around himself, ready to deflect anything that might be thrown his way, but also forming a few offensive ones aimed at Quale from different angles.

    But they did nothing; they just stood there and stared, and on their face remained that relaxed expression; they too knew how this would go. Kanrel lifted the saber, ready to strike, as he soon reached the Sharan, who still did nothing.

    The blade went toward their head in a violent downward motion, soon touching metal on flesh.

    A loud boom was heard as Kanrel was flung backward. At first, he had been in front of the person he needed to win against, and then he lay on his back on the other side of the arena. Yet he lived, so he did all he could do and got up; he prepared another charge, another desperate attempt to win while forming and releasing more and more codes to break past the defenses of this creature known as Quale.

    But the Sharan moved not an inch. It was all futile. He would charge at them, but then he¡¯d be flung a hundred feet away, and he¡¯d get up again and again, always trying to reach them, always getting so close, but never once even drawing blood from them.

    He did it countless times until he couldn¡¯t get up again. So he lay there, his eyes toward the lights that descended from far above. His heart beat like a drum, and his body was sweaty and in need of a long bath. But there¡¯d be no bath like that for him. Only two remained: a bath of dirt as he was laid to his grave and a bath of his own blood, drawn by the talented Quale, who refused to do anything else.

    All the while, the crowd cheered and laughed in excitement. Who would not enjoy the futile actions of the most hated person in the city?

    Minutes went by, and nothing happened. Kanrel was unable to get up; he was unable to fight. He was useless; he had always been useless. This was his end; he would die a useless man. How exciting was that? If he had had the strength, Kanrel would¡¯ve given his best fake smile to the world, but even that was not allowed of him.

    The duel ended just like that. A familiar voice announced it as such: ¡°What a thrilling duel! We all could see all too well just how much more powerful Quale is than Hartar!¡±

    Kanrel could hear them getting closer until they reached them and looked down. The Angel of Death, all in their glory, looked at him and smiled their toothy smile. ¡°And for there to be justice, death must be served!¡± They announced, and another excited wave of cheers ran through the audience.

    Kanrel¡¯s saber parted ways with his hands as it floated into the hands of the Angel of Death, who now seemed so magnificent with that weapon in hand. Somehow it fit so well; like they were made for using such a blade; like they had used one all their life. They lifted it far above their head, ¡°I declare our winner to be Quale Peirce, and I declare that Hartar Agna was defeated on this day and that justice has been twice served on this day!¡±

    They brought the blade down, and Kanrel closed their eyes, anticipating pain and blood, but the blade did not come fully down. ¡°My fellow Sharan! Forgive me, for I am not allowed to execute this vile murderer!¡±

    Kanrel¡¯s eyes burst open for the second time that day. They looked up at the tall angel and the sword that was just barely above Kanrel¡¯s head.

    The crowd quickly filled with boos as they showcased their unhappiness.

    ¡°But wait, my dear audience... You might want Hartar¡¯s death, but the Offices of Suffering... wish to only cause torment.¡±

    ¡°Do not worry, my dear audience; they will be in good hands!¡± They announced, and the crowds erupted in cheers, accepting this new outcome for the person they most wanted dead.

    The Angel of Death suddenly lifted him, a fragile body in the hands of death. ¡°You will see me later, and then you will recognize who I am.¡± The angel whispered to Kanrel¡¯s ears, and suddenly, the lights went out, the cheers were gone, everything was gone, the angel was no more, and his hands and feet were strapped to a bed.

    Then, one by one, he could see as they approached him. Faceless men with their rapiers. His breath quickened. He could not move; he could not yell¡ªnot for help, at least.

    He had wished for there to be at least some pain instead of that nothingness. Such a wish, he soon learned to regret as well.

 Part Three, Epilogue: From Joy to Suffering... and Death Presumed

    It was dark, and only a light from somewhere past the figures could be seen¡ªthe faceless men without eyes or mouths, the faces without expressions, without compassion, without fear, or even curiosity. They surrounded him.

    He had seen this very thing so many times now. In his dreams, he had gone through it over and over again; he could do nothing, and he knew it. This feeling was instant. This fear was overwhelming; it was too much. He couldn¡¯t move; he couldn¡¯t speak; he could only scream, and he knew that soon he would scream more than enough.

    One of them stepped closer as if to inspect this new individual that lay before them. They moved their head like an owl would, peeking here and there as if seeing something. Then, from behind their back, they brought out a long rapier; its blade was unsullied, and it glistened in the light.

    Now the rapier was pointed at his stomach. The insertion began slowly. First, it felt like a simple needle that pricked his skin, then it pierced his bare stomach, and blood gushed out; a scream filled the dark room; a scream filled his mind; a scream that overpowered all sound that could be; he tried to move; he tried to take his hands to that rapier and stop it; he tried to scream for help; he tried to beg for mercy; all he could do was scream and watch as it all happened, as the blood flowed and the rapier went deeper and deeper, as his eyes watered and tears ran down his cheeks.

    Then it stopped, and the figure inspected, again, the helpless body before them.

    ¡°You could tell us everything... You could share your secrets with us. You could be honest. And we will set you free.¡± A voice said, it was muffled and came from the figure, but there was no mouth that said such words; there was just a smooth face, with no shapes other than the general shape of a face.

    The figure stepped aside, and another approached. In their hands, another rapier was ready for another insertion. They had long fingers, which they placed on Kanrel¡¯s chest; they were cold, but that didn¡¯t matter, for the pain that pulsated in his stomach overpowered even that. Then they grabbed the rapier better and began insertion¡ªanother prickle that soon turned into another wave of pain, another wave of screams, another painful screech that further filled the darkness of that room.

    It was again too slow; if only they could be faster; if only they would allow it to end!

    Again, it stopped, and the figure inspected the wound and the helpless body.

    ¡°Tell me, tell me everything... The release will be so sweet; your freedom will be in the darkness; there is a great line there; many who lived and are gone now; and now they just await... Speak, and we will set you free.¡± Another muffled voice, this one slightly deeper in tone than the previous; it was darker and far more masculine. But there was no expression on that faceless face.

    They stepped aside, leaving Kanrel with his screams, leaving him in that same pain that refused to subdue. Two pulses that conquered his body; two pulses that met each other; two pulses that brought much torment with them.

    The third one was no different; they only placed the rapier on the opposite side of his chest. Another slow insertion; another wave of pain; another scream to fill the darkness and his ears; another moment where he wished that there¡¯d be no more pain; another moment where he longed for that numbness to return... Where was the Angel of Death when he needed them? Where was that sweet and gentle figure? Where were they?

    ¡°The pain¡­ Will only be passing; nothing lasts... All the joys and all the follies in our lives, nothing lasts... So why keep a secret? Even that cannot last; even that needs to be set free. Confess, and we will set you free.¡±

    The fourth one came, their rapier in hands, their long and thin fingers found his thigh, and gently they caressed it, gently they placed the rapier against it, gently they began their insertion; gently, the skin on his thigh was pierced, and soon blood gushed out. Another scream; another moment of agony; another pulse created; another scream to fill the void.

    ¡°Silence will never do anything good for you... In silence, we fade away. You wouldn¡¯t want to fade away, now would you? Break the silence, and we will set you free.¡±

    The fifth and final one came, found his other thigh, and began insertion. This one felt slower than all of the other ones combined. It felt like an hour as they so slowly pushed it in. The four pulses of pain screamed more and more as the fifth one was born; as the fifth rapier pierced his skin, pierced through his flesh, and found its way through, stuck onto the other side, against the bed beneath him.

    There was so much blood; there was so much pain; his world spun; his eyes felt so empty and dark; yet in his mind there remained that screech of pain; that torment that ran through his body; that conquered everything that he had. A repeating wish kept screaming in his head. ¡°MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE, KILL ME, PLEASE, SET ME FREE!¡±

    ¡°Without suffering, there could never be joy... Without lies, there could never be truths. So tell us your truths, and we will set you free.¡± The last figure said, almost whispering, their fingers lingered on the hilt of the rapier, then they gripped it again; the other four approached, their mannerism like that of owls or birds in general. They all grabbed their rapiers.

    Then they all began to twist. The five pulses became one in this glorious moment of pain and suffering; they joined together and became one, giving birth to a scream more powerful and more tormented than all the other screams so far. He screamed so loudly and so much as they twisted their rapiers that, in the end, there was no sound. Only a silent scream filled the darkness and turned everything dark; that made it all go away.

    And as he drifted to that darkness baptized by pain, he heard one last thing, one last muffled whisper, ¡°Be free...¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Did you get a good look at the corpse?¡± He could hear a familiar voice as he lay in place, in a dark, cramped location, swaying a little bit, left to right, for some reason.

    ¡°Yes, nasty business... Not a good way to go; even if you¡¯re a murderer and all.¡± Said another voice. It took him a moment to put one and one together and remember who that voice was: Ragen Ornful was one of the two people who collected bodies and dumped them into the barrels that the Angel of Light and Dark would dispose of.

    Then the other voice could only be Georg Cascadun.

    ¡°At least we don¡¯t have to take them to that warehouse; it¡¯s not like this death is much of a secret or something that would upset many... I heard that not even their parents came to their trial. Feels somehow¡­ Sad? I guess.¡± Georg said as the dark cramped place swayed around; slowly, Kanrel began to realize what was going on: he was in a box or a coffin, and they were carrying him away, to be burned or buried; he didn¡¯t quite know which.

    Thus he tried to move and scream, but there came no words; his muscles did not work; it was like he was dead, in a coma, or fully crippled. He couldn¡¯t even cry.

    ¡°Don¡¯t waste your empathy for people like that; it is a waste of time, and you know it.¡± Ragen promptly replied, ¡°Besides, they got what they deserved.¡±

    A long sigh could be heard: ¡°Perhaps, but I cannot help but wonder if there could¡¯ve been another way. Like, what if they were actually innocent? What if the accusations that they threw at the Offices of Peace were true?¡± Georg suggested.

    The other scoffed, ¡°Relax, we both will get in trouble if there is anyone to hear you saying such things; you do want to return to your partner today, now don¡¯t you?¡± Ragen said, their voice low, but there remained a hint of jest.

    This was soon followed by another long sigh: ¡°I think I am done with them; no matter how hard I try, they will always want to argue with me... Do you remember when I bought them those flowers? They didn¡¯t like them; instead, they screamed at me for getting them something so useless and worthless.¡±

    Ragen burst into laughter. ¡°Then maybe we should run around and scream how much we believe this Hartar fellow; that should take care of your worries.¡±

    ¡°Now, now; even if I can barely handle my so-called beloved, I do still want to live. And besides, there was a point in time when I truly loved them. Maybe years ago? I am not quite sure anymore.¡± Georg replied.

    Ragen scoffed. ¡°And if they would hear you say such things, then death is all that there could be for you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. I think I should just get a divorce and move on.¡±

    ¡°Hah, that might be your second worst idea so far, the first one being, of course, your marriage; I always knew that you would find yourself in this situation, you know. Marriages never work.¡± Ragen said, and Kanrel could imagine them shaking their head while keeping an oblique smirk on their face.

    They got silence as a reply, as Georg was either pondering or annoyed because of their friend''s words.

    ¡°Love fools us all.¡± Ragen then added, ¡°You couldn¡¯t help it; none of us really can.¡±

    Georg¡¯s voice shook as they replied, ¡°Yes.¡± They sighed and then continued, ¡°At least I tried, even when, for such a long time, I should¡¯ve not even tried.¡±

    ¡°My friend, do not be so regretful; you¡¯re beginning to sound like me, and there would be nothing more terrible than another cynical bastard like me.¡± Ragen soon said, ¡°At least they gave you a child, and you love them more than life itself, right?¡±

    Another silence ensued, and this one continued for a long while. In silence, the coffin swayed as they carried him somewhere. And when they at last stopped, the coffin was placed down, and it hit the ground, shaking his whole body.

    Then he could hear another sound¡ªa short scrape, like something small and grainy hitting metal¡ªand this was soon followed by something hitting his coffin, something heavy but loose. The sound came again, and more fell on the coffin; it happened again and again¡ªthe scraping sound and the heavy hit of loose dirt. Shovels in action, dirt soon covering his way out, removing any exit that there might be from beneath the ground.

    They would bury him alive? They would not check for his pulse. They would not make sure that he was dead. They would just bury him? Just like this?

    The sounds became muffled by the minute, and soon he could barely hear anything. He could almost feel the heavy layers of dirt that were above him. He could feel this urgent sense of panic ticking within; he couldn¡¯t breathe; he wouldn¡¯t be able to; there wouldn¡¯t be enough air in this little coffin.

    This is how he¡¯d die then? Was this how Hartar died as well? He still couldn¡¯t move, so he just lay there. Motionless, staring at the dark ceiling of his little coffin, he wondered how long it would take¡ªhow long until he¡¯d suffocate to death.

    And now what he feared the most had become reality. He was forced to remain alone with himself. With this fear and waiting for that which is to come, with this anticipation of death, this thing that claims us all¡ªthat which claims to be for all¡ªthat which we all fear, even when we claim that we don¡¯t. But perhaps we are not afraid of death itself, but rather of the things related to death.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    We fear the death of a loved one because we love them and because we will feel this great sense of torment when they are gone. Kanrel knew that torment all too well.

    We fear for what is to come next, whether there is a punishment for our sins or a reward for all of our good deeds. Kanrel knew that there were so many things he deserved punishment for.

    We fear the pain¡ªthe pain that might be the cause of death; we fear that the way we die is painful; that the moment in which our hearts stop, we might feel pain; we might suffer, needlessly, when we were supposed to be laid to rest; the cold embrace of a grave and the dirt that now covers us.

    And he knew that he would feel pain. He knew what it felt like to suffocate. He knew far too well. The moment, the short moments in which he was suspended in that globe of darkness, his lungs burning with the need for air. He didn¡¯t want to suffocate; he didn¡¯t have the desire to feel his lungs on fire again.

    Maybe in his time of need, the Voice that had seemingly abandoned him would return, and they would once again allow him to breathe. Perhaps they would sustain him.

    Time is like a mountain range, where you travel up and down again and again. There are moments that feel slow and laborious, as if you were climbing a great mountain, trying to reach its highest peak, and all that time you must be careful, lest you slip and fall, lest you find yourself at the bottom again, as suddenly time can go past you. Moments can go by so quickly; things happen so fast, and never when you expect them to happen. And if you were to reach a peak, you might then descend it; you might jump off from that peak in that great moment of fulfillment, the moments of happiness and joy, but soon you would find yourself at the bottom again. Such is time, and such is life. Because time is nothing more than just life. Or so Kanrel had now grown to believe.

    Right now, he felt like he was climbing the highest mountain again as he waited for his own death; he awaited the moment all air would run out. It was only yesterday, or perhaps the day before, when things happened too quickly when he slipped down and fell from that mountain, only to be forced back up, to try again, to live, when at times it felt like living wasn¡¯t worth the pain and suffering.

    And perhaps it wasn¡¯t. But even he, somewhere far in his heart, knew he wanted to live. Or, at least, not die like this. This isn¡¯t how a man should die. A man ought to die surrounded by his family and friends; a man ought to be lulled to sleep, and his memory ought to be lamented for years to come. That is how a man ought to die. But death wasn¡¯t so fair, now was it? Or was life to blame for the unfairness of all things?

    In the darkness of his grave, his eyes felt heavy. In the darkness of his grave, he felt tired. In the darkness of his grave, he at last closed his eyes. Why was he so tired? It was warm, yet it wasn¡¯t¡ªhe wasn¡¯t so sure anymore. It felt like he was falling. Spinning away to somewhere far away. He felt the flow of his own blood; he could hear it so clearly. Then nothing. That, too, stopped.

    This was death.

    <hr>

    Breathe¡­

    And he inhaled a sudden gasp of air, filling his lungs and bringing life to him once more. His eyes burst open, yet the world remained dark.

    Open the way...

    He could feel his body tense up, he could feel his body once again; he could move, he could breathe, he could do as he wished; so he pushed at the lid of his casket with all of his strength, and it too burst open, letting a dim light enter his world; this light was dark, and the vision that he now had was dark as well, but at least there were visions; there were things here.

    Enter¡­

    So he entered, and he walked out of the casket, leaving behind its darkness and discomfort. And all he could see in this darkness were figures¡ªpeople.

    The figures seemed to walk without direction. Among themselves, they went wherever they could, and when they would almost touch or hit each other, they would somehow just walk past, just ever so slightly missing each other. Not once touching, not once feeling the warmth of another; not seeing each other; not recognizing the eyes of another; not the face of another. Nothing.

    They kept walking past each other; they were blind to each other; not once did they see each other. In that eternal darkness, one that was like death itself, one that seemed not so different from the fall, everything suspended in that darkness, on a platform that continued perhaps for eternity; an infinite number of people, walking past each other, singular lights of existence, of something that once was. People who once lived.

    This was what was left after death. Souls lingering, walking in darkness, in an endless hall of nothing, in an endless darkness with no other light than the one that you once had within. All the other people that might have once lived, that might have once existed, were not there anymore. They had lived, but they weren¡¯t there; they might as well not have ever existed.

    The faces of thousands that walked past him all had such detail in them¡ªthe faces of those that had died, the young and the old; children and adults; babies and the elderly¡ªall holding on to their faces a mask of death, a face they had worn on their last moments, just before death.

    There was pain, there was surprise, some had no emotion, some had a smile, but they were all here, everyone. Those who had done wrong, those who had done good, those who had done nothing at all. Even those who had barely lived.

    They were as if planets, suspended in the dark universe, going by each other, perhaps for a moment seeing one another, but not once taking contact with that life that flies past you. These souls are all cursed by such a condition. Such unfairness. This unfairness was perhaps death.

    Why was he here? Surely he had died, or at least the body of Hartar Agna had died. They had brutally tortured them to death; they had buried him alive; they had brought him here. Into this. Into this great walk that had no end. To this abyss.

    Surely he was there only to observe it, but was he then a part of it? Why could he not take a step left or right? Why could he not break free? Why could he see but not say a word? Why could he move but not take the move he wanted to take? Why was he here? If he could think, or if he could feel pity¡ªif he could still feel...

    Was this death? Was this all it was? Was this what they all felt at the end of their lives? Was this all that there was to everything? The end of everything. The end of life. The end. Was this it?

    Was there no paradise for the tortured? Was there no suffering for the torturers? Was there just this¡ªnothing?

    In this silence, there are just the memories that you had. These steps are just those that you take toward those memories, those moments in which you felt something¡ªin which you had love, in which you felt fear, in which you were lonely, in which you had everything a man could ask for... In which you had nothing, and you were nothing...

    In this nothingness, he could only remember the times when he had something. He could only have those memories. Those ever-so-powerful and ever-present memories that cared not for his will nor for his wants or needs. They only cared to exist as they were until they could be released and relived through remembering. Through this never-ending darkness.

    Why could they not become true again? Why did they have to be so faint¡ªalmost unreachable and untouchable? Why did they have to be just a faint whisper and not the entirety of the feeling itself?

    Why can¡¯t I be the way I once was? Why can¡¯t I find within myself the will to dream again? Why do all of my dreams revolve around a memory of something lost? Oh, how I yearn for that which was lost. Oh, how it whispers to me, oh, how it calls me, a slave, to kneel before it, to feel it again and again, to tremble in its yearnful pain, in this bliss that is loss.

    A child. We are all just children; we never wanted to leave the embrace of our mothers, not the dreams that we had or the world that we saw. There was no agony to yet torment us; there were no other needs than the love that was provided by our mothers and fathers. And those dreams we had¡ªhow they made us roar through the heavens, how they made us fly, how they made us slay giants, how they made us heroes, how they made us children¡ªwere so innocent and human.

    What have I become, and what have I done? I can only regret it; that is all I have.

    And then it ends. I lay naked in darkness, submerged in a mist that covered the back of my mind and even the fields of my heart. I am lonely, but not alone, for they now stand above my corpse; they look not down on him, like the other Angels, but as if on the same level. Their eyes are filled with something¡ªa feeling far too familiar to Kanrel and his kind.

    ¡°When you leave, when they all leave, would it be like that to all of them?¡± Kanrel asked, not getting up and just observing that mist that approached, to cover more of him, more of his mind, more of his heart, more of all. The mist, like shadows, would cover it all. From his mind to his heart, to every corner of the earth. So it would be, in the end.

    ¡°Perhaps. Only those who have died can surely tell.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± He whispered, to no one in particular, ¡°What comes next?¡±

    There was silence, one far too familiar. It prompted him to get up to see if the angel had gone away once more. But there they stood, their face lacking all joy and their eyes a deep blue gaze so intense that one could forget all else except the dread of the world. If one answered that gaze, one would drown in their sorrow, in regret felt for a time unknown and only observed by a select few.

    ¡°Life,¡± the Voice promised, hanging a sad smile on their face, one that held the promise of it. Soon that smile faded, and they spoke: ¡°Find me, so that they can be free; so that you can be free; so that I¡ªcan be free.¡±

    Their eyes met, and Kanrel now stood across them, so short he was before the magnificence of an angel. The great presence of the Angel of War and Peace.

    The mist veiled the angel, and in the end, it would veil them all, and Kanrel was left there, confused and without understanding how he could find them or free them.

    He looked ahead at the line that continued and continued, and he kept walking toward the place where the others were walking as well. Walking past more and more of those that had died¡ªthousands of more, perhaps millions¡ªwho knows how many were stuck here...

    But soon he came to a sudden halt, as he could see another figure, one not quite the others; they stood between the lines, looking directly at him; their expression was solemn, and they were none other than the Angel of Time.

    Kanrel walked up to them, hoping that they might give him guidance¡ªa way out from here.

    ¡°This¡­ is death. You see, we believe that after we die, our souls will live on, but that which we become part of in our deaths is not an afterlife where one receives bountiful gifts from god or eternal salvation, but instead emptiness. A queue, of sorts, for those who are then reborn, perhaps not as Sharan, but perhaps as ants, or even as a human like you.¡± Time said as Kanrel finally reached them.

    ¡°And those who have done well will take their queue closer to the gates, from where they may enter life again. Our souls will live on. Our bodies will become ash, but our magic... will leave a memory of us, one that can be seen long after our deaths.¡±

    ¡°Our ashes will help the flowers bloom one day, and our magic will give a shapeless, formless memory for those who can see it and who can feel it.¡±

    ¡°What do you feel when you touch magic?¡± They asked.

    ¡°Disgust.¡± Kanrel promptly replied.

    The Angel smiled briefly. ¡°It is no wonder, for the magic that you feel all around you is that which is filled with regret and violence. I can feel your magic as well; it is similar to ours but filled with even more regret and disgust than the magic that is here now, in this city we called home.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, Kanrel. Do you, humans, believe in such a concept as the afterlife?"

    Kanrel let out a sigh. ¡°Some of us believe that after death we will be re-united with those that have died before us, and some believe that those who have done well will earn a place in the court of the Angels.¡±

    ¡°But there is no ¡®official¡¯ stance given by the Priesthood.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­ The first one sounds... good.¡± The Angel replied, sounding somewhat intrigued, ¡°But alas, you may not remain here for much longer.¡±

    ¡°The innocent Hartar Agna might be dead, but you are not; you don¡¯t belong here; this isn¡¯t the right place for creatures like you.¡±

    ¡°And besides, there remains one more door for you to open.¡± They said, and as the lines began to shift by, Kanrel could feel how they were rapidly transported toward the end of the line, toward its destination, passing by more and more dead Sharan, until, at last, he could see a door. A row of doors; each of them looked like the third and last door that was in the round room where the Angel of Time had let him enter two of their doors.

    The door was dark, and it had no handle; it didn¡¯t even seem to have hinges. It was more like a doorway than anything else. But it was something that called for him; it reminded him of the dark mirror that he had broken and entered to get here. Within, he could feel this sense of anticipation¡ªthis want, this desire¡ªto enter.

    A priest is not supposed to feel desire. Yet now, he could feel it. This want. He wanted to go through that door, and before even thinking about it or trying to control himself, he found himself walking toward it. Again, he came to a sudden halt.

    As he waited for the final instructions from the Angel of Time.

    ¡°You will go where you belong, at least in the sense of time; the place may be something that you might not recognize, but there you will see, perhaps, our greatest sin.¡± The Angel spoke, walking next to Kanrel.

    ¡°Go now; you will not see this version of me again.¡± The Angel said lastly, and with that, they too were veiled by the mist; they too were no longer there; they too had gone or returned to wherever they had come from.

    He went closer to the doorway and looked into it, trying to see anything that there might be on the other side. He then looked around and saw the other lines, the other doors, and the many Sharan that just kept walking in; in every line except this one, the line behind him stood still. It was clear that they, somehow, knew to wait for their own turn.

    So, he did the only thing he could do; he took another leap of faith; another moment in which he entered something he perhaps shouldn¡¯t... He took a step forward and instantly felt its pull. He was sucked in, and all the light that there was or ever could be was no more; all he now knew was that he was again falling, drifting away from the place where he had seen that beautiful angel¡ªthe Angel of War and Peace; their loving warmth; their lonesome words; their heartbreak. Oh, how he longed to save them... How he longed to be saved...

    He fell, and it was cold again. He fell, and he did not know if the fall would ever end. He fell, and he did not know if there was supposed to be an end. So he closed his eyes and let his tears flow at last. To get here, it had been so painful; to get here, he had nearly lost himself; he had lost a part of himself; and he did not wish to lose the rest that he had of himself.

    He cried. For the first time in such a long time, he cried as himself. But the fall continued and refused to end.

 Part Four: The Land of Shadows Belowâ€”Prologue: A Bright Blue Light

    It all began with a fall. One thinks that, and as one wonders about this reality, you can¡¯t help but ask a simple question: If there is a fall, then when or where is the rise? Or had his years in youth been that great mountain which he had climbed¡ªthat peak of his own existence and experience in life¡ªand that which now came after was part of that which he called the fall¡ªthis descent with no end.

    Could there ever be a rise? Could he ever climb that mountain again? Or would he, on the summit of that great mountain, feel that even this was not enough; that even this has left him with this taste of ash in his mouth? How it fills him from within¡ªthis gray, fine substance that he is forced to eat, to breathe, to live, to love.

    Pain. As he is crushed against it. As if falling from his bed, but that bed just happened to be tens of meters above the floor from which he now found himself. His body was aching all over, and as he tried to cry and scream, there was no sound. There was no air for him to do so.

    In the coffin, he had felt like this; on the bed before his torturers, he had also felt like this. Not the pain, but the inability to move. He couldn¡¯t move. All he had now was pain. But this pain was real, and with it was this weakness that he had not felt while still within the body of Hartar. And he couldn¡¯t see a thing. All there was here was the darkness and the cold, stone floor beneath him.

    But at least, sadly, he was alive. Be it tragic or not, he was alive. Be it painful or not, he was alive. Whether he was crippled or not, he was alive. And one begs to ask again the same question: After the fall, after you¡¯ve reached the bottom, when does one rise, if ever?

    So far, he wondered, had he shown the Voice that he, a human, was in fact like a roach? Someone capable of surviving things one ought not to survive. And, perhaps, this pain wasn¡¯t so bad, as he was still able to produce thoughts, to remember, to ponder, and to look back on all that had happened.

    What, now, did he have? He was no longer stuck in that city; he was no longer under the regime of Kalma; he was no longer fighting in that arena, biding for the moment and the pain in which he would pass in the end.

    He had his body back. Or so he thought, so it must be, for why would the Angels lie to him about such things? They might lie about everything else, but this one seemed so useless to lie about. But even so, he might lose all; his body might perish in this darkness.

    Kanrel was so tired. His body was so weak. His mind, even though active now, was hurt and numb; soon it would become dull and empty. Soon he would enter another form of darkness, a land of restless dreams and nightmares. He could already feel the cold sweat forming around his body.

    He closed his eyes, or maybe they already were closed; he couldn''t quite tell, and he didn¡¯t quite care either.

    Weak, so weak is this body that carries my mind. I feel my head pressing against me on the ground and my body giving way; my cheeks now on a smooth surface, my eyes towards the distance.

    There is a white void somewhere in front of me, but it is all upside down. Full of nonexistent forms and forgotten memories, surely I can''t know what you are or who you are.

    I guess you are the silence that is intoxicating and deafening to us all. Maybe you are the sun, and with your white light, you extinguish our eyes, bringing an unfathomable darkness in the middle of all that light and warmth.

    It would still be cold, and in this blindness, I would have to live until my heart fails, until your love fades away.

    If someone would get lost near me and help me up, lift me off this smooth surface, and let me see the world I''m already used to, I could once again see and experience the life that is to be free from this weakness, but only if someone would carry me from day to night and to the next morning.

    In your arms, I am not free. I can only blindly stare at you and silently witness what is eternal. Something born of nightmares has broken into my sleep; she stares back at me, waiting for who knows what.

    You sit as if by my side, you demon of dreams. You don''t move, and you don''t really do anything special. Still, your weight crushes me; still, as I try to scream, I pray for mercy only from you. Could you not let me out of this hell, this constant pain and suffering?

    Finally, against my will, you offer me your arms. In the end, I am only part of you, a memory for my loved ones. At last, I am blind and lie against the smoothness of the earth. Finally, it''s cold, and my chest doesn''t even rise anymore.

    A sound echoed in the darkness. A harsh scrape, something against the rock of the ground, or the walls of the cave. Cold sweat, heavy breaths. Only he was stuck on this floor and unable to move. Silence ensued. More sounds, movement ahead, somewhere in that darkness, something that could move, something that could breathe, something that was not as lost as he was.

    He tried not to breathe; perhaps they could hear. He swallowed, but even that felt too loud, and he felt that anyone could hear it¡ªso loud it was to his own ears.

    Then a fickle of blue cast its light upon the walls of the cave, reaching his vision from somewhere past this darkness. It became greater with each step that he could hear; the light, with its blueish hue, gave him vision after such blindness. First, he could see the walls, yet he remained silent, yet he still tried to hide his breathing.

    Then it lit the floor before him¡ªthe skulls and bones that lie there, forgotten and dusty. His heartbeat quickened, and he couldn¡¯t help but breathe in sharply. And in that moment, the movement stopped. The light didn¡¯t come any closer. The steps that echoed through the cave came to a halt. And silence returned. As preset as ever, always there, always waiting for its moment.

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    Kanrel shifted his gaze from the bones and the skulls that lay abandoned; now he solely focused on the direction from which the light came. Perhaps hoping that whoever carried such light would come to his rescue or that he be left alone, lest that someone wants his death.

    If only he could scream and beg for whoever they were to come to him, then he wouldn¡¯t have to suffer with this anticipation and these two fears that he had. The fear of death and the fear of life¡ªno, the fear of suffering.

    Would he be passed by that potential savior? Would he even deserve to be saved? For all his crimes and wrongs, would someone like him deserve such salvation? Thus he waited and hoped for two things¡ªtwo opposite things at the same time¡ªwondering which he wanted more: Death or life?

    By all means, he wasn¡¯t nearly as smart or wise as he had once thought himself to be. At least for that, he now had some sort of concrete evidence. If he were as smart or wise as he thought himself to be, he would¡¯ve never found himself in this situation. He would¡¯ve never entered that dark mirror. He would¡¯ve never entered the ruins alone, nor the forest, at that. He, too, was just another fool. And to excuse himself from that foolishness, like any other human, he could argue that he was just that: a human, and nothing more.

    If such were his final thoughts, a confession of sorts, could he then be redeemed? Would his transgressions against the gods and their superiority be forgiven? If only he could scoff so as to mock himself. A fool indeed¡ªa great word to describe exactly what he was and what he had always been. To believe in something or someone you don¡¯t know the nature of¡ªis there nothing more foolish?

    The light approached once more; the steps could be heard, but they had grown cautious. Whoever might be his savior wasn¡¯t so keen on finding out if there was death for them in the cave they were about to enter.

    The light approached; its blue blinded him, and then he could see it or them. A frail creature. Its body was tall and lean, much taller than what Kanrel was, but not that much taller than the tallest of men that he had seen in his life; yet this one seemed malnourished, this gray-skinned humanoid creature with long fingers and large, bright eyes.

    And in that moment, he began forming codes. After all, he was a priest, was he not? For so long, he had been someone else. Even if he were able to use magic then, it would feel different than now. This was real. Or so he believed, for what else was this?

    Did he really want to die here? Did he want to survive? Still, both remained unsure questions to which he had no answer¡ªhe would only know after the fact.

    It looked at him, observing the malnourished priest that lay on the cave floor; its expression was perhaps curious as it squatted not too far away from him. Then it spoke a deep, almost melodic line of words, or sounds, that Kanrel couldn¡¯t understand.

    Perhaps it was a question, maybe a simple greeting, but Kanrel had no idea. He couldn¡¯t even begin to guess what it tried to say to him.

    But as Kanrel gave no answer and remained motionless, only blinking his eyes at times, the gray creature stood up and approached him with steady, careful steps. It kept looking at Kanrel¡¯s eyes, and so they stopped as they saw the panic in his eyes¡ªthe fear.

    It smacked its mouth and then crouched closer to Kanrel, close enough that it could touch him, and that is what it did. It extended its long arm toward him, its fingers long yet careful.

    He felt it on his face¡ªa warm touch, a coarse texture that met his beard, one that had grown long and unruly. And then it opened his mouth, and from behind its back it brought out what looked like a flask; it removed the cap from it, brought it to Kanrel¡¯s lips, and began to pour it in.

    A sudden, bitter taste overwhelmed his mouth; it wasn¡¯t something that he could ever enjoy; it wasn¡¯t a taste he had ever had before; it burned as it went down; he wanted to spit it out, but he wasn¡¯t able to; he could only feel it as the liquid poured down his throat, entering his system. Then came the ever-familiar aftertaste of ash.

    He drank until there was no more liquid to be drunk. The flask left his lips, and the creature gently closed his open mouth. Again, saying something like, ¡°Mu¡¯u reu¡¯n riu¡¯n,¡± something that definitely sounded like a question, yet Kanrel could never be able to tell if it was or was not.

    ¡°What?¡± He whispered such a simple word, parting his lips. He could speak, but his voice was that of a man who had slept for a week while sick; he could barely understand his own words, and it was certain that the creature could not understand him, even if Kanrel¡¯s voice was as clear as a child''s laugh.

    The creature took a step back and replied, ¡°Mu¡¯u?¡± This time, it was clear to even Kanrel that the creature had asked a question, so he cleared his throat and began his first true attempt at communication, but before he could do anything else at all, his stomach growled, and its sound echoed in the cave.

    After the echo, a silence came, during which they just stared at each other. Two bemused, unknown to each other creatures just stared at each other until the other broke it with a rather annoyed-sounding smack of their lips.

    The creature went for the small bag that they carried on their waist and brought out a small container made out of an unknown substance. It wasn¡¯t wooden, but that much was clear; the lid was removed, and from under it a potent stench was released and something that looked like goo.

    The creature, again, crouched before him, this time getting ready to force-feed Kanrel something he had never in his life seen before, so he did all that he could in protest, ¡°Can we not do that?¡± He begged, trying to portray as much disapproval as he could in his shakey tone.

    This made the creature stop for a moment, and it hesitated while holding the strange container with its stinky goo right before Kanrel''s mouth. Then, another loud growl of Kanrel¡¯s stomach was let out, causing yet another echo to fill the cave.

    This was followed by another smack of lips as the creature scooped half of the goo into Kanrel¡¯s mouth, for which he didn¡¯t even have time to prepare, and as the goo hit his tongue, he was expecting an instant visceral reaction to take over him. But it really wasn¡¯t so bad. He didn¡¯t vomit, nor did he feel nauseous. The texture surely wasn¡¯t nice, but in the end, it just tasted like ash.

    Had he really forgotten who he was? Somehow, he felt disappointed. Now he almost wished that there had been that visceral reaction. Because this thing, this goo, was something that he might¡¯ve enjoyed before he became what he now was.

    For a moment, he let the goo rest in his mouth. He tried to find that visceral reaction, but there was none to be found, so he just swallowed it whole. All the while, the creature closely observed Kanrel¡¯s reaction with an expression that was a mix of curiosity and confusion.

    Satisfied with Kanrel¡¯s reaction, the creature got up, took its things, and said, ¡°N¡¯iu k¡¯eu¡¯m m¡¯ou¡¯k,¡± and just left the crippled man behind, not looking back as they soon left the cave that was littered with skulls and bones.

    ¡°Wait! Come back!¡± Kanrel yelled after it, but all he could now hear were the swift steps, and he could see as the light had now begun to dwindle. But before that light would be gone forever, Kanrel quickly created a small fire on the cave wall, a new source of light, so that he might at least see what was around him.

    With the help of this new light, he had gained back his vision on his own terms and began creating more little fires to light the cave and give him sight of his surroundings¡ªthe bones and the cave walls that surrounded him, the stones that lay on the ground. But even then, he could only see a portion of the cave in which he lay, as everything else that there might be was behind him.

    But this situation wasn¡¯t something that he would be unable to survive; that much was clear. For as long as he had light, he would have vision, and as long as he could see, he could use the thing that was often, with great irony, called the ¡°gift.¡±

    He scoffed. For the first time since he had gained that gift, it might be worthy of its title.

 Chapter Seventy: The Abyss Above

    The things that may or may not be behind him¡ªwould he want to know what they were? Or was it better to let them remain as things that had neither shape nor form, to let them remain as nothing other than thoughts and assumptions that the voice in his head fed him¡ªas worries about what there might be.

    He could, perhaps quite easily, use magic to lift his body and face the other way, to see that which he could not see before, and to lay to rest the doubts that he had and the imagination that would run wild and unchecked as it tried to fill in the gaps of his own knowledge.

    It could be just the same¡ªmore bones and skulls¡ªremains of possibly other men that had found their way here somehow. As far as he could tell, they couldn¡¯t be the bones of creatures similar to the one that had fed him¡ªthe bones were just too short. But then again, by no means was he an expert on such things, especially when it came to the anatomy or the bone structure of the gray-skinned creature.

    Did he truly have to know? He could somehow imagine shivers running down his spine. He couldn¡¯t feel them at this moment, but he knew that they were there; they must¡¯ve been. There was no other reaction that he could have to this eerie situation¡ªthis unknown dimension¡ªwhere he had found himself.

    But at least, the things other than that creature had been things that he could name. Well, there was the goo as well, the thing that he had drunk, and the material of the container. A strange dimension indeed.

    But he had to know. He needed to know. Not because he had a desire for such a thing¡ªit was all because of this damned sense of self-preservation. It had to be; there was no other explanation for this need.

    Would it be dangerous if he formed a code to lift his own body? There were many things that could go wrong with that. He didn¡¯t precisely know how much he weighed at this moment; with a simple code, he might as well splatter his body against the ceiling. He side-eyed the ceiling, trying to figure out if there even was one. And his eyes met the solid gray matter of stone, but there was also a hole, one filled with darkness that looked almost physical.

    He gave up on the idea. He didn¡¯t want to begin the fall anew. He had had enough of such a sensation. So instead, he would just as gently as he could try to tip his own body, to force himself to switch the side he lay on, or even better if he could lift himself against a wall, into a sitting position, or something like that, then he would have a much better view of things.

    It was much more difficult than he had at first perceived it to be, and now he found himself lying down with his back against the cave floor, looking up, directly at the darkness that he wished to never peer into again.

    He felt like a tortoise, stuck on its shell, unable to change its side¡ªof course, a tortoise would be much more talented at getting back on its feet; they didn¡¯t have long necks for no reason, and their shells had enough curvature to make the process not that bad; and besides, turtles weren¡¯t usually crippled like he was or as malnourished as he was.

    Kanrel¡¯s body had deteriorated quite a bit; it was like he hadn¡¯t had anything to eat for months. This much, he could at least see. His own fingers were just bone and skin, and their color was much darker than they had once been.

    To imagine that his cause of death could be starvation, and to imagine that this wasn¡¯t the first time he battled against such a possibility. His journey to the north so many years ago... How long has it been? Oh, how he would just love to find a cottage in this cave, one where there¡¯d be a man like Rant who would offer him dinner, even if that someone would worry about the possibility of a priest bringing them bad luck¡­

    Even if that someone was even more like Rant, even if they had such a dark secret.

    He could remember it so clearly: The God Who Hung, the Atheians, true magic¡­

    Enter? Set it free. The voice of a god echoed near the ruins¡ªeven he had heard its whisper. It demanded his entry, stirring within him an impossible desire. He, a priest, felt an urge he should never have experienced.

    His eyes were locked with the abyss above. The hole in the roof of this cave, the place from which he fell. He wondered if that hole and its darkness would continue for all eternity, or if there was something like a portal, a dark mirror, or a door at the end of that tunnel. On the other side of it, there was light. And he had reached that light, even if that light was man-made. But in that tunnel, in that abyss, there were no such things, and even when he formed new lights at the edges of that tunnel above, no light could enter its darkness.

    All the while, he wondered and began connecting the dots that had come to him in the form of a memory. The voice¡ªhe should¡¯ve never trusted the voice. He didn¡¯t know if the owner of that voice was evil; he didn''t know what they¡¯d do if he somehow managed to set them free. There was so much he didn¡¯t know, and he couldn¡¯t be certain who that voice might be or if they were somehow related to Ignar Orcun, the person most to blame for the fall of N¡¯Sharan. For that, he was sure.

    But everything else¡ªall of it¡ªwas just a guess, a feeling he had, something in his gut that demanded him to tread more carefully than he had done so far. The voice was not to be trusted. Not until their connection to Ignar could be fully understood and the reason as to why they were chosen as the warden of this prison. Why did they have to be the one to guard the Atheians?

    The creature¡ªit must¡¯ve been one of them. It must¡¯ve been an Atheian, one of the Otherkind.

    Locked... imprisoned those you know as the other. Waiting for the lock to open; waiting for their ascension; to break the surface; to usurp those above¡­

    Punished for betrayal; conquered and then enslaved by the shadows; those within, around, and above¡­

    Bloodshed; famine; death. An ending from and for below¡­

    Words on paper most sacred; now clearly imprinted in his memory. He had thought of them so much since then. He had read them over and over again. He had seen them so much and thought about them so much that even now he could remember them perfectly. If he were to live until he was an old man, one with the disease that made a man lose his memories until only those of one¡¯s childhood could be remembered, even then he believed that he would remember that one passage from the Book of the Heralds. There was, perhaps, nothing else that he had studied more¡ªnot even magic, not even history.

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    It must¡¯ve meant this place, these creatures, and the Voice¡­ And if it were so, then it could mean that this cave, and whatever might be past it, could only be beneath the Kingdom and the lands above. But only if his thoughts were correct, and only if one could trust the words of the Angels¡­

    He snorted, almost unwillingly, what a bunch of horseshit this was. No¡­ Everything was horseshit¡ªnot just this, but everything that had happened so far. Everything that he had to do. Everything that he had to experience. It was all just horseshit. Yet, horseshit might be more pleasant, in a way. At least that would fertilize the ground beneath; instead, his actions would just further ferment in his mind, until he would lose all faith that he had left. Until he, not Ignar, he, Kanrel, would go through a transformation of sorts. A metamorphosis of one¡¯s beliefs, perhaps even one¡¯s morals, as much of what he and other humans were taught was from the point of view of the Angels, of their morals and beliefs...

    Alas, he had no time for such thoughts. No time to gaze into the abyss¡ªthere was a wall that needed his attention, somewhere past his field of vision; he¡¯d just have to tip himself over to switch to his other side. Somehow, that is.

    Earlier, he had formed multiple codes to ever so gently push himself on his back; now he would have to do that and lift at the same time, but not too roughly, not too quickly, for he didn¡¯t want to catapult himself toward the wall that might or might not be on the other side of him. As far as he knew, there could be a ledge that gaped into another abyss¡ªinto another fall he might have to take.

    But lifting things, he was familiar with that. He had gotten quite good at it, even. But those were mostly chairs and boulders of different sizes¡ªsometimes logs and bricks¡ªto help masons and carpenters in their work. Such things were sometimes far heavier than what he might be at this moment; thus, caution was the key to success.

    But there was a problem. He couldn¡¯t see his sides. He couldn''t really see anything else except the ceiling and the maw of that abyss. Well, he could see his nose, kind of, but that was mostly useless.

    So to be able to see, there was only one thing that he could really do. He needed a mirror¡ªa reflection of himself. This way, he could technically see, but the work that he might do would always be less than ideal. A reflection could never be as true as the real thing; a reflection could never give him the true location of things. Especially when that reflection, or that mirror effect, would be created by water instead of glass.

    He knew how mirrors worked, more or less. One needed glass and dark-coated surfaces on which one would place that glass; of course, that wouldn¡¯t make the best mirror. Using water would work in a similar fashion; thankfully, he had a dark surface right above him: the Abyss.

    Could he even ask for a better dark surface for his mirror?

    He could create water; he would then just need light from a certain angle so that the reflection would be as perfect as possible, and then a smooth force to keep the water up without it wavering too much. Again, to keep the surface as pristine as possible.

    He figured that he¡¯d started with creating a sufficient code to keep the water at a good height, but he scrapped that instantly. He wouldn¡¯t be able to create a steady, constant wind to keep the water up there without it wavering too much, and he was uncertain if matter, like water, would spread around or pool the way he wanted if he reversed its gravity. And he didn¡¯t need to. He had almost gone ahead and wasted perhaps hours trying to create something that might never work.

    After all, he could just create ice, and that would serve the same purpose; he would just have to wet the ice to make its surface more translucent.

    So, he went ahead and began forming a thin layer of ice, one that covered all of the black surface, while at the same time keeping it suspended by reversing its gravity. By then, he could already see a reflection¡ªa face with an unruly beard, one far too long for his own liking¡ªa face he could hardly recognize. It was him, but it wasn¡¯t. It was someone like him.

    But one thing that he could recognize was the expression on that face¡ªthe sadness in his eyes. Perhaps if he could laugh, this moment would be quite amusing to him. Nothing had changed; he had just gotten more hairy and lost a lot of weight, but nothing he couldn¡¯t gain back, and a beard he could always shave away. He wanted to do so, as he hoped to recognize the man he met in the mirror and not be so old. By the Angels, he had gotten so old. It was like he had gained at least half a decade, or even more, while stuck in the visions of the past.

    Had it been so long? He wondered, and soon he let his thoughts drift to more important matters and tasks at hand. He still wanted to see what was on the other side of this cave.

    Somehow, his skills at using magic had gotten better, and he had more knowledge of its nature. But things didn¡¯t come to him at will like they did when he was Ignar or even when he was Hartar. He still had to make a considerable effort to achieve what he wanted to do. And the familiar feeling of nausea would return; the far too familiar experience of wanting to vomit too had returned.

    That was something he could do without. At least it was less so than when he had first used magic or when he had first begun work on his coding language. And the more he used his little invention, the less sick he felt, and the more efficient and streamlined were his thoughts, the very creation of magic, and thus the outcomes as well. He had more control, but it wasn¡¯t nearly enough.

    He knew that he could do so much more. He could be so much better at it. And for that, he could only scold himself; he had wasted much time on things he didn¡¯t need to, instead of studying further and perfecting his craft.

    This new life he had been given, he would use it well; he would spend more time with magic. He would perfect it, for he yearned for a memory he had gained. A memory more or less stolen from Ignar, that feeling of success whenever he perfected and mastered a complicated spell; whenever he used magic to its true potential... The feeling was perhaps euphoric; it was akin to what he had felt as he first learned how to read, or when he first learned the simplest concepts of calculus.

    A man would always hunt for an emotion and try to relive the emotion he remembered. One must; there is no other option. You would either yearn for that emotion and that memory forever more or try to at least experience it again. Kanrel knew that it would lead to failure, his hunt for an emotion like that, but it was all he could do. As such, it was just the thing that he must do.

    At last, he succeeded in his attempt at facing the other side of the cave, and he even managed to not lunge himself toward that wall that he now could see all too well, that and the floor as well.

    The floor wasn¡¯t that interesting to him; there were just more bones and skulls, but the wall... It wasn¡¯t just stone or rough edges; on the contrary, it was quite smooth¡ªwell, with the engravings and all. It was massive¡ªa picture or a piece of art, one could say.

    In a style that he had seen before, many years ago. In a chamber he had entered, down a flight of stairs formed by the most complex magical creation that he could name that he had seen in this world.

    And what was below was something like this¡ªa story, history, and this was that as well:

    A creature holding a sword in its hands, with its wings spread and its eyes cast down toward the small figures below, on its face an expression most beautiful, most grotesque, one that held much contempt for those below; one that had brought judgment with it¡­ An Angel who had come to destroy the great empire of the Atheians, the empire of the Otherkind.

    And below that huge engraving, there was a text that he could not understand. But he could feel the importance of those words¡­

 Chapter Seventy-One: The Words Engraved

    There was no doubt that he would soon enough find out their meaning, that he would soon find out what it all meant. After all, he lay in the heart of all answers¡ªif he might learn to speak the language of the Atheians. It might take years, and it was likely that it would take more than that, for he knew that there could never be a way out for him if he was unable to communicate with them if there were even more of them, or if there was just the one.

    If there was just one and no others, then what could he really do? What information could only one of the Atheians possess? And could the one he thought to be one of them even read?

    Time passed. And there were no signs of the creature''s return. He was left alone. All alone, with two things to look at: either the massive engraving on the wall or the abyss that was above. He chose to investigate the engraving as much as he could, to memorize every inch, every fine detail, every character that was different from the others around, and even the presumed letters that he could not understand. Even this he tried to engrave into his own memory.

    He believed that, with enough time, that too could become something that he could never forget, just like the passage in the Book of the Heralds.

    Hours went by, and in each moment that drifted into nothingness, he could feel his anxious mind take over, asking again such questions as, ¡°What if it might never return?¡± ¡°What if this were truly the end?¡±

    Like a fleeting sound of prayer, a grace said not in vain, that distant yet familiar sound could be heard once more. The steps echoed in the silence, the return of the creature that might be his doom or his savior.

    But there was just something Kanrel had to do before they might arrive, and like a master who had long perfected his craft, he renewed the codes that he had used to push himself over. Soon he managed to first find himself on his back, staring at the dark abyss, creating a mirror that could reflect his position and self, then another code to make him return to at least the side he was on, and then he vanquished all the lights that he had created, each code that had left something physical in this world.

    Then he lay there and awaited, the sounds of steps becoming clearer, and soon a light that dwindled past from somewhere¡ªthe blue light that had first given him the sight of things that were around him. And so the creature had arrived.

    It stopped at the entrance to the chamber, where Kanrel lay. It looked around and seemed to sniff, then stared at Kanrel for a while before smacking its lips, as if snorting, as if knowing what Kanrel had done.

    Yet it seemed not to be as cautious as it had been before. Without much hesitation, it walked to Kanrel, and from its pack, the presumed Atheian brought out two dark but translucent pearls, one of which it placed into its own ear, and with the other in hand, it crouched closer and placed it into Kanrel¡¯s ear. The sensation was most unpleasant at first, but soon it didn¡¯t feel too bad; it was something one could get used to.

    Then it spoke: ¡°So this is a human.¡± The creature said, their voice still low and melodic, as they pronounced their observation or something that they had realized, perhaps on their way back.

    Kanrel blinked. This wasn¡¯t something that he had hoped for. This was something that was most unlikely. How could such an item, a piece of technology, or a magical device work in such a manner? But then again... The Atheians and their understanding of magic seemed to be so developed that it almost rivaled what the Sharan had crafted in their city so long ago.

    ¡°Interesting¡­ I was expecting more emotions. Fear, wonder. Not this dead stare that you are giving me. I must say, I am disappointed.¡± The creature said.

    It was no surprise. Kanrel¡¯s facial expressions had been the same for such a long time now. Especially when he made no effort to falsify an emotion that could not exist there. Kanrel snorted, ¡°Ah, if I still were as I once was, perhaps a decade ago, then I would be quite excited, I think. It is not every day that a man gets to see a creature such as yourself and to converse with one, no less.¡±

    But he really had no idea what he would feel at this moment if he were that child from long ago. Fear, of course, but the curiosity that he had had then was something far more powerful than fear could ever be; even now he should be afraid, but he had become far too emotionally resigned.

    It took a step back and sat on a stone. ¡°Care to explain?¡± It asked, its eyes glittering in the blue light, their curiosity toward the thing they knew to be a human, was there and so clear to see.

    ¡°I once could feel satisfaction¡ªpleasure¡ªI could enjoy things, but not anymore; that has been taken from me.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­ And why is that? Is it just something inherent to humans, something that just happens?¡±

    ¡°No, it is because I am a priest, and according to the creed of the Priesthood, to gain power, one must lose the ability to enjoy things, lest the allure of power make you its slave, and we must suffer so that we might understand the suffering of others.¡±

    ¡°We ought to carry the suffering of others in our minds and the suffering of the dead in our hearts,¡± Kanrel explained.

    The creature looked at him with a curious expression on their face, ¡°That makes no sense. Why would you give something so precious to gain ¡®power¡¯?¡±

    Kanrel smiled. ¡°It is what our gods taught us, for they believe that all power can do is bring suffering to the world, because it is something that is so easily exploited and used in wrong ways by those who have it.¡±

    ¡°Thus one needs to lose the very thing that would give us the desire to use it in such a way.¡±

    The creature seemed to think for a moment before it replied, ¡°I understand, sort of. But to me, the person who accepts such a deal could only be a fool.¡±

    ¡°I understand the creed of your gods and your Priesthood. But to think, again, that there are those who are willing to give away the thing that probably makes you human, just to have power, boggles the mind.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, who are your gods to decide who can exploit power and who can¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Well, it is because they give it to us, and to gain it, we must give something in return. It is a trade, but the terms are set by them.¡± Kanrel explained.

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    The eyes of the creature shifted, and their expression became much more focused than before. ¡°Tell me of this power.¡±

    Perhaps it would be a mistake to be honest about such things. It might be safer to hold such information for himself so that he might have a card in his sleeves if he might need it. But on the other hand, he already mentioned "power,¡± and that was more or less a mistake, and it would be foolish of Kanrel to think that the presumed Atheian is stupid.

    He cleared his throat and said, ¡°A more substantial word for it would be magic, and to be more specific, magical ability.¡±

    The creature stared at the human at its feet for a while, then nodded. ¡°Explains the smell in here¡ªyou must¡¯ve summoned fire as I left to have at least a little bit of light of your own.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Curious¡­ Why would you extinguish the fires before I got here? Are you perhaps unable to hold fire for a long time?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ I decided that, at the moment, the best course of action would be to hide any magical ability.¡±

    ¡°I suppose that is understandable¡ªbut then why would you expose yourself so soon?¡±

    ¡°Well, it was obvious from your reaction that you were able to smell the fires.¡±

    The creature smacked its lips again, then smiled, ¡°Most curious... So you receive this magical ability, or power, from your gods?¡±

    Kanrel nodded.

    ¡°Have you seen one of your gods? Are they real?¡±

    Kanrel snorted, ¡°Yes, and yes, but I doubt that you¡¯d believe the circumstances of those meetings.¡±

    The creature shifted its head to the right, ¡°Why would I not believe you? You¡¯ve arrived at our land, after all, yet there is no way in. Only these bones that lie beside you have been able to enter so far.¡±

    ¡°We are more than aware of our situation here, beneath the ground, so for you to enter, there could only be some sort of divine intervention needed, for those who locked us down here were, or are, like that.¡± The creature spoke; their expression was very observant, prying for any reaction that there might be on Kanrel¡¯s face.

    ¡°Are your people perhaps the Atheians?¡± Kanrel outright asked, studying the creature''s expressions, and soon he could see a wide smile on that gray face.

    ¡°Yes. I am most surprised. One would think that by now, we would have been forgotten in the sands of history, left in those very sands to be blown away by the swift wind of time; change itself.¡±

    ¡°You are forgotten; only I and a few others know what you were called. The rest of humanity has no idea; they only think of you as an ancient human civilization that was, perhaps, destroyed by the Wildkind.¡± Kanrel explained.

    ¡°Wildkind? Describe them to me."

    ¡°They were animal-like, vicious, and warring. It is speculated that they wanted to devour the world. They even drove humanity to the brink of extinction until our gods arrived and offered us a deal."

    The creature straightened its head once more and nodded. ¡°We warred against them many times in the past, and we won many times; we pushed them all the way to the southern lands, past the great desert, far enough that they could never terrorize us.¡±

    ¡°To us, they were less than nothing.¡±

    ¡°Do you know where they came from?¡± Kanrel asked, suddenly curious, if such new information would make so many things make more sense.

    The Atheian shrugged, ¡°I do not know all, just some things¡ªour education isn¡¯t so focused on ancient history, the times before the Empire.¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but feel slightly disappointed. ¡°A shame.¡±

    ¡°But human¡­ Let us return to the topic of your magic¡ªtell me more about it.¡±

    Kanrel let out a slight sigh. ¡°Very well.¡±

    ¡°Are you aware of the laws that govern our world? Such as gravity, the thing that seems to make it so that things remain on the ground and won¡¯t drift around aimlessly. Or how important heat is for many things and many reactions?¡±

    ¡°More or less, our civilization is very advanced.¡± The Atheian said.

    ¡°Well, as far as we can tell, magic is like a law above the other laws; it is something that can alter all the others, seemingly out of nowhere. It is like another element, but one that affects all of the other elements, for it can be used to create fire, water, and theoretically anything, as long as certain conditions are met.¡±

    ¡°A fire needs fuel to exist, for example,¡± Kanrel explained.

    ¡°But... you can also alter the properties of a given object or material for a limited span of time.¡± Kanrel then shifted his gaze to a nearby skull. ¡°For example, I can levitate that skull far above me; I can make it as light as a feather or as heavy as a large boulder.¡±

    ¡°Show me,¡± the Atheian demanded.

    And without hesitation, he did so; he created a rather familiar code, more or less guessing how heavy the skull might be, and lo and behold, the skull began to levitate, first just a few inches, and then a few feet and a few more, until it levitated right before the eyes of the Atheian, who seemed rather pleased as they observed what was happening.

    ¡°Curious and quite useful. You can just reverse the laws of the given material; a skull becomes weightless and can levitate. But why, and how?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ I am not quite sure. I suppose it is something that cannot be explained, like the stars and how they came to be.¡± Kanrel sighed.

    ¡°So... it is so, just because it is so?¡±

    ¡°Yes, since for now we lack the means and the knowledge to even fantasize about an explanation. Our imagination is perhaps too lacking to give a definitive answer or even speculate on why it might be so. Which is perhaps why we call it ¡®magic.''¡±

    ¡°Sad, but very interesting... But it is exciting. The knowledge that no one knows quite yet, like the very mystery of stars, to be the person in the future who creates a theory good enough to explain either or would be remembered forevermore.¡± The Atheian said, their expression filled with wonder, that soon shifted away as another form of curiosity came to be, ¡°What might be your name, human? It must be so that your kind use such things.¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but, for a moment, be jealous of that creature and all of the feelings that they might be feeling, but he soon captured himself from staring too much and introduced himself: ¡°I am Kanrel Iduldian, a priest of the Priesthood.¡±

    The Atheian got up, with a wide smile on their face, ¡°And you may call me Y¡¯kraun.¡±

    ¡°Pleasure to converse with a creature of a forgotten race of peoples; I would get up and shake your hand if I could,¡± Kanrel said, with a wry smile on his face.

    The Atheian grinned. ¡°You could just get up and walk around, you know.¡±

    Kanrel¡¯s expression froze. ¡°Are you mocking me?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the medicine I gave you should¡¯ve taken effect by now. Of course, how it works on humans isn¡¯t known yet, but I would presume that our anatomy and biology aren¡¯t that different. Of course, you weigh much less than an adult Atheian might, so I would be more worried that the medicine would be too effective.¡± Y¡¯Kraun rambled as they came closer to Kanrel and poked his legs.

    A sensation that he could feel all too well; he could feel his leg and the pressure caused by the finger that poked it. So, he tried to move his hands, and they did, though they felt clumsy at best, but that didn¡¯t matter, for he could move. And with this realization, he could feel his whole body go through this strange, tingly sensation. It was like thousands and thousands of ants walked upon his body.

    But slowly, he got up. Taking support from the helpful Y¡¯kraun, if he were to try to get up alone, he¡¯d definitely fail and fall back down. His feet felt like mush.

    ¡°How did you even get here?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked suddenly, ¡°That is something we¡¯ve wondered about for a long time, of course; so far we¡¯ve seen only bones, of course, but still they seem to materialize out of thin air.¡±

    ¡°Of course, some theorize that it could be some sort of teleportation magic, but it is something that even we couldn¡¯t figure out at the peak of our civilization.¡±

    Kanrel snorted. ¡°Isn¡¯t it quite obvious?¡± He said and pointed up, up toward the abyss that was above.

    Y¡¯Kraun shifted its gaze up. ¡°And what am I supposed to see?¡± It asked, and in its voice, there was the slightest amount of amusement.

    Kanrel looked up and saw the cave ceiling. But nothing else. There was no abyss. It was as if it were never there.

    He just stared up, unable to quite understand how such a thing might¡¯ve happened.

    ¡°There was an... abyss... A tunnel of darkness down which I fell¡­ And then I hit the ground¡­¡± He said, ¡°It was there¡­¡± He muttered.

    Y¡¯Kraun stared at the ceiling with him, then stared at Kanrel for a while, ¡°I suppose this is the divine intervention that brought you down here.¡± Then it forced Kanrel to turn and look toward the wall that held its engraving proudly against the blue light that now garnished it.

    ¡°This is one of our gods.¡± It said, ¡°We call him the Lord From Above... He has no other name¡­ He is justice; he is vengeance; he is evil¡­ He is the reason we are here¡­ It was his crusade, we believe, that brought us down here.¡± In its voice, there were so many complex emotions.

    ¡°And what does it read below?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s grip tightened around Kanrel¡¯s arm. ¡°An Ending for Those Below...¡± It almost whispered, as if it were a curse, something you ought to never say aloud.

    Shivers ran down Kanrel¡¯s spine. An ending from and for below...

 Chapter Seventy-Two: Steps Away From the Abyss

    With the surprisingly kind assistance of the Atheian known as Y¡¯Kraun, they left the chamber garnished with bones and an engraving behind. Making their way through cramped tunnels toward an unknown destination, the Atheian would not speak nor mention where they would be heading. But Kanrel could already guess how this would all end up. Depending on the Atheian, he would either be somehow imprisoned by its people or Y¡¯Kraun would help him hide somewhere. But wouldn¡¯t the chamber they just left be the best place to hide?

    The darkness was ever-present. And more unnerving than a dark forest, even one with tales of wolves and other wildlife, a forest that could be the end of an unsuspecting berry picker, hunter, or child who just wanted to find some ants to observe. He could feel it. It was all around. This sickening sensation¡ªas if there was something out there. Something past his field of vision; something past his own understanding.

    What lay in the shadows? What lay past the bright blue light that lit their way through the darkness?

    The Atheian seemed unbothered by it, or it might be that this sensation was just something it was used to. Or something, it couldn¡¯t recognize or feel.

    As they walked the rocky tunnels, ones that could not have been the creation of nature, they seemed far too symmetrical in their shape and form. Something or someone had made these tunnels like they made the chamber in which Kanrel had found himself. Could it have been the Atheians long ago? When they first were thrust beneath the ground? Or perhaps the Angels, as they constructed this prison for those that they had judged.

    What if it was something entirely else? Something related to this feeling.

    ¡°Do you often survey these tunnels?¡± Kanrel asked, wanting to fill the silence with something, anything at all, lest his own imagination lead him to be afraid of the dark.

    Y¡¯Kraun smacked its lips. ¡°Once a cycle, thus, you were lucky indeed.¡±

    ¡°Cycle?¡±

    ¡°Yes, cycle. It is how we measure time, as we have no stars, the sun, or even a moon to give us guidance with such things. Thus, we are left with only the cycle.¡±

    ¡°The cycle of what?¡± Kanrel asked with a hint of confusion in his tone.

    Y¡¯Kraun snorted, ¡°You humans, you have females, right?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, we do.¡±

    ¡°Then I need not explain further.¡±

    They continued their way through the darkness in what one could describe as pseudosilence. The silence between the two was always followed by sounds around¡ªtheir steps that echoed in the tunnels, their steady breathing, and the wind that entered the tunnels from an entrance that they reached in less than an hour or so.

    And this entrance they could see¡ªa smoothly cut doorway in the middle of rock, it seemed¡ªfrom where came another blue hue, something that glowed far away, yet just a hint of light for this tunnel, something else than the light that Y¡¯Kraun carried. Theirs was a crystal, a stone, or something akin to that, which then gave them the light that they needed.

    As they stepped outside, Kanrel could see a forest of stones that spread far into the large, open cave that they had reached. He had only heard of such things¡ªstalagmites; apparently they would sometimes form in caves and such after a long time, but he didn¡¯t quite know why or how. It had something to do with dripping water, he recalled.

    And past the forest of stalagmites, he could see from where the blue light came, but only the direction and not the source of it.

    ¡°You said that you don¡¯t have a sun. Then what is the source of this light?¡± Kanrel asked as they continued their way through the forest.

    ¡°I¡¯ve not seen it for myself, but it is like the crystal that I have with me, but far larger; it is stationed somewhere above L¡¯eu¡¯n Grau¡¯v, and the light it gives us does not reach us all equally.¡± Y¡¯Kraun explained, ¡°But I¡¯ve seen that, which makes it somewhat brighter for us, one of the great mirrors that were built long ago to distribute light for all... And there are these, of course.¡± It said and gave Kanrel the blue stone that no longer glowed.

    ¡°Near our village, we mine such crystal; it is how we live; it is how we survive.¡± It added.

    Kanrel took the crystal that was offered and began investigating it. It was as heavy as any stone or rock that was the size of an egg, but its surface was far smoother than that of an egg. It felt like glass, in a way.

    ¡°And how does one make it glow? Do they glow naturally?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Of course not; they need to be charged with what some might call magic,¡± Y¡¯Kraun said rather casually, but in its words, there was a slight threat that did not go unnoticed by Kanrel.

    With this, Kanrel knew where they would be heading. A village that this Atheian and perhaps many others knew as their home, but now there would be an outsider that would enter it, someone who would be for them ¡°the other.¡±

    Far too dangerous. He needed more information. Far more than the tiny speck that he had acquired in this small amount of time.

    ¡°Tell me about your village and your people. I would much rather not enter without having some knowledge, for I do not wish to upset or offend anyone, as what I know is naught of your culture or your ways.¡± He asked; perhaps conversation would make them travel more slowly, and maybe he could even distract Y''Kraun, who might as well be his captor rather than his savior.

    Again, the Atheian smacked its lips. ¡°So you do know fear, human.¡±

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    ¡°Curious.¡± It remarked.

    ¡°There is just one piece of advice that I could give you... Speak only when asked a question; otherwise, keep your tongue in check.¡±

    ¡°You will live as long as those in power find you curious enough; otherwise, you shall be discarded and soon forgotten.¡±

    ¡°Knowledge and information about the above world, and even of your kind, is valuable to some, at least as something that is exotic and exciting.¡±

    ¡°You need no other information about us; knowing when to speak and when to be silent is your only saving grace.¡± Y¡¯Kraun finished, and thus silence descended upon them once more.

    But in this silence, Kanrel began to think. For now, he wouldn¡¯t have time for sightseeing. Instead, he had to remember things that might be of interest to this ancient race of beings.

    Around him, as he lay deep in his thoughts, the environment changed slowly; the stalagmite forest soon dwindled and became more sporadic, and soon there was just the cave floor as even the type of rock around seemed to change. There weren¡¯t many living things around, though, just the two of them as they walked out of the forest and into the open landscape that was colored by the blue hue that came from somewhere so far away.

    If one paid more attention, they would realize that they first had to rise from a gentle slope at the bottom of the stalagmite forest, reaching a barely noticeable ridge that gently sloped toward where they were going. And far away, he could soon see something that broke him away from his nervous thoughts; to the left of them, there was a massive lake that continued as far as the eye could see. Perhaps, somewhere far away, there would be the wall of the cave, something that would keep enclosed that massive body of water.

    It could only be a lake, as in Kanrel¡¯s mind, it was impossible that such a thing as an underwater ocean existed, which seemed, frankly, impossible. Something that could never happen, for from where could the water find its way below the ground? Wasn''t there solid rock between here and that which was above? And not to mention that the nearest location where he had last been above ground was the forest and its hidden ruins, which were not too far away from the mountains. Then could it be that right on top of them, in this very moment, there¡¯d be some of the tallest peaks in the known world?

    The idea of being under something so massive and heavy was strange, and it was also fear-inducing, for what if the stone above gave way? What if it collapsed, causing a cave-in and burying beneath it the last of the peoples known by those above as the Otherkind? Not to mention himself with them.

    It would be, truly, an ending for those below.

    His eyes were fixed on that, which he decided to be a lake instead of an ocean. The water was dark, mostly colorless, as only a reflection of the blue light could be seen above its waters. It was like a bridge built across it, only ending abruptly as it met a wall of darkness, through which light could not pierce. It was odd, as there was no horizon for this massive lake, only darkness that felt almost physical.

    They suddenly came to a stop, and Kanrel at last broke his gaze from that bridge of light and peeked at Y¡¯Kraun, who had its gaze set on something that was ahead of them; he followed its gaze and in turn, saw what it was looking at.

    A hill. At first, it looked unimportant and something for which there could never be a reason to stop, but then he realized that the blue light was pointed at it, the same that came from somewhere to the right of them. And as he peered, he could see small figures moving along its slopes and even finer details, perhaps windows, from where hints of light came from.

    It was like a tower or a fortress, but what it was was a village. Home to the Atheian known as Y¡¯Kraun.

    ¡°Au¡¯Tau Iu¡¯Rauk, the Blue-Stone Village,¡± Y¡¯Kraun muttered. ¡°Soon you will know where the name comes from.¡± It then added.

    After that short stop¡ªperhaps a moment meant for admiring the sight of the village¡ªthey continued their way, entering the final stretch of their little journey together. To the left of them, a great lake with a bridge of light; in front of them, a village where Kanrel would most likely find himself a prisoner and perhaps even his own death; to the right of them, somewhere past the vast emptiness, there¡¯d be a great mirror that reflected the light that allowed them to make their way in this otherwise dark cave, even creating the blue bridge and its beauty that met the physicality of darkness and shadows, thus coming to an abrupt end; and then, behind them, nothing more than a way back to that chamber... And as far as Kanrel could tell, there¡¯d be no way out. Any direction he¡¯d choose, this one was the only one that would give him any answers.

    It was also the one that made him more and more anxious and afraid after each step that he took. Soon it would all end. Soon he¡¯d find another form of fear, another thing to worry about; after all, even after so many steps to reach this first threshold, even that was just a step in the grand scheme of things. There were so many things that could become his end on the other side of that threshold, and he¡¯d have to take so many more steps to reach any answer that would give him the necessary knowledge to find his way back home. He just wanted to get back home. He just wanted to bask in the light of the sun and the company of his friends and family.

    Perhaps he could even beg the Angels to be rid of this curse¡ªthis so-called gift of magic that plagued his existence, dwindled his humanity and made him someone he didn¡¯t want to be. How long would it take? How many years would he have to give to reach the light of dawn once more?

    Such thoughts encircled his mind, keeping it in its control until the very moment that the sight of that hill, which was something that covered his entire field of view, became something massive, and the creatures that he had seen so far away were not ants tending to their anthill, but people, not much different from the Atheian that helped him walk, and that soon helped him walk upon its slopes, a path built for those who might want to enter this construct.

    Already, he could feel eyes on him. From the windows where some blue light came from, he could see faces, and the bright eyes on those faces showed how carefully they observed the duo. Was it all just curiosity? He wondered, or were those eyes afraid as well? Could they fear him as much as he felt that he would soon learn to fear them?

    Y''Kraun''s helping hands had become chains¡ªones that he could not break. He felt his body tremble, as each step had become one that sealed his fate. That made him wonder if it would¡¯ve been better to have been left unfound by the Atheian, if death was indeed what he wanted...

    No, it couldn¡¯t be that. He was just more afraid of things that were alive than of things that were dead. Another living thing could hurt; another living thing could be his death; another living thing could be the thing that would deny him that which he rationally most wanted: a passage back home.

    Together, they entered what seemed like the main entrance to the village, a tall doorway meant for the Atheians that inhabited it. Around him, he could see chains that hung from the ceiling of the first "room,¡± and from those chains hung blue stones that lit the rooms of this hill.

    And in that first room, they were greeted by two Atheians, both more dressed than Y¡¯Kraun, both wearing a black set of cloth-like clothing with white embroidery depicting something that Kanrel couldn¡¯t quite describe. To him, they just seemed like swirls and lines made at random, but he was sure that they had some meaning that was lost on him.

    At the sight of the two Atheians, Y¡¯Kraun fell to its knees, bringing Kanrel down with it. It let go of Kanrel and offered its hands toward the two, not saying a word.

    ¡°What is this?¡± One of the two Atheians asked, peering at Kanrel and taking a step forward, ¡°It knows not how to greet one better than itself.¡± It snorted and placed its long fingers under Kanrel¡¯s chin so that it could move his chin from left to right, then down, and at last, back up to again face its gaze.

    ¡°Y¡¯Kraun, this creature¡ªwhat might it be? Is it the reason why you needed the pearls?¡± It asked, letting go of Kanrel as well.

    ¡°Oh, one of wealth, this is a human; and with the pearls, this serf could communicate with it,¡± Y¡¯Kraun answered promptly; for the first time since Kanrel had heard it speak, it sounded courteous, nervous, even.

    The Atheian, addressed as ¡°one of wealth,¡± took a step toward Y''Kraun, and from its ear, it took the pearl. It made the pearl levitate and soon produced water out of thin air, washing the pearl, and then drying it with a gust of wind before placing it into its own ear. Then it addressed Kanrel at last.

    ¡°You... tell me, what are you.¡± The Atheian commanded, its gaze set on Kanrel, its eyes going over him, his clothes, his hair, his eyes, his hands, his legs¡ªall details that might be different from what it was used to.

    After hesitating for a mere moment, Kanrel replied as simply as he could: ¡°A human.¡± He chose not to add the courtesy that Y¡¯Kraun had used. If it would be a mistake in the future, he knew not.

    The Atheian¡¯s long fingers again reached for his chin and moved his face around. ¡°Perhaps you are; perhaps you are not. To confirm, I would need one from the Grand Library. A pity, I say. I would prefer to have you for myself only. You are quite... different...¡± A smile came to its face as it lifted Kanrel¡¯s chin so that he could see its eyes more clearly; they too were a bright blue like the ones that Y¡¯Kraun had, but in those eyes, there was curiosity that needed to be satisfied. This Atheian yearned for nothing more, it seemed.

    ¡°My house will give you a place to sleep and eat; you will be mine, for the time being¡­¡± It soon said as Kanrel began to levitate, as without warning, the Atheian, whose name he did not yet know, so easily and casually used its powers to lift him, like he were an object and nothing more.

 Chapter Seventy-Three: In a House of Wealth

    </a> He was transported through corridors and rooms, large and small ones, to a higher part of the Blue-Stone Village, one that was somewhat guarded with gray men; they wielded no weapons, it seemed, but their presence was unnerving, and their eyes, as they touched Kanrel, felt dismissive about his threat to them or anyone in this place, but at most, there lied a speck of curiosity, even in them, even when they tried to remain faceless before the one that seemed like their master.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n A¡¯Kau¡¯Tou¡¯n, the master of this village, was "One of Wealth," as the other Atheians seemed to address them. And as A¡¯Trou¡¯n walked past guards and commoners alike, it gave them no regard¡ªfor it, they did exist. They were beneath its stature.

    At last, they entered through a set of massive doors that had to be unsealed before they might enter, and as the doors opened, on the other side, Kanrel could see what it meant to be wealthy in this society.

    Gems, gold, and silk-like cloth everywhere; engravings instead of paintings on the walls of the hall they had entered; servants that had knelt the very moment that A¡¯Trou¡¯n had entered, their hands toward their master, showing that they were inferior, that their hands were rough and spoiled by hard labor...

    The doors were closed behind them, and they walked to the center of the room, servants making way for them, always keeping their hands toward their master. They came to a halt, and Kanrel was dropped to the ground.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n peered at him for a moment, then snapped its fingers. Instantaneously, two servants rose from the ground and came closer, kneeling again, as they reached their master. ¡°Clean it, clothe it... It stinks; its clothes are improper for its status."

    The servants went to grab Kanrel, and as they were taking him away, A¡¯Trou¡¯n added, ¡°It can understand you, but not a word can be understood from its lips... Keep this in mind."

    ¡°Now go! Make haste; I must speak to it soon.¡±

    All of the servants sparked into action in that very moment, not just the two that would take him somewhere, but the others as well, as if they all now knew what they ought to do.

    The servants who took him with them dared not speak; they just did as they wished, even when Kanrel would protest against their treatment. They stripped him without his consent; they washed him without his consent; they touched him without his consent. All the while, he could do nothing. They scrubbed him so carefully, with soaps and water and cloths of different textures, burning his skin, making it first red with pain but soon healing it with salves and things that he couldn¡¯t even name.

    He was treated like a child¡ªor worse, he was treated like an animal.

    They dried him with five different towels: one for his face, one for his upper body, one for his genitals, one for his legs, and one for his feet. He had never been washed so thoroughly, and at the same time, he had never felt so violated.

    They even dressed him, and what he was to wear was nothing like the priest''s robes that he had worn before. Instead, he was presented with clothing that was akin to the clothing that the servants wore. Skin-tight pants that were flexible and durable yet light. But they were very plain; that was the only thing that these clothes and his former clothes had in common. And the shirt they had him wear covered everything else but his elbows and hands. They even made him wear slippers instead of the shoes that he had worn before.

    The servants wore dark clothes, gray and black, but the clothes that he now wore were all white. As if showcasing how different he was in comparison to the servants, the guards, the serfs, and even the master of this village.

    Now, he was clean. More clean than he had ever been before.

    The two servants then escorted him back to the hall, which was now very different from what it had been before. The very furniture of the room had been moved around, and there was a collection of pillows in the middle where A¡¯Trou¡¯n sat, its eyes closed as one servant massaged its master''s shoulders and another its hands.

    Now that he was allowed to be without interference for a moment, he could finally notice one thing that seemed to be common with the Atheians. They all lacked hair. They didn¡¯t even have eyelashes. So to them, his hairy nature must¡¯ve been shocking.

    The two servants released him and stepped aside, kneeling and waiting to hear what their master would say to them. It was as if they would never address their master unless it first spoke to them.

    It felt like the best thing to do. Thus, he remained where he stood and kept his mouth closed. He would not speak unless asked a question.

    A long silence ensued. A¡¯Trou¡¯n sat comfortably in the middle of the many pillows that were scattered on the floor. The servants kept their massage going; the other servants remained either kneeled or silently went by to do whatever work they were supposed to do. There were no words uttered. Not a cough, not a sneeze, not even a yawn to break this silence.

    All the while, Kanrel stood still, his eyes inspecting the creatures around him and the engravings on the walls; even they must¡¯ve told a story, a piece of history from which he could learn a thing or two. But he dared not go closer; he dared not take the step that might break this silence.

    ¡°You may sit.¡± A smooth voice suddenly broke through the thickness of that silence. Kanrel¡¯s gaze shifted back to the Atheian in the middle; its eyes were now open, and they observed the human. Kanrel wasn¡¯t sure how long they might¡¯ve done so.

    He chose to sit where he stood, but as he was sitting down, he heard a snort: ¡°On the pillows; you are, after all, a guest in my house. Even if you are not one of us, it would still bring great dishonor to me and my kin if I were to mistreat you without a cause or a good reason."

    Kanrel did as he was told, though he was quite hesitant as he approached the pillows, and he was even more hesitant as he sat down on one of them, his eyes solemnly kept on his host.

    The Atheian just peered at him as it enjoyed the massage it was receiving: ¡°You are quite hairy; like a rat, are all humans so hairy?¡± It asked all of a sudden.

    ¡°Some are, and men are often hairier than women, but many men choose to shave their beards so as to be less hairy; when we are children, we aren¡¯t that hairy, but as we grow older, all humans get hairier, just some less so than others,¡± Kanrel explained.

    ¡°Then you are a man. I would hope so; you are far too ugly to be a woman.¡±

    ¡°Well yes, I haven¡¯t had the chance to shave my beard nor cut my hair, so I must look rather unkept, unruly, even.¡± Kanrel couldn''t help but defend himself a little; even if he didn¡¯t care that much, these were still the facts of the matter.

    ¡°And are all humans so skinny as well? You look like a serf, but worse, there doesn¡¯t seem to be even a little muscle on your body."

    ¡°They aren¡¯t. I just haven¡¯t eaten anything for a long time. Well, other than the goo that Y¡¯Kraun fed me.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n seemed to ponder for a moment, then it said, ¡°Bring our guest food! Anything will do... It seems hungry.¡±

    And in that moment, multiple servants got up from where they were kneeling and got to work, running off to who knows where to do their master''s bidding. Yet even then, A¡¯Trou¡¯n was massaged.

    ¡°Soon, you will be examined, so that we might know for a fact that if you are or if you aren¡¯t a human, as you adamantly claimed to be... We do have, after all, some knowledge of your existence, although they are from a time so long ago.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n spoke, slightly leaning closer. ¡°I wonder how much your people have changed; perhaps not much in terms of your biology.¡±

    ¡°So tell me, tell me of your people.¡± It commanded.

    For a moment, Kanrel had to think: What could he tell? But in the end, the answer was obvious: history. He could tell the Atheian the very history of humankind, from as far as was known.

    So he began...

    ¡°The first men were uncivilized people. It is said that our origin was somewhere in the islands to the south of the continent; we do not know where these islands exactly are, but there still remains a memory of them in our oral tradition.¡±

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    ¡°We reached the continent, perhaps thousands of years ago, and settled on its coasts. Forming tribes that soon blossomed into petty kingdoms with not much unity until the first city-states came to be, with rules of law and higher forms of culture. With much more people, a greater understanding of farming, and many other things."

    ¡°Among them, of course, is warfare,¡± Kanrel explained, not giving too many details, so that the Atheian might later want to ask more about them and so that Kanrel could extend his usefulness to these alien people.

    With a slight smile, the Atheian seemed like it had to comment: ¡°I am not too familiar with the origin of your people, but at least, what we used to call you once was the ¡®Darshi¡¯, although it has become nigh impossible to pronounce it; language evolves, you see, and many useless letters and sounds have become null and void, only to be used by scholars in their search of knowledge and forgotten lore.¡±

    ¡°You may continue.¡±

    Kanrel cleared his throat. ¡°This period of warfare lasted a long time; most historians aren¡¯t certain just for how long, but it did last until the arrival of the Wildkin, the creatures that your people fought against many times before.¡±

    ¡°During these times of war, many kingdoms and city-states came and went by, and there seemed to be no reason to end such wars until there¡¯d be only one kingdom left to rule them all; before the arrival of the Wildkin, there hadn¡¯t been a moment in history during which all of humanity had a reason to unite.¡±

    ¡°They came somewhere from the south, in great hordes; no one had seen one before; they seemed like beasts to us, less civilized than what we were, but it was certain that they seemed to have an objective.¡±

    ¡°But many have come to the conclusion that their sole objective was some sort of unholy mission to devour all living things on this earth and leave nothing behind. Or, perhaps, their numbers had grown too many in the south, and they had to traverse north in search of food.¡±

    And in that moment, the servants returned, bringing with them what could only be described as a feast. He had no idea what these many foods were made out of, but at least he could argue that some of them looked normal and perhaps even appetizing. But, in the end, that would not matter; his stomach growled either way as the smell of what was brought to them entered his nose.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n snorted, ¡°Bring forth the food.¡± It commanded and then gazed at Kanrel for a while, ¡°You may eat; then, we will continue where we left off.¡±

    The servants came closer and placed the many trays and plates that they had brought with them on the floor before their master and the hairy creature they too had to serve.

    Now, he could examine more closely what the things were that he might have to eat from now on. The sight wasn¡¯t unpleasant, per se. It was just different. Something you didn¡¯t know, so just something unfamiliar. It made him wonder what they would truly taste like, but he already knew what he¡¯d taste.

    So he went ahead; no one offered him any cutlery, not even a knife; thus, he went in with his hands and grabbed what looked like a meatball but was just colored wrong. It was firm but not warm, and its smell he couldn¡¯t quite make out; it wasn¡¯t something that he had smelled so far. Then he took a bite, and as if it were an apple, the flesh of what was a fruit came off. It was like an apple; it felt like an apple, yet it looked like an off-colored meatball. Surely, it would then taste like an apple?

    But to him, everything tasted the same. Then it must be an apple or something related to an apple.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n observed its guest with an amused smile on its lips: ¡°Have you never had an apple?¡± The Atheian asked outright, which made Kanrel come to a stop, the so-called apple still in his mouth. Its size was wrong, its color was wrong, but everything else still matched that, which might''ve been an apple.

    But could an apple be so gray and dark?

    Kanrel swallowed the piece he had chomped down on and said, ¡°Of course I have; our apples are just very different, maybe not even the same at all, but instead just happen to have similar properties to this fruit.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n tilted its head like a bird. ¡°Who knows, but to us, this is an apple.¡± It said, and this was not to be argued with. From now on, to even Kanrel, this dark and gray thing was an apple. Perhaps it would¡¯ve felt funny, maybe bitter, but it definitely felt sad. He¡¯d have to come to terms with such a fact, or rather, a new definition of a thing.

    But then again, is an apple an apple? And what is that that makes an apple an apple? And does it have to be red, green, or yellow? Does it even have to be round? Can it be square? He wondered for a fleeting moment as he went for a second bite.

    All in all, he was left unsatisfied. His hunger was sated, or rather, his stomach was filled. The leftovers were taken away by hurried servants. He was then brought a vase, one decorated with a painting of dark figures pointing their spears in a column toward the heavens, where a winged creature holding a sword loomed over them, an angel whose face was as horrifying as the painting of the angel that hung on the wall of the temple that he had called home.

    He missed that home as well. It had been a simpler life, but a welcome one. The complex emotions and the way he had observed the vase didn¡¯t go unnoticed, as it was apparent that his host had many new questions that it wanted to ask but didn¡¯t, perhaps out of courtesy or simply because it saw Kanrel lift the vase and take a long sip out of it.

    At least this one thing would always be the same. This was water. All living things need it. Even this race of gray creatures exiled beneath the ground needed water. Even they understood that all life needed it and could never live without it. And as Kanrel stopped drinking and placed the vase on the floor, a servant came and took it away, as if it had never been there.

    Kanrel lifted his gaze from the floor and met the eyes of his gracious host, who slightly lifted its hairless brow as a simple sign, ¡°Continue.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± he began, ¡°the Wildkin and my kind fought many battles, and the Wildkin devoured many kingdoms, almost bringing an end to the nascent human civilization that had begun to blossom on the Coasts of Zuria.¡±

    ¡°There are recollections of those white coasts painted with the blood of the devoured, as the brutality and the hunger of the Wildkin seemed to have no bounds.¡±

    ¡°We could never win against that horde. Humanity hadn¡¯t yet reached a point of technology that could ever rival the innumerable beasts that had come to its doorstep. People began to leave further north, but all knew that it could never be a suitable solution; we¡¯d be all hunted to the last child until there¡¯d be no one left to bury our dead.¡±

    ¡°Many prepared for a final confrontation; the city-state of Lo¡¯Gran forged alliances with the other nearby kingdoms and city-states; they mustered their armies to give at least a chance to those that wished to flee, but before such a battle...¡±

    ¡°In our direst moments, an angel appeared before a woman who had lost her family to the horde that had wished to devour her as well,¡± Kanrel said, observing the expressions on A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s face; he could see how its eyes slightly widened as the angel was mentioned.

    And he could feel the question that was about to come, but before A¡¯Trou¡¯n could ask the question it had on its mind, or before Kanrel could even muster an explanation to that potential question, the very doors they had earlier entered through opened, and a tall, disgruntled Atheian walked in.

    Kanrel and his host alike couldn¡¯t help but face the person who had come in. This new Atheian wasn¡¯t only disgruntled; they seemed aggravated, which was made clear by the first words that they uttered: ¡°Where is this human of yours? Bring it to me so that I can return to matters much more important than mythical creatures from a foregone era whose memory is only kept alive by bored housewives who tell their children tales of hairy little beasts no better than rats!¡± One could see spit fly as it practically spat its words out.

    Its eyes were only on A¡¯Trou¡¯n at first, then its gaze shifted toward Kanrel, its disgruntled demeanor dissipated, and a mild form of shock could be easily seen in its wide eyes. It smacked its lips, now rather excited. ¡°Well, well, well... What do we have here? A new species of rat? Perhaps what the ancients called a monkey? Or¡­ one of the Darshi?¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Four: The Physical Examination of the Specimen Suspected to Be a Human

    He was brought away from A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s household, and through tight corridors and large open caves within the stone hill that was the Blue-Stone Village, he was brought down to an area with smaller ¡°houses.¡± Apparently, the village was divided into tiers. The wealthier and more important members of this settlement would live higher up, and those less wealthy¡ªthe serfs¡ªlived closer to the mines, from where they gathered the stones that lit their homes and their world beneath.

    Somehow, it reminded him of not only N¡¯Sharan and the District of Copper, but also Atarkan; in Atarkan, the city where the Academy of the Heavenly was in the middle, the wealthier members of society lived closer to the academy, and the city itself was segregated with walls, some created by the many buildings and houses of the city, but also by the walls that were erected around the city, and some people would have to live outside those walls and risk the attacks of bandits and other rogue factions.

    But then again, Anavasii was no different; the wealthier you were, the closer you would live to Kalma¡¯s palace, which was no less than his grand temple. Not to mention Lo''Gran, the seat of power for both the crown and the Priesthood.

    Wherever one went, it seemed that there¡¯d always be such disparity in how people lived¡ªsome sort of trivial segregation of people by their class, status, or wealth. It seemed that it would always happen. Perhaps it was natural for creatures to form concepts like that.

    And the more he thought about it, the more clearly he saw it. Humans, of all creatures in this world¡ªwhichever world this one happened to be¡ªdifferentiated between people the most. And not just on the basis of the aforementioned reasons. No matter if we like it or not, such differentiation happens, often without us realizing that we have such a bias; thus, many won¡¯t ever notice how they treat people differently based on those trivial and less trivial reasons.

    At times, it is very clear to us that we do, and we are often very cognizant of this, especially in how we treat family and friends so differently from a random stranger or an acquaintance. One could argue that it just makes sense. Yes, we should treat those we love and care about better than those we might never meet again.

    But what harm does it do to treat a stranger well?

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n accompanied them, even if one might think that it was beneath its status to enter such a humble abode as the house of the agitated scholar who kept raving about the great discovery that they had made. Something about alien life forms and finally seeing not only the dancing shadows on the walls but that which might exist outside of the cave where they were chained.

    It was uncertain what they might¡¯ve meant by the latter, but the former made much more sense. He was as much of an alien life form to them as they were to him. When was the last time humans and Atheians had any contact? None could give an exact point in time, and it was unclear if they even had contact after the Atheians had discovered humans on their islands, where they had come from.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n was by no means a poor host in the usual sense. It did offer various small things for them to eat, not to mention water to drink; they were quite adamant at times that the ¡°so-called Darshi¡± should try all of them. And when it placed these things in front of Kanrel, it would take its notebook and patiently wait to see what the alien creature might do next. ¡°Will it or won¡¯t it eat?¡± ¡°Can it or can¡¯t it drink?¡± Perhaps such were the questions in its inquisitive mind. But soon enough, it realized that the human would not have either, as it soon found out that Kanrel had already had food and drink.

    ¡°You should¡¯ve waited for me.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n had muttered with clear disappointment in their voice as if it had been a great opportunity all but missed. But it moved on rather quickly; after all, there were many things it could examine. Things that were more like properties than anything else.

    It wasn¡¯t the first time today that he had been forced to take his clothes off.

    ¡°Can you make sure he treats me like a person instead of an animal?¡± Kanrel asked A''Trou''n, who rather keenly observed the now-naked man.

    The Atheian scoffed in reply, ¡°Do not speak human, lest he makes you speak for him for hours upon hours while trying to make sense of your strange tongue with its strange sounds... Trust me, you will prefer this over his many useless questions."

    Kanrel let out a long sigh and gave no further protest.

    Its fingers were delicate, as it would at times lift an arm or feel the sensation of hair on Kanrel¡¯s thigh, all this while taking notes somehow; it had no pen to do so; instead, it just pointed at the notebook in its hand and made motions with its finger as if it were writing.

    Soon it took out a wand-looking thing that was fairly long; it seemed to be about a meter in length, and it had markings on it at equal intervals. Its purpose was soon found out as the creature placed it against the ground right next to Kanrel, then Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n placed its finger to where it reached, then placed the wand to about where it had reached, the rest of the wand, about 30 centimeters of it, above Kanrel¡¯s head.

    The Atheian seemed satisfied: ¡°It is about an ell and thirty inches tall, so a little less than seventy inches tall; quite short, if you ask me, no taller than the average Atheian in his or her early adolescence.¡±

    Again, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n took note and soon moved on to the next thing. This time, Kanrel was forced to sit on top of a small platform that was attached to the wall. On the wall was another small platform that rose higher the moment Kanrel sat on the other one. Then items of different sizes were introduced; they seemed to be metal or another heavier material, as Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n would use magic to lift them and place them upon the other platform until Kanrel¡¯s platform and the one now filled with these objects were more or less on the same level.

    ¡°About one thousand four hundred and eighty-one ounces, so approximately ninety-two pounds... I must say, this is very worrying. If I were a doctor, I¡¯d advise you to eat more. But then again, it could be that such a weight and height disparity is normal among your people, but I would be ready to doubt that.¡±

    ¡°A¡¯Trou¡¯n, I¡¯d advise you to make sure that it eats well, lest we lose such an interesting subject.¡±

    ¡°And also, get me one of those pearls of yours; I¡¯d really like to converse with this one, and I find it unlikely that I¡¯d be allowed to do it by myself.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n then added.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n seemed to smile rather widely. ¡°Worry not, my old friend, I shall gladly share with you what it might say, as I am sure that you¡¯d much rather hear its own language spoken as well¡ªthis could be a great chance for you to study the language of these humans and try to make out potential translations.¡±

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n lifted its gaze from Kanrel to the other Atheian; it seemed unimpressed but then changed its mind, almost instantly, and a smile came to its face as well: ¡°I¡¯d be hailed as a great genius if I managed to do such a thing.¡±

    ¡°Then, oh, One of Great Wealth, you must let me stay in your household, for we will have many long conversations ahead of us. Information that you might acquire that you¡¯d like to keep for yourself, the crumbles that you might let me understand... but also the language, which I am so keen to decipher." Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n made a gesture, the same one that the servants had done in A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s house; it lifted its other hand toward its master, but it refused to kneel.

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    A¡¯Trou¡¯n scoffed. ¡°We both know that you would submit only to those of your faction... But I will let this transgression slide for now. Well, for as long as no information is leaked from here to the Grand Library..."

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n smirked and let its hand drop to its side. ¡°And I would expect the same of you... Keep your ¡®herd¡¯ away from him for now.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n smirked in return, now offering its own hand, ¡°Then, we have a deal.¡±

    The other Atheian inspected the hand of the lord of this village; the suspicion was apparent, yet even then, it accepted it, and they shook upon this fragile deal that they had made. All the while, Kanrel could understand everything; all the while, he had learned something new about the people who hosted him.

    The physical part of the examination was more or less finished, and Kanrel was finally allowed to dress himself. While Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n went around its house gathering things, some guards were invited in, and they were forced to carry the things that Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n would bring to them, be it by using whatever amount of magical ability they had or by just carrying them in their arms. And one of the guards was commanded to bring Y¡¯Kraun to A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s house. The reason for this was left unsaid, but the guard saluted as would any servant of A¡¯Trou¡¯n and went ahead with the task it was given. Then they left Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s humble abode behind and soon returned to the far more comfortable and spacious house that was A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s mansion, which was carved into the very rock of the Blue-Stone Village.

    By now, with the little information that he had received, Kanrel could guess what the situation was like within Atheian society. There was most likely a power struggle between factions within society. He wasn¡¯t sure if this system was a monarchy or another form of governance, but either way, such factions would always form within any and all societies.

    The aforementioned ¡°Grand Library¡± that Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n seemed to be a part of and then the "Herd,¡± of which A¡¯Trou¡¯n was a member or a leader, based on the conversation that the two Atheians had had.

    Both of the factions or groups clearly wanted something from Kanrel: the Grand Library wanted general knowledge, it would seem, and then the Herd wanted specific knowledge, most likely information about the Angels. For why else was that the moment during which his gracious host had the greatest reaction to his words? Everything else seemed to be nothing more than a curious topic to it, just something that was somewhat interesting, but at the first mention of the Angel that had contacted the first Herald, were there bright lights of greater interest and passion, even in the eyes of A¡¯Trou¡¯n.

    From now on, he should be careful with such topics and not give too specific information, as he was unsure what their reaction would be to those that were, after all, the reason why the Atheians were now cast down beneath the ground. Would they turn hostile? Would they think of him as an enemy or even a spy sent below by the powerful creatures that had doomed them to this existence without the natural light and beauty of the world above?

    It was all so dangerous. At any moment, the Atheians could decide that he was no longer needed and that he was no longer interesting enough for them to care about. So easily they could discard him; so easily he could be killed¡ªperhaps a blessing, but not one that he would be ready to accept. Such had become his conclusion. He had only been confused by all that had happened; he was sure of it.

    For it was clear that through every torturous moment and new suffering that had been brought his way, that had placed in-between him and the possibility of regaining himself as he once was, he wanted to live; he wanted to regain what was lost. To traverse past the regret and seize what belongs to him. So that he might enjoy that dance that he now so clearly remembered or a book that held nothing more than a story filled with romance and adventure, or once more hold a saber in his hands... so that he might... duel?

    But that was not him. Why did he long for something he never was, never did or experienced? That memory¡ªno, a life that he had lived as someone else¡ªcould he claim it as his own? Would he want to? For there remained regret and guilt as great as his own. He was unsure of whether it was right or not.

    It was just that so far, no matter how much he tried to deny that memory and its place among his own memories, it still persisted. It refused to flee and to be forgotten, and when he would cast it away and chastise himself for remembering it and longing for it, it would return either way. No matter how he thought about it or felt about it, at least in the sense that he felt to be acceptable.

    He would change. No. He had changed. It was clear. It could not be denied. That memory and all the memories related to it would change his course, no matter how he or anyone else felt or thought about them. And what would or would not be suitable, right or wrong, would be unable to determine or control it because the change had already happened; only that which was to come could he change, but only if he could catch it before it happened. Only if his own mind would still remain sound and be able to rationalize these emotions and thoughts in a way that was still him and not someone else.

    He should stay true to the actions that he would take based on what he believed, felt, and thought to be right. But would he be able to? Kanrel wondered: would he lose more of himself than what he had lost so far?

    He felt so tired after such a day. It was like he had slept for far too long and then had to stay awake for even longer. He had had to travel farther than he had ever before. He now had to deal with a world he''d never imagined before coming into contact with it. He had to deal with emotions and thoughts¡ªhis own actions and beliefs¡ªunder the scrutiny of a mind that at times felt like someone else¡ªin a body that felt like it were not his own.

    It was his body, right? It was his mind, right? They were his. They had to be... Yet he was not allowed to do as he wished, not in the visions of N¡¯Sharan or in the court of Kalma. Everything since he stepped through the mirror and heard the voice that had beckoned him to ¡°enter¡± had been pre-determined. Every outcome, every action, and maybe even the thoughts and feelings that he had regarding them... He could no longer be sure.

    But it had brought him here in the end, to what was supposed to be his own body, commanded by what ought to be his own mind. Finally, he could make decisions and take actions of his own, but could he really? Here, the Atheians decided what he would eat, how he would dress, who was and wasn¡¯t allowed to touch his body, and who he could speak with so that he could be understood.

    Kanrel had hoped to be rid of this tyranny, but one tyrant had only changed to another. Life seemed far too fair.

    For now, he¡¯d submit to this race of people; for now, he¡¯d be docile. For now, he¡¯d do nothing that would go against them, unless they did something far too outrageous. He first needed to see where things were heading and what might be within the plans of his ever-so-gracious host. And he needed to find out just how powerful an average or even the mightier Atheian was in the field of magic before he might wield his own against them. Besides, as far as he could tell, there was no way out.

 Chapter Seventy-Five: The Unreliable Translator

    When Y¡¯Kraun first arrived at A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s house, their ever-gracious host spoke to it in private, and the two were not seen for a few hours. During that time, Kanrel was forced to spend his time in the company of Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n, who, notebook in hand, keenly observed every motion, action, or word that Kanrel might utter.

    The scholar would place things before him¡ªdifferent objects, shapes, and forms¡ªand then ask him what they might be. And so, one at a time, Kanrel would point to each and every single one of them and name them: ¡°cube,¡± ¡°paper,¡± ¡°cup,¡± and so on.

    And each time, the scholar would write something in its notes. Kanrel wondered how his language and the phonetics of said language would translate to the scripture that the Atheians would use. And sometimes, the Atheian would try to pronounce these words as well. Words like ¡°cup¡± and ¡°paper¡± didn¡¯t seem too difficult for it to pronounce, but any words that had an ¡°h¡± or an ¡°s¡± seemed very difficult for it. They seemed to be the sounds and letters that had become ¡°null and void,¡± as was mentioned by A¡¯Trou¡¯n.

    Later, when at last Y¡¯Kraun and their host joined them, the serf seemed slightly distraught and very uncomfortable; it had become even more docile and submissive in its actions toward its master. But now, it too had a pearl in its ear.

    ¡°Why have you brought a serf here?¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n soon asked with clear disgust in its voice. Y¡¯Kraun held its gaze on the floor, and there seemed to be no reaction to the scholar''s words, but in its eyes there flashed an emotion that Kanrel couldn¡¯t name.

    ¡°Now, now, my pompous friend, you had asked for a translator, and I would much rather save my voice for questions that I might ask the Darshi than spend it or my time translating,¡± A¡¯trou¡¯n said with a slight smile.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n got up, and anger flared again within the quick-tempered Atheian. ¡°This wasn¡¯t part of our deal!¡± It protested.

    A¡¯trou¡¯n scoffed, ¡°Sit down.¡± It gave a stern command, one that you could not go against.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n stood for a while, conflicted, clearly wanting to further voice out its anger but knowing that in the end, it would sit down. It could not afford to anger someone so powerful. So, it, at last, sat down, but their facial expressions were more than enough to show its discontent not only for the serf but also for the decision that A¡¯trou¡¯n had made.

    ¡°Now then, my pompous friend, the serf is here to stay, and the serf will not utter a word or a thing about what has been said here; it is not allowed to. It knows what will happen to it and its family if it were to go against my wishes." A¡¯trou¡¯n said, its tone still stern as it kept its gaze on the scholar, even when each word was meant for the serf, who felt tinier and tinier after each word that was spat out.

    Y¡¯Kraun was pathetic before these two Atheians. Even in Kanrel¡¯s eyes, he had become so. At first, it had been a creature that had brought him food, healed his body, helped him, and walked him to this village. It felt stronger than he was and more capable. It too had looked down on him. But now, the situation has changed.

    Y¡¯Kraun, perhaps, had even less that it could say to affect its own future. It was a serf, after all. Before the two other Atheians, one was a scholar, and the other had great wealth and seemed to own the very land that was beneath them. In comparison, it was unsure if Y¡¯Kraun even owned its own clothes or if they too belonged to A¡¯trou¡¯n. In fact, Y¡¯Kraun was nothing more than a serf; it was tied to the land that was owned by A¡¯Trou¡¯n and its family.

    They moved into another location of A¡¯trou¡¯n mansion-like construction of tunnels and caves. A smaller room, one more intimate but one far more comfortable than the hall they had first entered. They sat around a round stone table that was dark and polished. One could see their own reflection on its surface; again, Kanrel was reminded of how he had changed. Now, at least, he was much cleaner than before, but still, he wanted to get rid of the ugly beard that covered half of his face.

    Y¡¯Kraun wasn¡¯t allowed to sit at the table; it was forced to sit slightly away from it, only close enough that it could hear what Kanrel would say well enough and so that Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n could hear its translation clearly.

    A¡¯trou¡¯n took the most comfortable place to sit for itself, then it cleared its throat and said, ¡°You may begin.¡± It made a vague gesture toward the scholar, who had its eyes solely on Kanrel.

    In the room, there was no one else except the four of them. There were no other ears to hear what Y¡¯Kraun would repeat.

    ¡°I would imagine that our lord here,¡± it said, tilting its head slightly toward A¡¯trou¡¯n, ¡°only asked you questions regarding your culture and the history of humankind; I too am interested in such things, but I feel that I ought to have at least the tiniest bit of curiosity toward you as well, not just the history of your species.¡±

    ¡°So tell me, human, what is your name and what is your status in the lands above?¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n asked, not once looking toward Y¡¯Kraun, or their "lord," but instead keeping its gaze directed only at Kanrel.

    He chose not to hesitate for even a moment. ¡°I am Kanrel Iduldian, and in the lands above, one could say that I am a mix of your job and a priest.¡± He wouldn¡¯t say more to hide how much power his family had.

    Y¡¯Kraun hesitated for some reason and glanced at A¡¯trou¡¯n, who scoffed, ¡°Translate, serf.¡± It was a stern command; no one would look at Y¡¯Kraun; it wasn¡¯t here. They wouldn¡¯t even look at it when it repeated everything Kanrel had said, word for word.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n muttered and took a note; their expression had shifted slightly as if it didn¡¯t quite like what Kanrel had just said: ¡°What do you mean by your job being a mix of mine and the job of a priest¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°In our lands, the job of a priest is to be educated on many different matters; they are often the most educated individuals, and their job is to collect information, be it events that have happened to individuals in the village or area where they were stationed; they might at the same time study a given field, be it chemistry, medicine, or just history.¡±

    ¡°And, as a priest, their job is to also serve the people around them, no matter what their issue or grievance in life might be. But they also help with the religious side of things, be it through teaching about such things or giving sermons that are religious in nature.¡± Kanrel explained, and throughout his explanation, Y¡¯Kraun would translate, keeping an eye on A¡¯trou¡¯n, waiting for any gesture they might make if its master wanted it to stop translating.

    Lou''Deu''s expression was complicated throughout it; at times it seemed bemused and at times it was simply amused, and it soon snorted, ¡°So, the priests of your given religion or tradition are there to serve the people around them?¡± Its question seemed rather mocking.

    ¡°Yes, it is something that is demanded of us, and if we do not abide by these rules, we would then go against the oaths that we have made. We have to be, at times, almost altruistic to a fault.¡± Kanrel confirmed.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n took another note and asked another question: ¡°And what is this religion of yours? Who is the deity that you believe in?¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but peer at A¡¯trou¡¯n as he gave his answer: "Well, yes, there really isn¡¯t a word for our ''religion¡¯ but the organization that servers our gods is called ¡®the Priesthood.¡¯ Not a very imaginative name, but it is the only of its kind; other religions and the belief in other gods are considered heretical and thus not allowed.¡±

    ¡°So there is no need for another word to describe what we are.¡±

    ¡°Our gods, on the other hand,¡± he said, and more closely observed A¡¯trou¡¯n, ¡°are the Angels, as we call them... I could tell you more about them, but this is perhaps best done through the eyes of history instead of the eyes of theological guesswork." Kanrel suggested.

    Y¡¯Kraun was allowed to translate until the first mention of the Angels. At that moment, A¡¯trou¡¯n made a slight gesture, stopping Y¡¯Kraun, and then translated the rest itself: ¡°It says that they are known as the All-Seeing; it could tell more about them, but it suggests that we learn more of them through the history of its people, instead of the theological side of things.¡± Its voice was even as it stared at the scholar, who stared at it in return. Then it smiled and added, ¡°Yesterday, the human shared some of the history of its people with me. I will give you a thorough rundown of the things that it shared with me. We might do so at my leisure.¡± Its smile widened as anger once more flared on the face of the scholar.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Very well, it is, after all, an offer I can¡¯t refuse.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n replied through gritted teeth; it then returned its attention back to Kanrel: ¡°Then, Kanrel Iduldian, you may continue where you yesterday left off. I will ask clarifying questions if I have any when the moment comes, and if I don¡¯t, I will ask them at a later date.¡± Even though it was more of a demand than anything else, the way it spoke to Kanrel was far more curt than it did toward A¡¯trou¡¯n, and this didn¡¯t go unnoticed as it was clearly intentional.

    A¡¯trou¡¯n¡¯s earlier smile gave birth to an even wider grin that showcased its clean and sharp collection of teeth, yet it didn¡¯t say anything; instead, it seemed to revel in the reaction that it had gotten from one of its guests.

    Kanrel spent a moment remembering how far he had gotten: ¡°Ah, yes, very well.¡± He soon said, after clearing his throat, ¡°An Angel appeared to a woman who had lost all; the stories say that she traveled to the three great mountains not far from the desert from which the Wildkin had arrived.¡±

    ¡°It is said that she was there to find a suitable spot to die after her family¡ªher husband and her children¡ªhad been brutally killed and devoured by the invading creatures. But before she could cast herself down from a cliff, she heard a voice that spoke to her: ¡®You would so sin in the presence of divinity? Why?¡¯¡±

    ¡°She had, at that moment, turned around and soon witnessed the blinding beauty of the creature that claimed to be divine: its face filled with scales, its eyes deep and golden in color, and within them, deeper knowledge that could not be explained by lesser creatures, and from its back a pair of grand wings could be seen. The woman could only kneel because of the awe that had struck her. At that moment, the despair that had filled her heart to the brim subdued, and tears once more glistened in her eyes as she confessed, ¡®I¡¯ve lost my family and many of my friends; evil roams the lands I¡¯ve long called home; there is no hope, oh, great one.¡¯¡±

    ¡°The Angel came closer and lifted the woman from her knees. ¡®This I¡¯ve seen, and such brutality should not exist; thusly, I¡¯ve descended down from the heavens and have come to seek you and offer you guidance,¡¯ the Angel had said, their tone and touch said to be gentle and loving, even to a creature as lowly as a grieving human.¡±

    ¡°The woman dared not meet the eyes of the Angel, but the Angel made her meet their eyes, to witness eternity in them and the truth: ¡®Fear not, for me and my kind are with you and yours; I will bless you; I will give you power so that you might purify not only the memory of your family and friends but also the lands from the blight that has come from a faraway land and brutalized its nature and peoples.¡¯¡±

    ¡°The Angel then placed their massive hand on the woman¡¯s head, covering all of it, their hand warm against the top of her head. She then could hear an ancient language spoken, one that she could not understand. This was followed by a feeling of immense power running through her, as if she were afire as if her whole body were cast into the flames of a furnace or the lava of a volcano, but there was no pain. For soon, she could not feel such a thing; there was no pain, there was no grief, there was no sadness, and there was no joy; she had become a blank canvas with no other emotion than the immense gratitude that soon washed over her.¡±

    ¡°The Angel dried the remainder of her tears and said, ¡®Go now, take your revenge, show your new powers to your people, then come to me with a hundred of your kind, those who wish to seek justice and are equally as willing to become weapons which will purify these lands... Become my herald, and in return, I will save you.¡±''

    Kanrel stopped; his mouth felt so dry after all this talking, so he rested for a while and listened carefully to the rest of the translation, which was ongoing. It was mostly Y¡¯Kraun who did the translating; it made sure that the word ¡°angel¡± would be translated as ¡°god,¡± and the description of the Angel was translated by A¡¯trou¡¯n: ¡°She turned around and witnessed the beauty of the creature claiming to be divine: its face was pale and bright, its eyes deep, and they glistened in colors of purple and red, and in those eyes there seemed to be wisdom unimaginable to a human.¡± There was no mention of wings or anything related to that; where the creature had come from was left unmentioned as well. And through every lie, A¡¯trou¡¯n told, its tone remained the same, and afterward, its smile appeared again, and it seemed to mock the very existence of the scholar, who could only wonder and guess what Kanrel had truly shared with them.

    Even then, the ever-attentive and gracious host of theirs noticed what Kanrel needed and called for two servants to come in, ¡°Bring our guests water and be quick with it!¡± Its voice was sterner than moments before, then it gazed at Y''Kraun and said, ¡°You, serf, you¡¯re much quicker on the intake than I had anticipated or even hoped for; keep it up, and I might reward you.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun made the same submissive gesture as any serf or servant would to someone much more important than they were. All the while, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n wrote long sentences in its notebook, having to often turn to the next page as the amount of information that it would have to collect would surely end up filling many notebooks to come.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but stare at this process; it was, after all, something that he had done many times before. It was something he quite enjoyed. And it was something he yearned to do once more. ¡°My lord,¡± he suddenly said, ¡°might I ask for something?¡±

    A¡¯trou¡¯n stared at the human who dared to speak. In such a moment, it usually might¡¯ve given a punishment for such a transgression, but maybe its curiosity took the better of it. ¡°You may speak...¡±

    ¡°There is something that I greatly miss, something that a priest like I would often do, and it is to write, my lord.¡± Kanrel began, ¡°I would only ask for a notebook and a pen if that were possible.¡±

    A¡¯trou¡¯n thought for a moment, ¡°And what might you write?¡± It soon asked, its tone mostly curious.

    ¡°Everything, of course,¡± Kanrel replied, as it was the truth; what else would he write about? Other than everything?

    The Atheian let out a mighty chuckle. ¡°You scholars are a strange lot... I will grant you as much human, for what could be the harm? After all, only you know how to read or write in whatever language you know.¡± It said, ¡°But...¡± There always had to be a but.

    ¡°You must, each day, give me a rundown of the things that you¡¯ve written about. Such would only be fair, for the paper and the pen that you would use would be something that I still own, and I¡¯d like to know what my property is being used for.¡± A¡¯trou¡¯n demanded, and in its eyes, there was a sharp edge.

    Kanrel let out a slight sigh. ¡°Very well, I see no problem with such a condition, and I must say, I would find it a curious experience; it has been a long time since I¡¯ve had to present my work to anyone in such a way.¡±

    A¡¯trou¡¯n tilted its head to the side and muttered, ¡°Most interesting.¡± And it gave another slight smile that soon perished as the doors opened and two servants came running in, one holding a vase filled with water and the other a tray with four cups on it. The servants came closer and placed three of the cups on the table and poured water in each of them; the last cup they placed on the floor near Y¡¯Kraun, but they did not pour water in it; instead, they left the vase next to the serf and then ran off, closing the door behind them.

    No one took action, not before A¡¯trou¡¯n would allow them to.

    A¡¯trou¡¯n stared at Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n for a while and at last said, ¡°Drink human,¡± then glanced at the serf, the vase, and the cup near it, ¡°The rest of you may drink as well.¡± It finally decided. Perhaps their ever-gracious host was more pleased with the situation and even Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s performance than it had at first made them understand.

    They drank, and Y¡¯Kraun was ordered to pour them some more, and soon after A¡¯trou¡¯n gave another command, ¡°Continue where you left off." On its face was a hint of a satisfied expression, as if all had gone better than it had expected.

    Such a smile gave Kanrel the shivers, but he was able to mostly hide them; to others, it would seem like he was only fixing his posture. Then he continued: ¡°The woman descended from the cliffs where she had met the Angel and received their blessing, then she found the great army, which was led by the king of Lo''Gran, whose mission was to give the men of the south the opportunity to flee northward.¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Six: The Truths and the Lies in His Notes

    For what was to come, he felt that it would be most appropriate to pay close attention to his audience. How their eyes would flicker, how their expressions would change, how they might gasp out of surprise, or whichever way they might exclaim or showcase the varied emotions and reactions that one might have.

    ¡°During those times, it was rare, some would say unusual to see a woman join the battlefield for combat. And so, some made protests against it, but most understood that at this point in the history of humanity, all was needed so that at least some could survive, and if there were those willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good, why deny them such an honor?¡±

    ¡°Thus, as the first Herald joined the ranks of many men with the powers that were bestowed upon her and with the information and the clarity of self it had given her, she, on the first day of a battle that would last no less than a week, showcased something no man had ever seen before.¡±

    Kanrel produced the most gentle smile he could, one that was perhaps more a smirk than anything else, even in its falseness. On the spot, he performed an interpretation of a code he had seen when he had been Ignar: a landscape, not so detailed but produced from fog, colored with light, and figures far too many to count placed upon this field of battle.

    A loud inhale slightly broke his concentration, and he met the eyes of the scholar that had shuffled closer and, with its keen eyes, observed the phenomena that now lay before them.

    ¡°The two masses met; one was nothing more than an unorganized horde of beasts, and the other the greatest army that humanity has ever mustered.¡± On the vision of the field, the two bodies of what seemed like figures began to approach each other; ¡°the first altercation, the first impact, as one could call it, was what would color the sky red on the next morrow.¡± The two armies of fog met in a violent altercation; there was no sound; it was not needed, for red color came into the fold, spreading from beneath the figures, soon spoiling the whole landscape.

    ¡°The Herald had not yet mastered her craft, but within her, there was an understanding about the very nature of power; perhaps it was the loss that she felt that gave her such clarity and understanding; she had synchronized herself with the very power that would save us all, as if she were one with it." A flicker began in the middle of one of the armies, one that soon spread, forming a great fire that burned all that stood in its way.

    ¡°She unleashed her powers, a great fire, as that was all she could think of at that moment, for what else could cleanse as well as fire?¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n had no reaction to any of this; it just stared at the landscape and listened to the words that Kanrel said first, and then those that Y¡¯Kraun translated to Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n.

    ¡°There was great panic not only among the Wildkin but also in the ranks of men, who retreated in fear, not understanding or knowing what had truly happened... The king of Lo¡¯Gran received news that from a woman who had joined their army, a great fire had spread and became the doom of many of their enemies."

    ¡°They found this woman, and she was brought to him after the first day of battle; by all means, she was a hero; her existence should¡¯ve been a cause for awe and admiration, but instead a fog of fear had descended among the armies of men,¡± Kanrel said, and he let the fog and the fires dissipate; with that, he removed them from their view, as if they had never been there, as if they were nothing more than an image one had for a fleeting moment in one¡¯s own mind, a memory you can¡¯t quite grasp.

    ¡°But the king was not afraid; he was a wise man, and he understood that whatever she had used could be something that would save them from certain destruction; thus, he summoned her and asked what had been the cause of such fire.¡±

    ¡°And the first Herald shared with the wise king what the Angel had told her¡ªthe very deal they had made¡ªand demanded that the king give her a hundred men for her to guide to the mountains, to the Angel that had given her the clarity she needed.¡±

    ¡°The king agreed, but, with one condition, that he would be allowed to see this figure for himself, so that he might, with his own eyes, determine if they should make such a creature their ally... The Herald chose not to contest his demands, and soon the Herald, the king, and a hundred members of the race of men were forced to march to the mountains; to those selected, the king only said, that this was the only way, that through her they all might be saved.¡±

    Kanrel formed another code, this time a vision of the three great peaks, which began on the table and soon reached the ceiling above. The scholar''s eyes followed this creation from its base to its peaks with wonder in its eyes. Its eyes flickered like the eyes of a child, but in those eyes, there was resolve of sorts, but the reason for this resolve would remain a mystery to Kanrel and the others there.

    ¡°When they reached the mountains and the place where the woman had planned to end her own life, there she kneeled toward the mountains and advised the rest to do the same, but the king would not kneel. Then she called for the Angel, ¡®Oh, great one! I¡¯ve done as you¡¯ve wished of me, and I¡¯ve brought you a hundred of my kin and their king, who has come to you in his quest for knowledge that only a creature as mighty as you might hold!¡¯¡±

    ¡°But the Angel would not show, not at first... Many long moments went by, and the hundred that had followed their king and the Herald began to question the reasons for such a waste of time. The Herald begged them to wait and even advised the king to kneel as well, but the king seemed to hesitate and instead asked the woman, ¡®Could I be a king to my people if I were to kneel before a creature whose true wishes and desires are a mystery to me? Should I sell my people outright, even if it might bring them peace and safety, even if the price might be their freedom?¡¯¡±

    </a> ¡°The Herald began to answer, but before she could, a voice answered in her stead, ¡®First, I had thought your insolence to be uncalled for, but your wisdom has surprised even an ancient being as myself.¡¯ It is said that the voice sounded amused, then they descended from above, their wings spreading and blocking the last rays of the bright sun that had already begun to set behind the horizon.¡±

    ¡°Then, the Angel spoke once more, ¡®We will not enslave your people; you do enough of such things to each other as it is; instead, we wish to guide you on to a path of righteousness, goodness, and piety.¡¯ Their voice was no longer amused, nor was there much disdain for the puny human king that had dared not kneel before it; instead, they stared at him with their golden eyes and a slight smile that brought such warmth into the hearts of the men that now could see their true god.¡±

    ¡°The king, perhaps more shocked than anything, finally managed to clear his throat. ¡®What is that which you want in return for such guidance?¡¯ Even then, the king managed to stand when the others could barely stay on their knees.¡±

    ¡°¡®It is most simple, little king; you will have no other gods; you will abolish the establishment of slavery; you will be the start of a dynasty of righteous kings who will treat their people with dignity and grace... then we shall save you and your kin... So could you, Oh Little King, uphold your honor for the sake of your people?¡¯ The Angel asked, their eyes now flickering in the form of a challenge¡ªnot one of authority, but one of honor and dignity.¡±

    ¡°In that moment, the king kneeled, and he kneeled deeper than the others had. ¡®For my people, I would give my all.¡¯ That was all he said, and as if that were enough, the Angel gave their blessing to humanity. That was the day when no more than one person at a time could see the true face or figure of an Angel; and the next day, a hundred and two representatives of the race of men descended the mountains: an enlightened king, now with a far greater sense of purpose than before; the first Herald to the Gods, who held in her heart the singular purpose of revenge; and the rest, the hundred newly anointed priests, who, with great confusion, had to now navigate their loss of pleasure and desire." Kanrel finally stopped; he felt so tired, and again, his body felt weak. He let the vision of the mountains disappear, letting them become nothing.

    Y¡¯Kraun continued its translation again, changing the mention of the Angel to be one of a god; its description was similar to the one that A¡¯Trou¡¯n had used before, even changing how it had appeared before the humans, who had come for its aid. Of course, Kanrel could¡¯ve quite easily produced a picture of one, but he dared not do so. He didn¡¯t quite yet wish to go so clearly against his host, the ever-gracious A¡¯Trou¡¯n, who didn¡¯t seem nearly as impressed as Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n at the sight of his showcase of magical ability.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°So these are the powers that you received from your gods; how wonderful, I must say,¡± the scholar remarked. Its voice was far more excited than it had been ever since they first met. ¡°It is not so different from what most of the Atheians are capable of... Of course, I mean no disrespect; it seemed like a rather complicated spell for your kind. I am most impressed.¡± It continued while not looking at Kanrel; instead, its eyes were solely kept on the notebook in its hands as it took notes on the things it had seen and heard on this day.

    ¡°Wonderful, I am done for today; I''ve got to review everything I¡¯ve learned today... And be most certain that tomorrow I will have at least a hundred questions that I might want to ask of you.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n got up from the pillow, gave a quick bow toward their host, and just left without another word, but it was no wonder; the Atheian seemed to already have its mind somewhere else.

    And when the doors opened and closed and the steps of the hurried Atheian could no longer be heard, a thick silence came in between Kanrel, A''Trou''n, and Y¡¯Kraun. One that lasted for a few minutes before A¡¯Trou¡¯n spoke at last: ¡°Do not use your powers without my consent; such an action in the wrong company might lead you into danger.¡± It said, its voice even and its stare kept directly in Kanrel¡¯s eyes, then it tilted its head and asked, ¡°Am I understood?¡±

    Kanrel gave a nod. ¡°Forgive me; I thought it would help me tell the story better; this won¡¯t happen again, I assure you.¡± He promised and averted his eyes, not being able to meet the gaze of A¡¯Trou¡¯n.

    ¡°Good,¡± it said and got up, ¡°I forgive you... this time.¡± Then its gaze finally found Y¡¯Kraun again. ¡°Serf, you¡¯ve done well today; as a reward, your family shall receive more daily portions.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun again showed its hands in submission, and in its eyes there seemed to be genuine gratitude.

    ¡°Come now, Kanrel the priest, I promised you a notebook and a pen; before you retire to bed, I wish to see you write and then tell me what you¡¯ve written, after which you may do as you desire, but I would advise you to eat, to then wash, perhaps shave away that funny-looking beard of yours, and then sleep¡­¡±

    ¡°No matter what you might think of me, I, for now, wish you to live.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n then declared and walked to the doors as they opened for it. It was soon followed by Kanrel, who had a difficult time keeping up with the much taller Atheian. Y¡¯Kraun was left behind, and before the doors again closed, Kanrel could see the pure expression of relief on its face as it began to clean the room.

    <hr>

    They entered another room; this one was more of an office than anything else¡ªa workroom for someone as busy as A¡¯Trou¡¯n. A fairly spacious interior, one garnished with engravings and shelves that were engraved into the very walls of the room; one side of the room was in its entirety a window, one from where you could see the road that would lead to where the blue light came from. It was an interesting choice, for if Kanrel had been the one to make the decision to build this room, it would have been directed toward the lake and its allure; the scenery of a road seemed a waste to look at.

    </a> On the floor, before the window, there were many more pillows and another table, on which there were hundreds of pages of paper, books, pens, and trinkets with certainly different purposes. The Atheian took a random notebook and pen that floated toward Kanrel, who received them after a quick thank you.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n sat down and waited, so Kanrel sat across from it, and then it commanded, rather simply, ¡°Write.¡± Its gaze was set on the notebook, which now lay in front of Kanrel, and the pen, which had yet to touch the surface of the paper.

    He had to think for a while; he hadn¡¯t written a word down in such a long time. He barely knew where to begin. After a while, it became clear where he should start: from where he left off. The day before, he had entered through the dark mirror and heard the Voice for the first time. And so, he began:

    The very concept of time seems to be convoluted at the time of writing, for I cannot, for the life of me, say how many years have passed since I set out on this foolish adventure. Only by the condition of my beard can I make an assumption, but such an assumption could never be accurate, for I cannot say for certain how much a beard grows in a day. Nor do I know if there are other conditions that might affect how quickly a beard may grow.

    This is how he began the continuation of his notes, and he kept writing so for a few hours, condensing as much information as he could and writing down any key moments or memories that he had claimed as his own so far. And after those few hours, he was able to move on to the current situation:

    By no means are the Atheians pleasant people, but at least they seem like they won¡¯t outright kill an outsider. Their culture has a keen sense of hierarchy, and there is a clear distinction between those who have power and those who have naught. At times, one who is greater in their status, as is my host, seems to take such treatment for granted, and so do those who are beneath my host, such as the guards, servants, and other villagers, such as the serfs. The serfs and servants seem to grovel before it as if it were the embodiment of Kalma and us in his court. Of course, the context is very different, but, to a god, are the people whom he rules over nothing more than serfs in the end?

    It is a curious culture, one that has its differences from the human and the Sharan cultures, yet there are clear similarities between all of them; this makes one wonder if the Sharan culture has had a greater influence on the rest, more so than one might think at first; or are many of the concepts that they¡¯ve developed just inherent to more intellectually capable species, be it the Atheians, the Sharan, or the humans?

    And, the connection between the Sharan and the Atheains seems to be the most curious one, as there is still so much more information that I need to come to any form of conclusion about this connection; for now, it seems one that is unfortunate to the Atheians, but at the same time, there seem to be those within the Atheian society that might be more sympathetic toward the Sharan, and some of them might serve them as gods.

    He finished his notes for the day with a few lines pointed mainly at the physical appearance and form of the Atheians; there was one thing about that that remained a mystery to him: how does one differentiate between a female and a male in the Atheian society? This was something that he, too, had to find out.

    He placed his pen on the table, then shook and massaged his hands, which had begun to ache as he hadn¡¯t taken a break from writing in the past few hours. Then, at last, he again met the eyes of the Atheian, who patiently waited and just stared at him and his writing.

    ¡°You wrote a lot.¡± It said, its words coming out in almost the form of an accusation, ¡°Why?¡±

    Kanrel cleared his throat. ¡°It has been a long time since I could write; there seemed to be far more thoughts and memories that I had to recount than I had at first thought, and yet there remains so much more that I have to write down; the number of pages might triple or even quadruple by the time I am done with those years, which might as well be nothing more than lost time or, worse, wasted time.¡± He explained, still massaging his hands.

    ¡°Would you like me to read it aloud for you?¡± He then asked and prepared himself for the worst.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n tilted its head and pondered for a moment: ¡°For now, tell me only of the things that you wrote in relation to us, the Atheians.¡± It demanded.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Kanrel said, further clearing his throat. He shifted through the pages and then began to read, ¡°The Atheians are a pleasant people, although at times a little strange to my eyes. Their understanding of hierarchy and how important it is to a well-working society is commendable and only slightly different from that of human society. The leader of the village is treated as they should be, as someone better than the rest, yet even then, this leader seems to treat its people fairly, even giving food and a roof over the head of a stranger¡ª¡± He began, but the Atheian soon stopped him.

    ¡°That is more than enough; I would much rather hear an accurate translation than one so altered,¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n remarked. It seemed more amused than anything else as it observed the man before it.

    Then it scoffed, ¡°Do you have any questions for me that I might be able to answer?¡± It quickly asked; it didn¡¯t seem to mind the blatant lies that Kanrel had told it; it took no offense, for some reason.

    Kanrel could feel an unpleasant warmth on his face; he got caught lying and was then mildly scolded for it as if he were nothing more than a child. It took him a moment to gather himself, as he soon asked the only question that he could think of at that moment: ¡°How does one differentiate between a female and a male Atheian? From the outside, I cannot, for the life of me, tell if you are male or female, or if any of the Atheians that I¡¯ve seen or interacted with have been male or female.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n stared at him for a moment and blinked its eyes, then a smile came to its face. It was soon followed by laughter that held a speck of confusion within it, yet not a speck of ridicule. ¡°It isn¡¯t obvious to you.¡± It muttered and chuckled a little more. ¡°It is no wonder; you¡¯ve not seen one of our kind before coming here, so how could you?¡±

    ¡°Well, my amusing human, I will not let you outright examine one like the way Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n examined you, so I shall instead give you examples that you may observe from the outside.¡±

    ¡°The serf, Y¡¯Kraun, is male, and I am female.¡± It said and smiled almost sweetly, ¡°You may let your eyes linger on me; perhaps you might find the difference... Oh, and tell me when you do; I would love to hear all about it.¡± She added and then dismissed the man, who, at that moment, must¡¯ve looked rather baffled.

    In the large hall, a servant brought him food, and he ate it without much thought. He didn¡¯t care what it looked like or what it tasted like; there was no reason for him to care. It would all taste the same either way. He was led to the same place where the two servants had washed him, and this time, he was just provided the means to wash himself, a clean set of clothes, and a mirror if he might need one, but Kanrel also requested a sharp knife. Of course, the servant didn¡¯t understand a word, so he fetched one for himself, kept pointing at it, and said, ¡°Knife!¡± The servant said nothing and just stepped to the side; it would not allow him to wash on his own.

    After a long sigh, he got to work. He began by undressing; he placed the used clothes to the side; and he took the knife. While in front of the mirror, he took a good grip on his beard and began to cut. He removed huge chunks of it at a time, burning said chunks when he dropped them. He did so until his beard was as short as it had been when he had just entered through the dark mirror.

    Now, he could almost recognize himself. Past the malnourishment that his face had gone through, he could find features that remained the same: his eyes, though they were more set and more tired than they had ever been, but at least the look was the same. This was his body. Or rather, this was what his body had become.

    He tidied his beard to his best ability, while the horrified servant witnessed his actions, once even trying to stop him, only to receive a sharp glare as a response. The servant dared not take another action; it just stared in horror.

    Then, Kanrel went ahead and washed himself at last; this time, the experience didn¡¯t feel like a violation of his freedom, even if the servant observed him from the side. Soon he was done, and soon he found himself dry and in a new pair of clothes as the servant escorted him to a small room with only a bed and a table. He entered, and the servant soon left him behind. It was dark in the small room that would be his own for the foreseeable future; it wasn¡¯t that comfortable when compared to the lavish rooms through which he had walked, but it felt more right than any room that he had slept in for a long while.

    It reminded him of the academy and the room he had there. The ceiling at which he would stare and the way it remained unchanging had become a testament to the boredom of life and the memory of despair that he had learned to link to each ceiling he found himself staring at.

 Chapter Seventy-Seven: Ones Perception of Magic

    It quivers and bubbles, the darkness around us; one can almost touch it, feel its rough edges and smooth junctions. A mass of figures sewn into one, their voices loud and silent, a choir of lost souls, of a lost time, of a lost Empire; the servants of a dead god.

    ¡°We died for nothing.¡± A whisper so soft and full of resentment lulled my mind closer, begging for someone to remember that such injustice was allowed to exist even then, and perhaps even now.

    I am pierced, stuck¡ªpart of a wall that stands between the city and the shadows that lie past its walls. Beneath we are, and no light is potent enough to pierce through, to exorcise the lost souls that now roam the edges of my vision.

    ¡°They surrendered; we all should¡¯ve done so, not just those who perished. Our deaths were there only to feed him, only to make his will eternal." Another whisper reached my ears, another prayer lost in time. Another memory to now replace a piece of me.

    It is cold here, and against the fog that never settles, only together might we hold these walls intact; only together, might the rest live. Only together must we reach the point of insanity.

    These walls devour me; we are together, but not one memory remains between us; we have long forgotten who we are; only our purpose remains, as we must hold, even after we break; even after I can no longer remember how to remember or even how to forget.

    ¡°Who was the madman who claimed that they could kill a god?¡± A final whisper, which turned into a scream... Their memories are soon mine, and I can¡¯t remember who we died for.

    I close my eyes, and at last, I am awake...

    Cold sweat, shivers that ran through his spine, a gentle touch that he felt on his forehead, only to open his eyes to a room now lit, in his sight a face he couldn¡¯t recognize at first. A gray creature that stared back at him had a baffled expression¡ªa question in its eyes, in those blue eyes so cold.

    ¡°Master A¡¯Trou¡¯n has made me your full-time servant; you seem to have made the other servants afraid of you,¡± Y¡¯Kraun said and gently removed its finger from Kanrel¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°She is also disappointed in you and claims to feel betrayed.¡± It soon added, taking a step back, as Kanrel had begun to calm down, it seemed.

    Kanrel pondered for a moment: What could he have done to make the servants ¡°afraid of him,¡± and A¡¯Trou¡¯n disappointed in him? Soon, he couldn¡¯t help but scoff, ¡°Can¡¯t I even clean after myself?¡± He asked, got up, and dressed as the Atheian turned to look away. Perhaps the Atheians did have some sort of concept relating to decency?

    ¡°She wishes you to remember that the use of your powers might have many unwanted outcomes; prying eyes should not be allowed to see just what you are capable of,¡± Y¡¯Kraun explained, its back toward Kanrel and its gaze directed toward the door.

    It had slipped his mind, as something like that, the simple burning of hair, was a task he had done many times before. It had come as part of his nature, through a code he could bring forth at will, not having to even think about it that much. It was as simple as the action of snapping one¡¯s fingers. It just happened, quickly and seamlessly.

    During a filling, what could only be a breakfast, Kanrel finally had time to just sit down and think about the dream that he now barely remembered. All he could truly remember of it was the motion of those shadows, how they bubbled and quivered; that mass of figures¡ªdid they have faces? He couldn¡¯t remember... The feeling of forgetting, the losing of yourself¡ªit had to be a dream about that. But that dream¡ªno¡ªnightmare, it was lost, it was gone, only a fickle memory of it remained, and the unsettling emotion that it forced upon him¡ªthat was all there was left now.

    Something you have to forget. It is only natural; we all forget. But the thought of forgetting those most dear to your heart could only be the worst curse that one might have. Perhaps one would rather forget himself than forget those who you love.

    Another question raised itself from deep within: How much had he forgotten? Not just parts of himself, but also parts of himself that are filled with memories of another, of his mother, of his friends... He couldn¡¯t help but scoff at himself, just because of a simple realization, one that he felt that most children would even understand... Forgetting people who you love and moments with those people who you love¡ªis it not just losing another part of yourself? Don¡¯t these memories of others mingle with the memories of yourself? Don¡¯t those memories then create that which you are? It is a realization that he had had before, but not one that had yet planted itself in him or made him look at the world, himself, or other people in a different manner. That step of change had not happened yet, and he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if that might ever happen. For it is seldom that just a thought or a conclusion would bring change within; often it has to happen through action or through something akin to trauma.

    After a less dehumanizing bath, than he had at first experienced, Kanrel found himself, again, in the same room as yesterday, sitting across from A¡¯Trou¡¯n, with Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n not too far off, sitting at the same table, holding perhaps a different notebook in its hands, keenly waiting for the moment that it might bombard Kanrel with new questions, or whatever might suit its mind at the moment. Y¡¯Kraun sat where he had been yesterday, not too far away so that he might be able to translate everything; but this time, there was a vase next to him and four cups ready as well, one on the floor next to the vase and the three others on the table, filled with water.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n seemed more excited than yesterday as if it were anticipating something, perhaps deep revelations that it might be able to extract from Kanrel, and such a change seldom goes unnoticed.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n snorted, rather suddenly, ¡°I never thought that I¡¯d see the day that a grown man acts like a child that has just received the toy he most wanted.¡±

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n shifted his gaze toward A¡¯Trou¡¯n and smirked, ¡°I just think that this will be a great day. You see, I''ve got many questions that I want to ask Mr. Kanrel here, and I feel that from today on a bright light will shed the shadows of the mind, bringing great clarity to a simple scholar like I.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n scoffed, ¡°Then go ahead, ask your silly questions.¡±

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s smirk turned into a wide grin as he shifted his gaze toward Kanrel. ¡°Well now, I promised that I¡¯d have perhaps a hundred or more questions to ask you today... So let me begin with the one that most brightly burned since yesterday on the top of my head: Explain the way in which your magic works.¡± He asked although it didn''t seem like a question and instead more like a demand, his eyes glistening with earlier excitement. He truly was like a child who got to play with his favorite toy. And in a way, it would¡¯ve been a joy to see, well, perhaps not for A¡¯Trou¡¯n.

    At that moment, Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but glance at their host, who returned the glance and ever so slightly smiled. It was difficult to say what that smile meant, but either way, the scholar would not understand a word he would say, and all the information would go through Y¡¯Kraun and A¡¯Trou¡¯n.

    ¡°Well, I am not sure how the magic we have differs from that which you have. I¡¯d imagine it to be quite similar, but at the same time different based on how one has acquired their magical abilities.¡± Kanrel began, ¡°But, for us, the easiest way for one to perceive magic is as something that may alter the rules of physics, at least somewhat.¡±

    ¡°Though it is very intertwined with the things that one has at hand or around them. For example, air, even here we have it, thus it is much easier to alter how air works around you, as there is so much of it around; the most simple thing one could do is to direct it somewhere and cause an airway, or even wind.¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Heat is also everywhere; its level may differ, but it is also something one can alter quite easily; it just depends on how you imagine it and visualize it, since for us, visualization is the key. If you can¡¯t see it, feel it, or know of its existence, then you can¡¯t really alter it in any way.¡± Kanrel explained,and through it all, Y¡¯Kraun was allowed to translate it freely.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n seemed slightly confused about something, so he stopped Kanrel before he could continue, ¡°It is not that different from how magic works for us, but rather, how we perceive it. But I wonder, since one can¡¯t see air or heat, how can you then alter it? What is the conclusion that allowed your people to alter such things?¡±

    ¡°Well, I know of its existence... I can breathe air, I can feel when the wind blows against me, I can feel the heat, be it cold or be it warm, thus I know that it is. I can¡¯t see it; this is very true, but I can see the location where this phenomenon of air or heat exists, and I can visualize something that may alter its properties.¡±

    ¡°I feel that air and heat are at times connected. It is the air around us that gets colder or warmer depending on different factors, and I know that there are things other than the seasons that may alter their properties.¡±

    ¡°A wind can¡¯t pass through a wall, thus I can block it; the same way I can direct the air, I can create walls around it to direct it where I please. And to alter its heat, I would just need fire to warm it or ice to make it colder.¡± Kanrel explained, at least the way most priests learned to use their powers¡ªof course, it might differ from priest to priest, and it wasn¡¯t like he visualized his magic in such a way.

    For him, it was letters and numbers, each letter having a form, a simple purpose, be it fire, be it air, be it water, and so forth; a letter might entail all the things that the creation of fire might need, and the numbers that followed would give it guidance, just how bright he wanted the fire to be, as an example. All he truly needed to see was the location where he might place his codes.

    He knew that somewhere there, in the creation of his language for magic, might exist a better explanation for how magic itself worked and what, truly, were its laws. But to find this explanation, he would have to dedicate the rest of his life just to find a piece of it.

    Kanrel knew that the explanation that he had given Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n was good; it was something one should be pleased with, at least until he could give a better explanation. At least it was better than the one he had given to Y¡¯Kraun.

    The conversation continued in the same manner; for the first hour or so, they talked about magic and mainly just how priests like Kanrel were able to use it. He explained the sensation of magic, how it feels to use it, and how it feels to sense the magic of others, at least the magic of other priests. He explained the disgust he felt each time he had to use his powers. How, at first, he had vomited perhaps hundreds of times to be able to use it without it bothering him as much as in the beginning.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n in turn shared with Kanrel what the average Atheian felt when they used their powers: ¡°Have you ever stolen a kiss from a person you love? Or got caught staring at someone you like? For us, it feels like that. Your heart beats without control, and there is this inexplainable warmth that comes from within that conquers your body and your mind. It is a thrill, of sorts. To steal a kiss from the girl you love; to get caught looking... It is like love, but it isn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°It is the most addictive feeling one might have. You use it once, and you¡¯re hooked; you wish to use it again and again; to use it more and more. Until¡­¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n explained, and as he did so, his expression would change. First, his eyes glistened in the light, and his pupils widened slightly, but as he finished his sentence, those eyes became empty; there was a void there, eyes that would look past things and people, eyes that would not connect with others.

    ¡°Until you feel cold.¡± He said and soon smiled, a sad smile of someone who had lost a loved one, perhaps that love from whom they had stolen a kiss. ¡°You see, there comes a point when it doesn¡¯t feel the same; in a way, you reach your peak, the very end of how far your powers can go, and you will never be able to muster enough of it to form a new spell that might give you that feeling of excitement again.¡±

    ¡°For some, it takes years to reach, others decades, and then there are those who lack talent, and all they need is a day to go from such excitement to the depths of an icy hell, unable to feel that overwhelming sensation again.¡± His eyes still felt like the abyss, and he let out a long sigh and raised his gaze slightly to meet Kanrel¡¯s eyes again.

    ¡°When I meet your eyes,¡± he said, ¡°I can see that the moment you acquired your powers, you had lost the ability to ever feel such a sensation ever again.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s tone was gentle, and his smile even more so: ¡°I feel sorry for you, human.¡±

    Kanrel examined the scholar, his eyes, his smile, his words; the pity that the scholar felt for him was true. It wasn¡¯t a lie.

    To Kanrel, it felt like a bitter taste had entered his mouth and a piece had formed in his throat; perhaps they were words that wished to be let out or tears that he had to swallow. His lips quivered as he formed a smile, a fragile lie that did not reach his eyes as he said, ¡°I am too used to it; I can¡¯t even remember that feeling of excitement, thrill, or love that you describe; not the same way that you can; for me it all is through this sense of dread.¡± He spoke as softly as he could.

    ¡°It was a great gift that the Angels gave us, but I most regret the day I received it.¡± He whispered, keeping his tone flat, making sure that there¡¯d be no cracks in his voice as if he had accepted that regret the same way he had accepted that gift.

    Y¡¯Kraun hesitated for a moment and then translated, even that whisper, again, removing the word ¡°angel¡± and changing it into ¡°god.¡±

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s eyes widened slightly, and his pity could be seen by all. He opened his mouth to say something, but A¡¯Trou¡¯n cut him off. ¡°I think it is time we change the topic.¡± It was a simple command, but it didn¡¯t feel as harsh as her other commands would¡¯ve.

    And for a moment, Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but wonder if even she felt pity for him.

    Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n did as was commanded and changed the subject altogether, from magic to culture, to questions like, ¡°Do humans have a concept of art?¡± ¡°What about music?¡± ¡°Do humans dance?¡± and so forth. And the amount of questions asked seemed never-ending.

    The scholar kept asking such questions until A¡¯Trou¡¯n forced him to stop so that they might at least eat before they continued.

    Again, they ate what one could only call food, and they ate in silence, the three of them around on the table and Y¡¯Kraun to the side with lesser proportions, yet he seemed to eat quite happily.

    This, again, gave Kanrel more time to think. He had shifted his understanding of the Atheians, or at least the Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n and even more so A''Trou''n, on a personal level; before it had seemed like she saw him as nothing more than an ant or rat, she could easily squash. Yet she and the scholar both seemed to easily sympathize with what seemed like a common ail for a magic user among the Atheians.

    This made him wonder if they too lost their ability to enjoy things, or if this was only when it came to magic. Perhaps he¡¯d have a chance to ask A¡¯Trou¡¯n this question himself when others weren¡¯t around, and then she might give an honest answer, one without the mask of a prideful noble.

    During their lunch, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n kept glancing at the door, as if he wanted to get out of there, to leave the gaze of their gracious host.

    Soon, servants came and took away what was left of their lunch, and then right away, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n began another bombardment of questions, this time about humans in general: ¡°What does a female representative of your species look like? Are they as hairy as you are?¡± ¡°What about your children?¡± ¡°What will happen as you grow older? For how long can a human live?¡±

    And to all these questions and many more, Kanrel would give his answers, explaining as well as he knew and remembered.

    ¡°So it seems that the average human lives a shorter life than the average Atheian; I am not too surprised; there is an old observation among the ancient scholars of race regarding magical ability and the likelihood of someone living over the age of a hundred, although our measurements of time might differ greatly, as far as I can tell, they aren¡¯t too off from each other.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n pointed out while taking more notes¡ªhe seemed rushed, for some reason.

    ¡°So I wonder if, because the average human lacks magical ability, they might live shorter lives because of this? Does a priest like you live longer?¡± He asked.

    To which Kanrel could only smile a little as he answered, ¡°We don¡¯t know; so far there have been no studies, at least that I am aware of, that point out such a correlation, but¡ª¡±

    The door burst open, and an Atheian, who wore a dark uniform, stepped in. It glanced around the room, looking for someone or something, then stopped on Kanrel, and a slight smirk came to its face. ¡°So there is a Darshi here? It is as the report said.¡±

    Then it raised its gaze and met the shocked eyes of A¡¯Trou¡¯n: ¡°Your brother has given me the command to bring this outsider to his abode; and as is my right, given to me by your superior, I will have to extend this command to you.¡± It said, its smirk turning into a polite smile.

    Then it cleared its throat. ¡°Let me quote him for you: ¡®By the command of the lord of K¡¯eu¡¯rn Grau¡¯v, the City of Creation, you are to bring the Darshi to K¡¯eu¡¯rn Grau¡¯v and present it to the scholars, the priests, the mages, the nobles, and even the wealthy.''" It quoted.

    ¡°What?¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n almost yelled; her voice was shaky as she stared at the Atheian who had so casually opened the doors and walked in.

    ¡°Do I have to repeat myself? I said, ¡®By the command of the lord of K¡¯eu¡¯rn Grau¡¯v, the City of Creation, you are to bring the Darshi to¡ª¡¯¡± It began to repeat itself, but A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s attention was already somewhere else, for a smile never goes unnoticed...

    And there was one, a rather wide one, on the face of the scholar who sat across from Kanrel; its gaze was set on her face; A¡¯Trou¡¯n met that gaze, and soon her expression changed from shock to anger, and then into an amused expression as it chuckled, ¡°So you would betray our deal? Just like that? How wonderous, I must say; I never thought that you¡¯d have the guts to do so." She said and then addressed the Atheian who had walked in, ¡°If my lord brother so wishes, then I shall, a humble servant of his, abide by those wishes... We will leave today; in an hour or so, but first, let me and my guest prepare.¡± She said while a wide smile crept on her face. Deep beneath there must¡¯ve been buried the anger she so wanted to unleash upon the two that had soured her day.

    With a victorious smirk on his face, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n got up from the pillows it sat upon.

    ¡°Not you, my pompous friend; this invitation does not include you.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n stopped him, and she could with great pleasure witness the newfound shock on Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s face, disbelief, and soon anger, then, at last, submission; it now knew that he had made a mistake.

    Then A¡¯Trou¡¯n glanced at the serf, ¡°Y¡¯Kraun, help our human friend with packing; you will be joining us on this journey, and taking care of the human is your mission; do as it wishes you to do, but do remember that it serves me.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n commanded, her gaze shifting to the face of the Atheian that had so rudely interrupted them, ¡°It has been a long time since we saw each other, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun got up and went to Kanrel, ¡°Come now,¡± it said, ¡°You need to show me what I need to carry for you.¡± They left the chamber that had an awkward atmosphere to it; there seemed to be many unresolved issues with the two Atheians that now measured each other; one known as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n held a smile on its face, and the other, their ever-gracious host, had much contempt in her smile. All the while the greatly disappointed scholar slowly got on its knees and began to beg.

    The doors closed, not again showing this complicated scene to Kanrel, who wished to see what might happen; how would the conversation that he was not allowed to eavesdrop on unfold?

 Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Shadows Along the Way

    At last, they had reached the surface, or rather, the far large cave that now gave Kanrel a familiar view¡ªthe great lake, the bridge of light that would call any man to its shores¡ªto just be there and bask in the glory of that vista. But that view was ruined; the wall of darkness cut it off, giving only what seemed like half of what should be there.

    If he still were a child, Kanrel could imagine himself preparing to take a step on that bridge of light. At the same time, wondering where it might take him, imagining the other world where that bridge could take him. All of this, just because of a sense of wonder.

    Sadly, he wasn¡¯t allowed to wonder what he¡¯d do if he were someone else¡ªa past self. Instead, A¡¯Trou¡¯n and her guards were already directing him toward their destination: something that looked like a road and would lead them to the City of Creation and perhaps even the light that produced the bridge over those serene waters.

    It took a couple of hours before they could leave the village behind and found themselves on the road away from the great lake that consumed the view on the other side of the village. There was no other means of transportation than just walking, which was surprising. Even the great A¡¯Trou¡¯n found herself on her feet and walking toward a destination she didn¡¯t seem to want to reach.

    The newly met Atheian, Vaur''Kou''n, seemed like an unwanted guest among them, even though it led their little group toward the City of Creation, a name that seemed far too important for a simple city; thus, it made Kanrel wonder if there was a deeper meaning behind its name or if its name was as inexplainable in its origin as was Lo¡¯Gran¡¯s or many other cities in the human kingdom that were surely above them.

    With them came four guards, four Atheians that mirrored the displeasure of their superior, not only because of their situation but also because of the very existence of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n; two of them walked as the last two members of their party, and the other two walked beside A¡¯Trou¡¯n, who wasn¡¯t too far away from Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who walked a few meters before them.

    Kanrel walked with the servants and Y¡¯Kraun; each of them carried something, some belongings in large sacks on their backs and stuff even in their hands. Eight servants and Y¡¯Kraun carried everything that they might need. It seemed rather unfair, as it was clear that A¡¯Trou¡¯n was more than capable of carrying everything the whole way through with a simple spell, but she just didn¡¯t seem to care to do such a thing.

    The light was truly not distributed equally. In fact, at times it seemed like there were areas that ought to be lit by the light that came from ahead, but they just weren¡¯t for one reason or another. There was a thick shadow, one so unnatural that it brought into question if it were man-made. It would waver ever so slightly. It danced like fog would; he wasn¡¯t close enough to say for certain if the darkness truly moved, if it truly wavered, quivered, or bubbled... and he wanted to be certain; he wanted to see for himself if such movement was truly happening or if it was just his own imagination¡ªhis tired nature that had fooled him to see such an illusion.

    Ahead, there now seemed to be lamps placed, producing more blue light even though there came a greater light from somewhere ahead.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n suddenly summoned him, and so Kanrel hurried beside her and she soon grabbed him with her long fingers going around his arm as they then came to a halt. ¡°Listen to me carefully, for what I am about to say is a matter of life and death.¡±

    ¡°I know that you would harbor plans of escape; any creature would given a situation like this.¡±

    ¡°I cannot say that the way I¡¯ve treated you is most pleasant or fair, but, again, if you were given the same situation as I, then I believe you would do the same, Kanrel.¡±

    ¡°But I digress. I am sure that you¡¯ve noticed the ever-curious darkness... Do not approach it... Never come in contact with it if you value your life, that is. If you wish an early grave for yourself, then go ahead, but do not pull any of us with you toward that darkness.¡± Her voice was different throughout. It had become solemn, almost sincere, and there was no hint of her usual disregard for Kanrel¡¯s possible feelings.

    ¡°Stay in the lights,¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n added, then released his arm.

    For that moment all except Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had come to a halt, and now that A¡¯Trou¡¯n had let go of his hand and taken another step forward, did finally the rest of their party continue moving along.

    Kanrel was for a moment stunned; was she lying? Was she telling the truth about such a thing? Was death so close to him, to them, at all times? Now more than before, he wanted to find it out for himself¡ªto see if the shadows moved, to find out if just a touch would bring someone death...

    What was the origin of these shadows? Of course, if they were far beneath the ground and there was no true sun to give them light, then of course it would be dim; there would be shadows. But to give such meaning to such a simple thing as a shadow seemed almost absurd, superstitious, even.

    But either way, their journey continued. At first, without many stops, and according to Y¡¯Kraun, it would take at least 12 hours to reach the city from where they started, if you ran, that is. And apparently, it Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had run the whole way there; it had received its command at the city in the middle of the night, then left immediately, running without stop, until it had reached the village, and then, after an hour, found itself back on the road, returning to the place where it had left off the previous night.

    To a human, it was clearly impossible, and even in Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes, it was clear that what the Atheian had done was not normal at all and that it was by all means impressive.

    But they would not walk the whole way today; they would stop a few hours away from the city, rest through the night, and then enter the city on the next day. And it wasn¡¯t because Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n needed rest; if it were up to it, it would¡¯ve probably run back to the city and made the others run with it.

    They only stopped because of A¡¯Trou¡¯n''s surprising demand: ¡°My servants need to rest, and so does my human; he is no Atheian, its legs are shorter than ours, and as you can see, his condition is not the greatest.¡±

    At that time, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n seemed like it wanted to argue against it, but after inspecting the human before they left, it had to accept A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s demand. After all, its master wanted the human alive, not dead. Of course, a body can give much information about a given species, and many scholars would¡¯ve loved to dissect it and cut it into pieces so that they could figure out what was inside and how it would differ from their own species.

    But even then, a corpse is unlikely to give you answers about what there is above, in their ancestral homeland, which has slowly turned into a fleeting memory¡ªa mention in books and legends¡ªrather than a vivid landscape that one always has on their mind¡ªa memory of home.

    After the first two hours of walking, Kanrel was already done with it. He was sorely out of shape; for times like these, he missed the body of Ignar; it had been strong and could do things with ease. He was sure that Ignar¡¯s body would¡¯ve been able to run for such a long time, and perhaps even more, than Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n could.

    While he had been in the academy, he had disregarded the very concept of athleticism as something that he didn¡¯t truly need, as his magical abilities were able to compensate for the lack of strength, stamina, and agility that he now didn¡¯t seem to have at all. He really needed a break.

    Kanrel pushed himself as far as he could, taking a short sprint so that he might be next to A¡¯Trou¡¯n, who seemed surprised when she noticed this. ¡°What is it?¡±

    And while panting, Kanrel asked, ¡°Can we take a break?¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n raised her hand at that moment, and they all came to a halt, except Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who took a few steps, then came to a halt as if intuition had told it that the people behind it had stopped walking; it turned around and observed from afar.

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    A¡¯Trou¡¯n stared at Kanrel for a moment, then scoffed, ¡°I suppose we will take many more breaks than I had at first anticipated... Tell me... Do humans always have such low stamina?¡±

    Without much thought, Kanrel sat on the ground and looked up, still panting, ¡°No, just me.¡±

    She had a curious look on her face as she made a slight motion with her hands, and Kanrel could feel how his body left the ground and began to float until he and A¡¯Trou¡¯n could be at eye level.

    ¡°Much better.¡± She muttered, then let her eyes scan the human again. ¡°It really is no wonder; you''ve got no muscles; all you are is skin and bones.¡± She said and whistled, and in an instant one of the servants came sprinting for her, soon kneeling, even while holding things in its arms.

    ¡°Give the human something to eat.¡± She commanded, and soon enough the servant had scoured through its backpack, bringing out neatly packed containers; it opened one, uncovering what seemed like dried meat, which it then offered to Kanrel, who seemed hesitant about the situation. He wasn¡¯t really hungry, but the look in A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s eyes was enough for him to accept the container and munch on the food that was offered.

    And under the scrutiny of her sharp gaze, Kanrel ate every single piece of dried meat that was in the container and even drank a long sip out of the flash on his hip. After he did so, the Atheian finally seemed somewhat pleased; she gently placed him back on solid ground and let him rest for the remainder of their short break. Not long after, they continued their journey.

    The cave through which they traveled was a massive open space that spanned all around them for perhaps kilometers, to some directions less so, and one could see the tall walls of the cave; at times they seemed far too rigid, far too symmetrical, making Kanrel wonder if parts of the cave had been manually carved larger, perhaps by the Atheians or by whoever had imprisoned them here.

    The direction where they traveled seemed like an endless road that had no curves; instead, the road was a straight line, and from somewhere far away, loomed the bright blue light that lit most of their way, and evenly placed lanterns of the same blue stone lit the rest of their way, keeping the shadows that seemed to flicker and bubble at bay. And at times, it seemed, that those shadows were closer than before; sometimes they were so far away that he could hardly see them. Yet he could not take his eyes away from them.

    Throughout the day, they took a few more breaks until they reached what could only be described as a massive mirror. A large construct that was angled toward the direction from which they came, it was placed against a stark wall, and its reflection was one that you could not directly look at for long; thus, even the Atheians kept their eyes away from the mirror. The road continued to the right of them, from where another bright light came from. Another massive mirror somewhere, far away from their field of vision.

    Around this area, they placed their camp and would spend the night. Of course, it would be far too bright to sleep in the open, but the servants and Y¡¯Kraun had come prepared, soon erecting three tents, one for the servants, one for the guards, and one for A¡¯Trou¡¯n. Kanrel would sleep with the servants, as it seemed only proper.

    They ate a hefty dinner and went to rest. The servants and Kanrel seemed the most tired after the journey; it wasn¡¯t easy to carry so much stuff with you and then walk for hours upon hours. Y''Kraun, on the other hand, seemed like this had been something that he was more than used to. But this made sense, for when he didn¡¯t inspect the chamber from where he found Kanrel, he would work in the mines, working long hours collecting the blue stones that lit their world below. Kanrel could imagine that the Atheian would have to, not only swing a pickaxe or whichever tool was used for extracting said stones and carrying them but also having to carry the excess debris of rock and the different types of stones that they¡¯d dig. It must¡¯ve been more tiring than this journey, even if he had to carry some stuff with him.

    Kanrel had had to eat too much today; A¡¯Trou¡¯n and the servants made sure of this. They practically force-fed him at times, and he just couldn¡¯t say no. So as he was given the possibility of sleep, all he had to do was lay down on his bedroll, and he soon found himself asleep.

    ¡°We died for nothing¡­¡±

    A whisper, an accusation, and nothing more. His eyes burst open and met the blackened surface of the tent''s roof. The tent was full; the servants and Y¡¯Kraun all shared it with him; they all seemed to be asleep. At least the things they were carrying were outside, so the tent wasn¡¯t too crowded.

    It was cold, he thought, as shivers ran down his whole body and as the hair of his neck stood up. As he thought of those words, of again those sewn-together figures in the forms of shadows that had whispered to him. As silently as he could, he got up from his bedroll, leaving it and the servants behind, pulling to the side the cloth that covered the entrance of their tent, and stepped outside, meeting the grace of the bright blue light; it was almost blinding him as it was far too potent after just waking up. He still felt so tired, and he had no idea if it was late, if it was early, if it were the day or the night. How could he know? How could anyone know here?

    But outside, there was no one. Just the two other tents that had their entrances covered by a blackened cloth.

    He looked around, keeping his gaze from the mirror, as he did not wish to damage his own eyes. Where they were felt like a corner in a labyrinth; so angular was the cut on the walls of the cave, as well as the ceiling and the ground. It was far too perfect, and it must¡¯ve been shaped in such a way that the Atheians could direct their source of light toward other areas of their lands.

    He crouched down and felt the rock floor; its texture was coarse, and it felt somewhat warm to his hand; perhaps the light kept it somewhat warm. But why do I still feel so cold?

    He continued looking around, his gaze finding the walls that weren¡¯t too far away. He got up and walked to them, trying to be as silent as he could be. He could feel a wind that caressed his face; where said wind came from was a mystery. What gave these caves the air that they now breathed? He had no idea, and he wondered if even the Atheians knew.

    The rock wall loomed in front of him; up close, it was like the walls of a city. He placed his hand against it; its smoothness surprised him. He kept his hand on it as he walked to the right, toward the direction where they would head, perhaps in mere hours or less.

    Soon, the light that overwhelmed him at first became more dim, and he could again see one of those lanterns. He could also see the end of this section of the cave¡ªthe ending of this corner where the grand mirror was placed. He stopped at the edge. He stopped where the unnatural smooth wall ended and another one began. This one was the wall of a natural cave; its shapes were irregular, and it dominated the view until... It was cut off abruptly; it was veiled behind a darkness, a shadow that wavered, moved, and flickered. It bubbled. It must have. Past the lanterns to his left, held at bay by those brave lights...

    One of those lanterns flickered; it was as if it was calling for him to approach, as the shadows that wavered past it had. So he continued, letting his hand fall to his side. He walked to those lanterns, the ground changing as well, becoming a real cave floor, with rock here and there, with boulders on the sides of the road. He walked off the road toward the lights, soon reaching the one that flickered all alone, as the shadows in its light flickered violently, a mass wanting to enter the light, to vanquish it, to let it no more dominate their existence.

    Then it shut. The light it produced dwindled, and a violent rush of darkness assaulted him¡ªa wave of shadows that covered all that had been lit moments ago; wavering, quivering, smoldering... It hit him¡ªa physical touch of sorts. It was just dark. It was just cold. Now he could hear them. Their voices loud and quiet. He was forced to his knees; he was forced into that darkness; he was greeted by those voices as he began to suffocate, as he lost his ability to breathe once more; as his eyes were forced more open than before, a new kind of light, through all the pain that struck through him, was formed. He could see. He could see the darkness; he could see what they wanted him to see...

    A flash of light, a blue hue that pierced the darkness, that rooted him back into reality; the darkness perished; it screeched into his ears, demanding retribution for the crimes committed, yet, like a wave, it returned where it came from.

    Yet he could still hear them, yet he could still feel them; yet he could still see what they wanted him to see... They did not wish to be forgotten, yet they had been...

    ¡°Are you a fool, darshi?¡± A deep voice asked from behind him, ¡°The master wants you alive, not dead or driven into insanity by the voices.¡± It continued, then he was grabbed and lifted to his feet; the hand that grabbed him was strong, the fingers were gray and long, and at last, Kanrel looked behind to see who had most likely saved him.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n and its light blue eyes stared at him with an annoyed expression, as if it were offended by the very idea that it would fail its mission because of the foolishness of Kanrel. Then it looked past the human, at the lantern that had lost its light, and then it scoffed, ¡°Had I not followed you, your death would¡¯ve been most certain.¡±

    It let go of Kanrel and walked forward, holding in its hands a blue stone that helped it keep the shadows at bay as it soon reached the lantern and placed its other hand on top of it, and Kanrel could witness as the stone of that lantern burst into light anew. The rest of the shadows were violently pushed away, and some of them dwindled and perished on the floor as if wilting flowers dying and then becoming nothing, leaving behind not even ash.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n returned to him and placed its hand on Kanrel''s shoulder, its gaze as stern as it said, ¡°You will not mention this to anyone... Understand?¡± Its voice would¡¯ve been enough of a threat for Kanrel, but as it squeezed its hand around his shoulder, that threat became more apparent.

    The Atheian might have saved him now, but if he were to mention that he had come so close to possible death, then the Atheian would itself make sure that Kanrel would never see the light of day...

    He swallowed and made a quick nod. The Atheian did not smile; its gaze remained stern, yet it let go of Kanrel¡¯s shoulder and just simply walked past him, leaving him behind, knowing well that the human would follow it. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n could smell the stench of his fear; it could see it in his eyes.

 Chapter Seventy-Nine: The City of Creation and the Spire

    There was nothing like it that he had ever seen. From the floor of the cave up to the ceiling, there were buildings of different heights and sizes, tower-like things, some of which were connected through what seemed like bridges and stairs; some of the buildings hung from the ceiling, with thick chains keeping them above the ground; from so far away, it was massive, visibly so; and one couldn¡¯t tell where you should go or what you could do in such a city.

    But in the middle of it all, there was a building much larger than the rest, one they called the Spire. It reached from the floor to the ceiling, but in the middle of it, there was a large structure; a beam of light was directed toward it, and from that structure, which could only be a mechanism that distributed light to the rest of the city, multiple smaller beams of light shot in different directions, to each corner of the city, to different tall buildings that had large mirrors on top of them; these mirrors made the beams of light much wider and distributed the light as evenly as they could down beneath, amongst the smaller buildings, the squares and roads that populated the floor of the city.

    To build something as magnificent as this city was a feat of engineering and wit, but also desperation. Before they reached the city, A¡¯Trou¡¯n was kind enough to share some things about its history, the origins of the city, its purpose, and its fairly questionable form.

    ¡°When we first arrived here, thousands of years ago, there was a need for us to do things as we once did them.¡±

    ¡°It is said that above ground, we build massive cities like the City of Creation, with spires and towers populating the skyline of the city, some of those towers almost reaching the clouds, each of such buildings being the living and working space of thousands of people.¡±

    ¡°And I suppose that when our ancestors were forced beneath, forced to begin anew, many of them longed for what they were used to. So they tried to create their cities in the image of their past.¡±

    ¡°The City of Creation and L¡¯eu¡¯n Grau¡¯v, the City of Last Light, were built during those times; they are a testament to what we once were; but the rest of our cities aren¡¯t as such; they are different and newer, built by the generations that came after; that knew not of the light that was above, not of the stars that supposedly are many and further away than the sun, or what we once called the moon.¡±

    She told it all so casually, as someone who was part of the generation that had long ago lost the hope of regaining their ancestral home, seeing the stars, and living in ever-present light, for Kanrel knew that there seldom were moments when there was no light at all. At least above.

    Here all lights were artificial, created, or touched by magic. It reminded him of the streetlights in N¡¯Sharan and how some of the Sharan would deplete themselves of their magic just to light the lamps that kept the city lit through the nights. He wondered if such happened to those who lit the blue stones that lit their world, or would they just slowly get more and more addicted to the powers they used, until they were unable to reach another high, another moment of ecstasy, or that which, according to Lou''Deu''n, felt something like love but not quite.

    Each step closer made the city consume his view; first, he was able to observe it from far, seeing the edges of the city, but soon it was all that he could see. The city had no traditional walls; instead, there were buildings that served as the wall of the city, and not too far off from that outer wall, there was a layer of evenly placed lanterns lit with their blue light, serving as a line of defense against the darkness that wished to consume them all; and on top of those buildings, there was another layer of such lanterns.

    The road they had walked here didn¡¯t have as much traffic as Kanrel had at first thought it to have, but now he could see a caravan leaving the city, wagons that were pulled by serfs who wore loincloth, all heading in the direction of the Blue-Stone Village. Kanrel could imagine what they mainly transported to the City of Creation: tons of blue crystal, which they would make into useable trinkets, be it lanterns or other simpler devices able to produce light here.

    At what was the entrance to the city, they were greeted by guards, who, at the first sight of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, stepped aside and saluted their superior officer; and even if they tried to keep all expression away from their faces, one could easily see what they soon mostly looked at, who was in their sights. A sense of wonder, even confusion, could be seen in those eyes; a creature like Kanrel, to them, was a sight to behold. Something no one had ever seen, as far as they could tell...

    In the city itself, Kanrel could, at last, observe Atheians of varied walks of life, of different occupations, and not just serfs or guards, but who seemed like commoners, some of whom were clearly richer than the rest, some who were visibly poor, but either way, he could finally see variety, and not just the stark contrast of Y¡¯Kraun and A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡ªa serf and a noble.

    And those many eyes made way for them; perhaps it was just that they could recognize the nobility in their party, or perhaps it was because of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n again. It was possible that the Atheian was a famous figure in this city, a local hero, or a local villain...

    Looking around, there were far too many points of interest¡ªtoo much happening all at once. Street vendors, that sold everything from food, clothes, trinkets, and drinks to even a night with someone far prettier than you. The buildings were highly decorated, with engravings running from the very first inches of the building all the way up its highest point. There seemed to be not a moment of silence amongst the crowds, making him again feel what he felt at N¡¯Sharan, but this time it felt real; he wasn¡¯t unseen, he wasn¡¯t forgotten or never there; he was seen by all who had to get out of their way. And many, far too many, stopped for a moment to observe a little longer, to stare at the foreigner and his party.

    Even this made Kanrel question the motives of everyone involved with his arrival here. It was made into a subtle show; they did not try to hide his arrival, even when they could, even when they probably should. He felt like one of the prostitutes on this very market; he was shown around the town like a product to be later sold; now there was just a need for an auction and an auctioneer.

    Every faction in this city, every faction in the lands of the Atheians, would now hear of his arrival¡ªthe arrival of a curious specimen that possibly came from above the ground, or perhaps past the veil of shadows that lingered around the lands of the Atheians, keeping all further exploration at bay...

    Now these factions, some with far greater curiosity than others, would come and seek him out; they would enter this city as they had; they would enter the Spire, where he¡¯d most likely spend the foreseeable future. They would seek his audience, question his very existence, his motives, the place where he had come from, the history of his people, what might be above ground, who he is, and who he served... Everything that he had told so far, he would have to tell again, and again, and again. Many times over, each and every single thing that he had¡ªeach memory and thought, every piece of history and lore¡ªwould come under the scrutiny of the lingering ears and eyes that wanted him to part ways with said information.

    He¡¯d be like a wandering storyteller, yet he wasn¡¯t allowed to wander. At least it was unlikely that he¡¯d be allowed to do so; it would be a great wonder if he were allowed to do anything at all, or if all things that might bring him harm would be taken away from him. Of course, he¡¯d be taken care of... But just for how long? For how long would these gray beings stay interested enough in a creature that, in the end, could never bring them closer to their ancestral homelands, only being able to give a dim view of it through memory and tale...

    What a useless life that would be. Of course, memories were important; some things ought to be remembered for as long as possible for the simple creature that he is. But to linger with just a section of said memories on a day-to-day basis, repeating a set of words that would become as if rehearsed. A monotone litany of phrases, pieces of information for the easily amused and ever-curious creatures that were the Atheians. Such would most definitely be a hellish experience, and just for how long? Days? Months? Decades? More than that?

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    The Spire was an evil-looking thing, even in its grandeur. It was like a stone wall that stood between him and the view that might be on the other side. It was like a singular spruce tree stuck in a forest of birch, reaching far above the rest, like an overseer who would see all; its section of mirrors that distributed light below was like an eye that seemed to never shut. It made Kanrel wonder if it would be so throughout the days; would the lights never go out? Would it always be bright in this city of creation?

    Along its walls were, at first, irregular-looking engravings, sporadic, even, but if one were to look for long enough to observe each and every engraving, it was clear that these what seemed like simple lines, dots, and odd shapes in fact created a pattern that repeated itself throughout the grand spire. And its entrance was a set of doors, reminiscent of those that he saw below the academy, in a chamber which he entered through a magical set of stairs¡ªa creation constructed by the very race of beings that inhabited this city as well. The doors were similar, massive stone doors with even more engravings on them, but just larger than were necessary.

    Thus, they stopped at the doorstep of the Spire and waited for them to open. And open they did.

    The ground slightly shook as the doors came apart; a sharp light came from within, which soon became subtle as the eyes of the beholders got used to the sight. Inside inside they could see a massive hall with pillars that went as high as the eye could see from outside. Two long lines of guards stood on either side of the hall, leaving a walkway clear for anyone and all who might enter. And enter they did.

    At the moment, it felt far too casual, considering the context of the situation as well as the scale of the building they had just entered. There was no fanfare for the arrival of the lord''s dear sister, nor one for the return of their beloved, or less so, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n. They just walked ahead, while the guards on both sides of the hall gave them no regard; their eyes did not scan the people who had just entered; they did not even glance at Kanrel. The party was air for the guards that stood still.

    The hall and its columns were garnished with familiar-looking creatures, and the ceiling was like that of a cathedral''s, on it there were murals and paintings, which seemed rather unusual within the Atheian society, but Kanrel had no time to inspect them further or even begin to guess what they were supposed to depict as they hurried through the hall, past another set of stone doors, these one¡¯s much smaller than the previous one¡¯s, and entered a room filled with wonders.

    Another grand hall, this one clearly meant for official meetings and such; perhaps the people of the city would arrive here and wait for their turn to be at the audience of the lord of this city, who might or might not grant them boons for the services or for their audacious begging.

    There were no more guards in sight, and ahead they could see people standing before an elevated platform, looking toward the person who sat upon an obsidian throne far above the rest. The Atheian stood up at the first sight of the people that had arrived. ¡°At last, my sister has come for my audience¡ªare you here to yield your lands and your titles, as I have advised you to do so many times before?¡± The Atheian spoke, their voice easily carrying itself to the just-arrived party; his gaze went from person to person; perhaps he made a mental note of each, be it a serf, a servant, a guard, his sister, or a Darshi.

    ¡°But regardless, I¡¯ve missed you dearly; these ten long years have been quite painful for me, who has had to tend the value and glory of our name all by myself.¡±

    ¡°I do not blame you, dear sister; it is not easy to submit... I would know this better than most.¡±

    ¡°Thus, I welcome you and your party of serfs, guards, and more interestingly, former lovers and a Darshi,¡± the Atheian chuckled. ¡°I was doubtful that you¡¯d agree to be even within a mile of Captain Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, let alone a few feet away... But years do change us all; even I have changed, dear sister.¡± His smile told it all¡ªthe immense pleasure he felt in this moment, the utter control he had of this situation; everyone here could do nothing before him, and it was more than apparent, for no one else dared to utter a word, nor to hold his venomous words in contempt.

    Surprisingly, A¡¯Trou¡¯n did the same gesture her own servants did to her, yet in her eyes, there was a sharp edge that was difficult to not notice: ¡°I greet you, brother. I¡¯ve been most busy with far more important matters than to come here; for this, I must beg for your forgiveness... How does fare your old wound? Does it still fester? Does it still hurt when you go near a shadow?¡± She then asked suddenly.

    The Athiean sat back down on its throne, its smile was now gone, its expression becoming serious, yet the spite in his eyes remained from the very first moment it had laid eyes on his sister.

    ¡°There have been none to push me accidentally nor purposefully toward the shadows.¡± He claimed, ¡°But do not worry dear sister, I¡¯ve long since forgiven your accidental attempt to seize my throne. You know, it could happen to anyone, anywhere, at any time." He soon added quite casually, then, slowly, he stood up again, this time descending from his platform, walking past the people that had gathered for his audience, ignoring their baffled expressions and curious eyes, as he soon arrived in front of his sister; but his gaze went past, and he saw only Kanrel.

    ¡°I can see the pearl in his ear, as I see one in yours and one in the ear of your serf.¡± It whispered so that the people near the throne would not be able to hear him now. ¡°Then it must understand each and every single word we¡¯ve said thus far... How wonderful, dear sister, it makes me wonder just what it has heard and what you¡¯ve heard in return." His voice was soft, and one could misunderstand his tone to be gentle, yet his eyes told the whole story: If he was allowed, he¡¯d kill his own sister, right here and right now.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n smiled, ¡°It is so; I¡¯ve heard so much by now; it is all so wonderful... Stories of the history of the Darshi, their beliefs, and their powers... And even of the angels¡­¡± Her voice was soft as ever, and her eyes told the same story as did her brother¡¯s.

    Her brother smiled in return, ¡°Isn''t this just exciting? I cannot wait to hear all about it myself.¡± Then he walked past his sister, stepping in front of Kanrel. He offered his hand, like a gracious host, and with a wide smile on his face, he introduced himself: ¡°We are no other than A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra A¡¯Kau¡¯Tou¡¯n¡ªthe lord of this city and the overlord of all the petty nobles, landowners, and such that live on this side of the lands of shadows below.¡±

    ¡°We welcome you to our grand city, among our esteemed people; here, we will treat you well and let no harm make your way, lest you welcome it yourself by your words or your deeds,¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra spoke, his smile slowly fading away, still holding his hand toward Kanrel, who was almost unwilling to touch it, to hold it in his own.

    The Atheian scoffed, still waiting for the human to offer him his hand. ¡°We see that you have no understanding of common courtesy; it begs to wonder if such concepts are familiar to a creature such as yourself, or is it all just because of the fear in your eyes?¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra whispered and grabbed Kanrel¡¯s hand and forced him to shake hands with him.

    Suddenly, Kanrel was pulled closer, and he heard a whisper no one else could hear: ¡°We feel and we can see that you¡¯ve come in contact with the veil as well... Do you, at night, hear their voices?¡±

    The handshake ended abruptly, as again, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra had a wide smile on his face. ¡°It is most wonderful to meet someone like yourself, Darshi; alas, we will speak further at another point in time; as you might all see, we have visitors, all so curious about you and your existence.¡± He said and then began to walk back to the platform and the obsidian throne on top of it.

    ¡°Hurry now, my dear sister, settle in with your entourage and join me and my guests as we debate the matter of the Darshi.¡± He soon added, practically dismissing their party without giving another look back.

 Chapter Eighty: The First Lie Veiled With a Smile

    In all of its glory, the beautiful engravings that garnished the walls, the comfortable bed, the view out to the city below, the presumed quality of the food that he got to eat¡ªthis lavish experience was, in the end, an experience in another prison. It was as if a prisoner had been transported to another prison; this prison was just slightly nicer, but the warden of this prison was perhaps a tad more insane than the previous one. You could see it in his eyes, his actions, and especially in his words.

    How, during the long sessions of interviews and examinations, the lord of the City of Creation would stare at him, now a pearl in his own ear, able to understand everything that the human would tell them.

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra would tap the arm of his chair in a slow, irregular beat. He would ask questions that would not at times make sense within the context of the conversation, questions that not many would think to ask, ¡°Is your heart a mess?¡± ¡°Does it palpitate with fear or love?¡± ¡°Have you killed someone you loved?¡± ¡°Can you, even love?¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t answer those questions, not because he didn¡¯t know the answers to them, but because it was difficult to speak the truth so candidly, so openly, to ears who would use this truth to their own benefit. And some, be they truths or not, be they intertwined with emotion or not, are difficult to, regardless, say out loud. Some words get stuck in your throat; you want to say them out loud, and you so solemnly do want to confess whatever it might be that weighs on your mind. But you just can¡¯t say them; you just can¡¯t speak the truth. Lest those words stuck in your throat untangle and unwind themselves, bringing forth a burst of emotion that you can¡¯t control nor handle at the moment, or perhaps ever. Yet one yearns to release them, to set them free so that you yourself might be free at last.

    So he lied because that was the easier thing to do. And after each lie, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra would smile as if knowing the truth.

    ¡°No, my heart has never been a mess. No love nor fear have I felt. Never have I killed someone I loved. No, I cannot love, for I forgot how." Each lie is one that brings forth a memory you almost want to forget¡ªa regret that is there and remains even if you think you¡¯ve gotten past it. When can one get past such regret?

    He had hoped for change to come¡ªfor him to be someone he was not, a better version of who he had become; but he could never change for as long as he refused to do so for the sake of a memory.

    This was insanity. He had made himself insane. All for the sake of a set of memories that made him tell those lies. They would populate his mind, even when he didn¡¯t think about them for a long while, yet they would always return as unresolved, even when he thought a simple confession within his mind was enough or one made on a letter left between the pages of an old book.

    People who are unwilling to change never do so. People who refuse to be honest, at least to themselves, can never be who they truly are. And if one is unable to face the consequences of his own actions nor his own emotions, he then must distract himself; force himself to not think nor face what might as well be around the next corner; thus, when Kanrel wasn¡¯t being examined or interviewed by, at first, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra and his personal companions, be they other nobels, wealthy members of society, scholars, or even priests, Kanrel would spend his time with magic. The theory and the practice of it; after all, his time stuck in the visions had given him a better understanding of it, a better feel for it, and now it was time for him to hone and better the system that he had come up with. To push himself past his own initial ability, to come, at least, a little bit closer to the power that the Sharan and the Atheians seemed to be able to wield.

    By now, in comparison to most other priests, he would most likely be far more powerful and knowledgeable about magic and how it truly works. But if he wanted to make sure that he¡¯d survive this alien environment with its outlandish inhabitants, he would have to come up with ways to make sure that he¡¯d live no matter what even if he¡¯d find himself a murderer once more.

    A murderer once more... Would it be murder to kill a being of another species? Of another race, especially when that race or species is as or even more intelligent than his own species. It was a line of questions that he had wondered before, but more so in the context of livestock: Was it murder to kill a sheep or a cow? A pig or a rabbit? Of course, it wouldn¡¯t be for the pleasure of it; it was simply for food. He himself had never killed one, but he had eaten said meat; was he then not a participant in a line of practice that one could, depending on his or her own morals and ethics, consider murder?

    Of course, he wouldn¡¯t eat an Atheian, nor would he kill one with the purpose of eating one. But then again, in the end, he would only ever have to kill one if his own life was in danger.

    He wouldn¡¯t kill a dog unless it attacked him first. He wouldn''t kill a wolf or a bear unless it wanted his blood. Thus, he wouldn¡¯t kill an Atheian unless it wanted to kill him. When he had been in the body of Hartar Agna, he hadn¡¯t cared as much, since he was far too cognizant of the fact that it was, more or less, a dream in which everything had happened. As Ignar, on the other hand, in the moment he had killed Kalla, he didn¡¯t know that he was, in fact, Kanrel Iduldian; that all that happened had happened in a dream. But at least, when he woke up, he knew that he was Kanrel, who dreamed of being the Sharan known as Ignar; but in a way, he couldn¡¯t be certain that he wasn¡¯t Ignar dreaming of being Kanrel instead. Thus, he wondered if there truly was any difference at all between Kanrel and Ignar. They were, after all, so similar in the end.

    There was something Kanrel had noticed, a feeling that had gradually become more prominent the closer they had gotten to the city, and now at the heart of it, it wavered and remained still; this foul air, the disgust that he felt, became so still, something he could get used to. It was like water in a swamp that had once been a battlefield; the air felt stuffy and the water had no movement, and each step had to be taken hesitantly, lest you get swallowed by that swamp and drown in its still waters. And if you took no step and remained still as did the water, then you¡¯d surely become sick. It was as if the foul feeling that surrounded him would alter him somehow. Affect his mind, not with fear or anything like that, but with murderous desires, and the regret and grief of those who had long ago perished. It felt as wrong, if not even more wrong than what he felt when using magic... And that regret, that grief that was intertwined with it all, reminded him of that touch...

    He brought his hand to his chest. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could still hear them. Shivers ran down his spine, and he found himself looking outside of the window¡ªpast the buildings and the lights, past the lanterns that kept them at bay, toward the shadows that lay claim to all else.

    He ought to remember them, whoever they were, whoever brought them their demise... But who could tell him the truth? Who would know about that truth?

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Do you, at night, hear their voices?¡± He had asked him... There might be just that one person who knows more about them than he does. Kanrel needed a private audience with A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, but the rest would not leave his side, not those who had brought him here nor those who seemed to be under the direct command of A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra. To have such an audience with him seemed nigh impossible.

    During the first two days at the City of Creation, he found the answer to one of the questions that he had: Does the city remain bright through the nights as well? And the answer was a simple "no,¡± which came during a moment far less simple than the answer received...

    The first night, being unable to sleep as he was, Kanrel had stood and looked outside from the large window that gave a view of the city below and the things that were past it. He had a thought, one he had had before. A certain call one sometimes has; some have it when they face times of deep trouble; some have it in their nature; some have it regardless if it is in their nature or if their lives are troubled; sometimes one just has such a call when it fits the situation, be it because of curiosity, be it an actual call from the beyond; a call of return, for have we not all been born from the void, the emptiness and lack of memories that we have before a certain point in our childhoods? And do we not return to such a state of nothingness in the end? First, we see nothing, then the world blinds us with its light... We live, mostly in the light of day, through difficult times, true happiness and love, through hatred and regret, through forgiveness and illness, until we reach the final moments of our lives. We die in whichever circumstances seem to fit us the most, be it disease, be it old age, be it through violence or worse; be it surrounded by our loved ones, be it alone, in our beds when we least expect it... The world blinds us once more, this time not with the light but with the lack of it. We return to that darkness we came from as if it were a womb that surrounds us; just the only difference is the kiss of coldness that leaves our hearts empty and unable to beat, for even it shuts down as the lights fade away.

    And the lights went out. The bright lights that came from above him shut, and so did those that were across the city; the buildings on top of which the mirrors were and distributed the light among its streets went out, and all lights except the lanterns that surrounded the city gave no bright blue hue to give world color.

    It felt symbolic, in a way. This absence of light and color that was outside; instead, he again saw himself mirrored on that window. He still wore that white piece of clothing that had been given to him at the village; his beard was short, and by now he was well groomed. His eyes weren¡¯t so sunk anymore, and his face had regained some of what it had lost during his years of starvation.

    This woke him from his thoughts at last¡ªthis vision of himself as he was now. He had again made the mistake of giving his mind too much power over him. A mind when it wonders so isn¡¯t always as rational as one wants it to be. After all, the mind isn¡¯t just the mechanism that processes things that are of a rational kind; emotions are a large part of it, and one¡¯s so-called rational mind will always be controlled by emotions, as it is most evident in the conclusions that one reaches whilst they ponder things of importance, like relationship drama and the meaning behind the words the person you like said to you, not to mention questions like, ¡°Why do I always feel so tired?¡± and ¡°I am hungry... What should I eat?¡±

    Kanrel, who had long ago likened himself to be a logical being with a sound and rational mind, a student far above his peers in his wits and his wisdom, had now, with a long enough life experience, come to understand that yes, his heart was a mess, and his mind was controlled by the fickle emotions that all humans have to deal with; of course, some emotions were emitted by the nature of his condition given to him by his occupation.

    He formed a joyless smirk with his lips and observed the reaction on his face. Perhaps it was time to learn how to smile. Perhaps a smile helps veil a lie? But if one veils one lie with another lie, would he have to veil the veil of that lie with yet another lie? Or will there be a moment in which a lie is best covered with the truth?

    He let the smirk fade away, and snorted at his own thoughts, as if he truly found them funny, a third lie to hide the first two... But which was the first lie that prompted him to hide it with another?

    A memory forced itself as he was about to turn away, as he saw his far too comfortable bed and then, at last, a couch that faced away from the bed. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± he had lied, ¡°just don¡¯t give up, and everything will be fine.¡± Then he had crowned that lie with a smile¡ªthe first normal-looking smile that had ever covered his face. But it had all been a lie.

    Uanna¡­ Was she well? Had his lie worked? Was everything fine?

    Kanrel gritted his teeth and went to the table where his notebook lay; it was open on a page about magical theory, a new investigation he had recently begun into the differences and the similarities with all the types of magic he had run into thus far. The magic of the humans, which was granted to them by the Angels; the magic of the Sharan; the magic of the Atheians... and the magical item Yirn had used to turn himself into an eldritch monster...

    He sat down and continued his work; he really didn¡¯t want to, but even less so did he want to think about the past. Just once, just for tonight, he wished that no memory of the things that had happened so long ago would populate his torn mind. The memory of Uanna and the many lies he had told since then... Even if such a lie was meant to comfort someone else, even then he found regret in said lie... He could¡¯ve at least covered the lie with the truth. Told in all honesty to at least her how difficult it was, their time at the Academic Hospital, strapped to the bed that brought them only pain. He could¡¯ve shared his thoughts about the difficulties of this new experience, the life of a priest that they all had to go through, for it was evident that he wasn¡¯t the only one who went through such a difficult time; they all had lived through hell.

    Would it have been so wrong to share that pain with someone? To help carry their pain, to let them lean on you so that you might lean on them in turn; to carry the weight of the powerless together in their hearts and on their shoulders... Even if the priests had magic, were they not among their peers as pitiful and powerless as those they were meant to serve?

    Those words had been stuck in his throat for so long...

    He grabbed his pen and began to write. He forced himself into different thoughts, to use his mind in the most rational way he thought possible, extending his mind into numbers and letters while writing code that he¡¯d hopefully be able to test soon. One in particular that he thought that he would need here the most: light. And not just any light, but a light that had the property of those blue stones, the attribute or whatever, which gave them the ability to repel the shadows that were all around them...

 Chapter Eighty-One: A Scholar From the Grand Library

    The many hours, which soon turned into days during which he had to recall, explain, and share much of the history and other general information that he had garnered of his own species thus far, soon felt as monotonous and frustrating as he thought it would. And the information he received in turn was just speculation on his part. When he asked a question, it often went ignored, especially when the first members of the other factions came to see him, one by one. Making him tell the same thing that he had told just a few hours earlier.

    In a way, it was a saddening development on his part. He had once loved history and the study of it; he would often get lost on its pages, pondering the very same questions that he had to now answer. That which had begun as a story that he told to the Atheians slowly began turning into a report he would tell on command, over and over again.

    The only times he felt like he had a meaningful conversation was whenever Y¡¯Kraun would escort him from his room to the baths, from there to the dining room, and from there to whichever room or chamber he had to sit in and tell his stories, until Y¡¯Kraun would escort him back again, usually taking the same route they had taken earlier.

    At least he remained somewhat helpful; the Atheian would after and before each meeting give some information about the different factions Kanrel would meet. Giving him a further understanding of the political climate as well as the hierarchical structure of the Atheian society.

    ¡°First, the lowest caste is the serfs, the common people, who have no real power; they are tied to the lands they work on... We call them, and ourselves, M¡¯eu T¡¯eu¡¯n, The Poor.¡±

    ¡°The second caste is usually commoners that have received a meaningful education, usually one that is academic or artisanal in nature; they usually work in cities much closer to the nobles and more important members of society. The artisans have no unified faction that would be meaningful; they usually have just guilds that are related to their given craft.¡±

    ¡°But the academics, on the other hand, have a faction that has a considerable amount of sway in our society, since there is just one organization that deals with most schooling related to the more academic fields of study; they stem from the capital, as do all of these factions, and they are known as M¡¯eu R¡¯ou¡¯rk A¡¯r¡¯teu¡¯k, the Grand Library¡ªmost doctors, historians, and researchers are affiliated with this faction, and this has to be kept in mind when dealing with them... For them, information itself is of the utmost importance; their headquarters, which is the largest university in the land, collects this information in the library. For them, information is power.¡±

    ¡°The clergy forms the third caste; throughout history, they¡¯ve been of much higher importance, but in recent times their place in our society has decreased."

    "Many now believe that a more rational basis is better when leading a society toward the future; less occultism is needed, and the belief in gods that might as well not exist and in those gods that do but do not care for us is seen by many as useless and even archaic at times.¡±

    ¡°Two meaningful factions stem from the clergy... The Church of the Lord Above, and the Herd of the God Who Hung... The former is a newer religion; the engraving you saw in the chamber where I found you depicts that ¡®lord from above¡¯; and the former is a religion from the times of our grand empire above the ground, perhaps less of a god and more of a philosophical leader and a revolutionary, but one who was then elevated into godhood later on.¡±

    ¡°Both religions are useful tools for those who know how to use them.¡±

    ¡°Then there is the fourth caste, perhaps a newer development in our society, again, mostly of commoners, who have through their education or by other means risen the ranks of our society and reached considerable wealth; but mainly a caste that is made out of the nobles, landowners, and merchants. They often rule over the serfs and employ the scholars, the artisans, and the clergy for their needs. They have no unified faction, but we often lump them together and call them M¡¯eu T¡¯au¡¯n, the Wealthy.¡±

    ¡°Then there is the second to last caste, the fifth caste, who we call M¡¯eu Gu¡¯u Tou¡¯t, the Universal Truth. They are magicians, who have received their formal education in the only place in our lands that actually gives a further education for any Atheian who has a considerable talent or ability in magic, the allusive seat of learning that is the Sanctuary. One can expect that all mages that have received their education at the Sanctuary are members of the Universal Truth.¡±

    ¡°And at last, there is the final caste, the sixth caste, one above all else. The Council of Many Faces is an organization and a faction that rules over our society. There isn¡¯t much information about them, since they hide their identity with masks; yet one can expect that they are powerful members of our society.¡±

    ¡°It is known that one is chosen to become a member of the council. But that is all that is known...¡±

    Kanrel made notes of these facts that had been given to him; somehow, the clergy and the two different religions that he was told about were quite familiar to him, in a way. In Rant Jenkse¡¯s hidden cellar, he found a book that mentioned the God Who Hung. How was such knowledge of an ancient religion of another species found by humans thousands of years later? And why had it formed into a cult, whose members wore grotesque masks and involved themselves with human sacrifice and the thing they called ¡°true magic¡±?

    Then there was the Lord Above; clearly one of the Sharan, one of the Angels that drove the Atheians beneath the ground and then locked them in... Why had that become a religion for them? Was it not logical to instead hate such a creature, for had it not brought them doom? Had it not locked them beneath the ground? Had it not usurped their ancestral homelands from them?

    Perhaps they wanted to believe that they should blame themselves for what happened, that what happened was something they deserved, a divine punishment for the crimes they had committed...

    Through elaborate engravings, Kanrel could observe the history of the Atheians as he walked with Y¡¯Kraun to yet another meeting he would have to attend. The Spire, as it was built and as its walls were decorated, soon told a story of the Atheians, from the beginning of their first meeting with the Angels to the destruction of their civilization, through to the beginning of their imprisonment, how they settled the first cities, finding light anew; and the shadows that approached them from somewhere, gradually making the lands they could settle smaller and smaller until they figured out to block its approach; and apparently, the highest floors were yet to receive their own engravings, as that which was to come, hasn¡¯t yet happened. Their history wasn¡¯t finished; their time in the world hadn¡¯t come to an end. They still were; they yet remained. But those walls without anything to populate them felt bare and empty, as if there was no more history to come if one were to look at it with such cynicism. The empty walls were either a history yet untold or the void they would all enter, as there¡¯d be no one to remember them or to engrave how they met their demise.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    There was one engraving in particular that caught Kanrel¡¯s eyes. It depicted the founding of light anew and the city they built beneath it. A great crystal on the top of the engraving, with lines colored in blue casting downward where the awaiting Atheians basked in said rays, holding their hands together, forming a wall of people. Perhaps there was symbolism there that he wasn¡¯t aware of.

    They made their way down one floor at a time, as if going back in time as the style of engravings would change, as history became more bleak, until they reached the moment where the Lord From Above was depicted, its wings spread blocking the sun from view, casting a great shadow to the world, to the Atheians that looked from beneath, with fear and awe in their eyes. The angel''s sword was in motion, ready to strike, to execute the eyes beneath.

    But that engraving broke apart, the stones moved, and a door opened; an Atheian walked out, their eyes sparkling with some unknown intent, and yet another emotion Kanrel found difficult to name... He met eyes with A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra. In those eyes, there was a spark that would one day turn into flames and scorch his enemies as he saw there to be many of them all around him.

    He smiled, ¡°Serf, have you yet told our human which faction he is about to meet?¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra asked as the engraving behind him became whole again. The stone doors closed, and it was as if there had never been an opening there.

    Y¡¯Kraun made a sign of respect and cast his eyes down. ¡°I have not, my lord; I will do so soon.¡±

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra chuckled, ¡°Don¡¯t ''lord'' me; we both know where your allegiances lie.¡±

    ¡°Well, unless you one day wish to leave the shackles of your current position behind, for I believe I have much more to give than my dear old sister has.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, share with our human all the information that you might have; groom him to be understanding and obedient, ready to share his own knowledge with us, and he might live much longer than many anticipate him to live.¡±

    ¡°Not to mention, his next guest he might quite like,¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra said and made his way down as well, as he would as well attend this next meeting.

    What was behind those doors? Kanrel wondered; there must¡¯ve been a reason why it was so well hidden.

    Y¡¯Kraun soon explained what A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra wanted him to share: ¡°Now, you will be meeting a member of the Grand Library; apparently, it is someone who is more or less up-to-date to a certain point, but they apparently have many questions that they would like to ask; they basically want more information regarding what they know so far.¡±

    ¡°It is someone I¡¯ve met before?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea; probably just someone who has read reports of the other scholars.¡±

    The floor where they would have their meeting had engravings of the grand empire of the Atheians. Tall buildings that populated the earth, some reaching the clouds and touching the skies, told a tale of the time when the Atheians ruled the world and looked down on nature itself as they saw themselves as far superior to even its powers.

    They entered through the doorway, another familiar room where Kanrel had by now spent many hours harassed by questions and the curious eyes of the far too many Atheians to name who had come to see him, the human from above.

    A comfortable room at least, a circular room with couches running along its edge; there were three people there already. A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, seemed rather smug as they were not too far away from his sister, A''Trou''n, who seemed unamused by the situation. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n stood further away, his gaze directed toward the doorway; he would not even glance at the siblings to the left of him.

    In the middle of the room, there was a low platform on which pillows were placed; again, Kanrel sat in the middle on those very pillows and waited for whoever might grace them with their presence. His back was toward the doorway and his face toward the siblings. Y¡¯Kraun went on his knees on the ground right next to the platform.

    The silence was uncomfortable. It was far more awkward than it should be allowed to be. There were three Athieans whose history was far too complicated for him; things had happened, and they seemed to mostly hate each other, and those reasons, be they justified or not, were almost completely unknown to him. Were they once not like this? He wondered, glancing at each of them in turn. One had tried to, possibly, murder the other; one was the victim of said attempt; and one had been lovers with the first one...

    This hostile atmosphere¡ªhe wanted to understand it. This history needed to be explained. Perhaps if he ever got the chance to candidly ask, then he would, but one, any one of them, wants to answer. Or would they all be offended by his questions?

    His line of thought was soon strayed and broken as he heard footsteps behind him. Someone had entered through the doorway, and in an instant, Kanrel could witness how A¡¯Trou¡¯n got up to her feet and walked forward, her eyes ablaze; A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra¡¯s smug smile birthed a grin; and Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n seemed as uninterested as ever; there was no change of expression on his face, not even when his ex-love had such a reaction.

    ¡°Well, well, well, the rat has found his way back in.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n sneered, her words spat out at the sight of the person.

    Kanrel turned around at last to see the person who had caused such a reaction to come out of her.

    A proud-looking scholar stood in front of A¡¯Trou¡¯n; at this moment they seemed as if an equal with his superior, unafraid of the words that she might tell him. ¡°You hurt me, my liege,¡± the scholar smirked. ¡°I am, after all, your brother¡¯s esteemed guest.¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n feigned offense.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n stared at the scholar for a few moments before snorting, ¡°Then I¡¯ve said nothing that could offend you... To my knowledge, and you can correct me on this one, my pompous friend, don¡¯t rats squirrel around usually in packs?¡±

    The scholar chuckled, ¡°Well yes, and do you know what they call a group of rats?¡± He asked.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n scoffed, ¡°A mischief...¡±

    The scholar¡¯s grin widened as they then ignored and walked past his superior, stepping past Y¡¯Kraun, who had kept their gaze downward; he walked to A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra and fell to his knees, ¡°My lord, I am most grateful for this chance to meet someone so great and just as yourself; I am nothing more than your most humble servant.¡± He said and offered his hands toward A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra as a sign of total submission.

    The lord of the City of Creation stared only at his sister. ¡°We are most pleased that such talent has found its way under the wings of my sister; you may stay for as long as you wish.¡±

    ¡°I thank you, my lord,¡± Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n said and got up, his gaze turning toward Kanrel at last. He walked to him and stopped right in front of the platform. ¡°And after all this, we are united, me and my most wonderous specimen... We will spend so much more time together from now on; no more useless translators or filtering of words; at last, there might be truth... Well, at least a form of it.¡±

    And at last, Kanrel could see the pearl in his right ear. Now, the scholar could understand all. There¡¯d be no more secrets kept from him.

    An ominous feeling crept into his mind as he looked deep into Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s eyes, how they sparkled in colors of blue, and an unexplainable desire showcased itself, just for a moment. And so began a long session of questions, and for each, Kanrel had to give a detailed answer, as that was what the scholar demanded.

 Chapter Eighty-Two: Rain

    If I were blessed with the sun on my face, and should there be light to give me its embrace, would I feel cold, like I do now, or would I feel its warmth, as I once perhaps did before? And if there was rain to cleanse me of my sins, would it be warm as might be the rains of a summer day, or will they be cold and sorrowful, like those of fall... I wonder about this and much more, as I wish that it could be so just one last time.

    Truth, whatever that word truly meant, was an uncomfortable experience, especially the one he now had to share with Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n. The scholar had no shame in his question; he didn¡¯t seem to care if a given topic could be uncomfortable or even taboo to someone of another species. He had no concept of shame in such a situation.

    When they first met, Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n had during one meeting made him feel like an animal and in the next one a human; now he was back feeling like an animal. Just a subject for an undefined amount of questions that he would have to answer.

    For the first few hours, it felt almost normal; the questions made sense given their previous interaction, particularly about the information that the scholar had to receive through a filter created by A¡¯Trou¡¯n. He retold the story of the Angel, the first meeting between the first herald and the Angel, who had enticed her first with power, then invited her to bring more of her kin to them to receive their blessings.

    The king and his question to the angel, and the answer and the demand that followed. How the king soon kneeled and offered him to follow the lead of the angels so that his people might be saved, even if it could mean eternal slavery for all of mankind.

    He told the story of the war that soon followed, the great battles during which humanity turned the tides of war, repelled the onslaught of the Wildkin, killing them until the very few that remained returned to where they had come from, and re-entering the great desert that was once thought to be a lush garden that had been devoured by the beasts that had crossed it.

    Kanrel told of the foundation of the Priesthood and the creation of the first unified kingdom of men; the southern states, cities, and kingdoms becoming one under the kingdom of Lo¡¯Gran; how they began their expansion northward, soon laying the foundation for new cities and even the Academy of the Heavenly, as the first Herald shared the location where it ought to be built.

    The nascent human kingdom soon became the greatest of its kind, and there was a general sense of peace for a long time, until the death of the first Herald. But before her death, she had prophesied that another would take her place, another Herald to serve as a link between humanity and the heavens and the angels that rule over them.

    For a while, there was fear that they might lose the blessings they had received, that if the Wildkin might once more attack, they would not survive, and that the Angels had decided humanity to not be worthy of their blessings. A kingdom-wide crisis was born at the moment of her death; multiple years of disarray only soothed when the second Herald found her way to Lo¡¯Gran and its grand cathedral. There she shared with the Priesthood the vision that she had seen:

    In the darkness of the night, you whispered to me. In my dreams, you called for me.

    All you did was call for my name. You gave me a name.

    "Human¡­ Ca¡¯leth¡­ You are what I foresaw." The Angel stood before me in all of their height, this creature so magnificent, so grotesque...

    In the darkness of their light, they told me their secret. I was to be their harbinger, a herald; I was to be the one to record their words.

    "You will find them... You will again unify them; you will be the one to end a war before it might start. For there will be a time when a great war will come; then you will not be here; but those who come after you will be... A great shadow will veil the earth, and from that, war shall begin; war shall sweep the lands you call home."

    In the shadow of their light, I trembled in their presence. Most of my emotions I had lost, yet here I was, in joy and in fear. Just looking at them and not fully understanding the words they had just said, they had become an enigma¡ªa mystery with many meanings.

    Before the light, I was nothing. Before the light, I am nothing, not even a thing that might cast a shadow. Before their light, I was only in their shadow.

    I bear not look, I dare not see, and I must not let them see my tears. Before them, I am nothing. Nothing.

    And when the light dissipates, I am once more in the dark, in this tiny hut I must call home. Joy is once again just a memory. Suffering had returned, but now it was different. I had something to do; I had to end a war.

    For before the Angel, I was nothing but a slave to their wishes and to the words they had anointed me with.

    It was said that she needed no other proof; she didn¡¯t even need to share the vision she had seen, for it was enough for another priest to see her, to feel the change in her presence, how the world around her was different, how the world weighed on her shoulders... The burden she had to carry; the suffering in her heart. Far too great, it was. Far too great...

    The selection of a new Herald was shared with humanity, and peace soon ruled, but soon she made a pilgrimage to the mountains where the first Herald had met the Angel. And for months, nothing was heard of her; until she descended the mountains, with her a new version of the Book of the First Herald, one then dubbed the Book of the Heralds, a magical tome connected to many others of its kind... When the Herald would write down words and visions received from the Angels, they would then be copied to the other tomes exactly as she had written them.

    What she now had wasn¡¯t only the words collected by the previous Herald, but new ones as well. The conversations she had had with the Angel, how the Angel seemed to criticize humanity for its lack of faith, and how such lack of faith ought to be corrected; calling for there to be more priests blessed and then sent around the kingdom of the humans, so that they might teach their words, the most relevant history of humanity, as well as to take care of them, so that they would not succumb to their suffering and end up making decisions that would bring ruin to the kingdom...

    With her she carried the passage most important for all priests: "Forget joy; understand what power brings. Power brings misery, and to understand what misery is, one has to forget all joy. Understand this human, for those who are powerful should carry the pain of the living on their shoulders and the pain of the dead in their hearts. So those who have no power can live with joy."

    Kanrel shared with them a part of the process that allowed priests to be chosen. Before the Academy and the time of the second Herald, new priests had to journey to the mountains, to the place where the first Herald had met the Angel, and beg, in the presence of the Herald and the Angel, who would not show them their face, for the blessings of the Angels. Then they would be blessed if the Angel saw them as good.

    But with the tome in her hands and secret information that she wasn''t allowed to share, she traveled to the Academy of the Heavenly and its cathedral, where a great mural of the first meeting of the Herald and the Angel was painted upon; with her magic, she created a weave onto it, an entrance to that which was called the Ritual...

    Kanrel refused to tell what happened during the Ritual. At least this he would keep to himself, even when Lou''Deu''n protested and demanded him to answer, but he would not budge. He wouldn''t share this information with the others, even if it would mean death. Even if his belief in the Angels had diminished, even if he had such doubt in his heart, he still had to honor the tradition and not commit one of the greatest taboos a priest could make.

    He only shared the outcome. The emptiness that began and the suffering that soon followed...

    Lou''Deu''n seemed unsatisfied with how Kanrel conducted himself; he didn''t like the fact that the human refused to share things the scholar felt was important to fully grasp humans, or at the least, to fully understand their priests...

    They had dinner and soon continued. Lou''Deu''n again asked the same question to explain what happened during the Ritual, but Kanrel refused and asked if there was another question that he might answer. The scholar''s annoyed expression told it all; it was all the reaction Kanrel needed to know that the same question would be asked again and again, and he would have to deny answering it yet again after each time he would not give the answer the scholar wanted to hear.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    This was dangerous; he knew it to be. But to break such a taboo... To share such information with someone who could never truly understand it felt wrong. Even if the nature of their magic shared some similarities, he would not tell them about the Ritual.

    He would not speak of that which the other priests would not even speak to each other about.

    Throughout this interaction, there were many reactions from those who mostly listened to the conversation. Y''Kraun seemed bothered by it, nervous by how insistent the human was in his quest to not share such simple information; the serf knew that the human could be in danger.

    A''Trou''n had a speck of curiosity in her eyes, but that was all mostly covered by the clear amusement that showcased itself in the form of a wide grin on her lips as she intensely listened to the back and forth, grinning wider each time Kanrel refused to answer such a seemingly simple question. She reveled in the scholar''s unsatisfied lust for knowledge.

    Vaur''Kou''n pretended to be as uninterested as possible, but his eyes would glisten at the mention of the Angels. But what that meant, Kanrel could not even begin to guess.

    But the person whose expression Kanrel kept observing throughout the day was their host''s. A''Daur''Kra, who had given so far a varied range of different emotions in the form of lack of emotion. Thus, for each simple action, he couldn''t help but give much meaning to it, even when it felt foolish most of the time. How could he know what went on in A''Daur''Kra''s head? What did a smile mean, or a frown? How about a glance pointed at his sister when certain things were said; how about a yawn during a part that most would listen to with great curiosity? How about a stare that was kept on him, a gaze that was pointed at Kanrel for multiple minutes in a row? In utter silence, he would stare at him, perhaps doing the very same thing as he did, trying to understand a feeling, a thought, and a meaning behind an action, a word, or an expression.

    Each thing A''Daur''Kra didn''t do felt like an action made with intent. As if all the things that he ever did had meaning behind them¡ªa reason for a simple motion presented in the form of a curling of one''s lip to form a seemingly amused expression, perhaps a lie, perhaps the truth...

    Then, out of nowhere, Lou''Deu''n began a bombardment of strange questions, mainly about the function of the human body related to things like reproduction between other humans, how it worked and how did it differ from the Atheians, and then the life arc of human, the process from reproduction and birth to childhood and the adulthood, and then at last to the waiting death all creatures will one day meet; be it that they are seemingly immortal or painfully mortal.

    But he was stopped, as A''Daur''Kra simply notified the scholar, "The human is tired, it has to go to rest."

    "You may apply for another audience¡ªit will be given, if there is enough time, and if there isn''t, you might have one at another date." He explained.

    The scholar turned toward his liege, with clear shock in his eyes, "But sir! I''ve only just begun! There are so many questions that I must ask! So many things of intrigue that need to be explained."

    "I must find out about the Ritual¡ªI must!" Lou''Deu''n''s voice shivered as he pleaded, his eyes seemed to waver, and the silence that then ensued was most uncomfortable. The scholar had made a mistake, one he himself soon realized as well. His eyes widened as he descended from the couch and went to his knees. He offered his hands toward the lord of the City of Creation to showcase his submission, as he then begged for forgiveness: "My lord, my demands have been offensive, and I deserve your punishment."

    A slow tap filled the silence after Lou''Deu''n''s words. A''Daur''Kra''s fingers, in slow motion, tapped the surface of the couch. His gaze pointed past the scholar, in his eyes an amused expression as it seemed to savor the scholar''s earlier words as well as the very situation that had presented itself to him.

    "You dare to make demands¡ªto me?" A''Daur''Kra simply said, his gaze finally locking itself on the scholar, who now knew to shiver and to be afraid.

    "For how long can a fool remain amusing?" The lord suddenly asked, his fingers stopping the rhythm it had started as if he had reached a conclusion. He got up and looked down on the scholar. "Tell me, Kanrel, what is the value of a single man? What about one whose sole mission is to be of mild entertainment for us¡ªfor me?" A''Daur''Kra then asked.

    Kanrel didn''t know what to say at first; for a moment he only observed their host, the complicated expression of veiled emotions, and the one on top that seemed to be amusement but was possibly anger, or perhaps just boredom...

    There were multiple answers to such a question. The obvious one was to claim that all men had infinite value to them; that no life is worth more than the other; that all life is priceless... But was it truly so? He had once already concluded that most life isn''t equal in the eyes of men, as one man might value the lives of his loved ones and his own life more than the lives of others...

    And the value of a life was another question altogether. And when the value of that life was tied to the practice or meaning another had given it, the question wasn''t really what he thought, but what the person who held this life in their palm valued the life as.

    "The value of a single man might be priceless to his family and to himself, but the value of the one you mention might be only as valuable as the pay that you''ve given them," Kanrel suggested and then opened his mouth to give another possible explanation, but A''Daur''Kra stopped him.

    "Nothing. I''ve paid him nothing." A''Daur''Kra declared he raised his hand in aggressive motion, pointing it up, and as he did so, the scholar flew at the speed of a boulder falling from the top of a mountain¡ªup and up¡ªup toward the ceiling and then against it, bursting into blood and guts as it squished against the gray stone, then rained down in blood.

    It was warm and sticky. This sudden downpour filled the new-found silence of the room. Some weren''t so surprised; A''Trou''n and Vaur''Kou''n seemed prepared, as the blood that rained down poured around them instead of on them. Y''Kraun wasn''t so lucky, nor was Kanrel, who both were bathed by this blood.

    A''Daur''Kra himself let it spoil his clothes and color his gray skin; his grin was wide as it soon took a few dance-like steps in the rain. His hand was still pointed at the ceiling, but he soon brought it down, and so did the mangled and squished body; what was left of Lou''Deu''n hit the ground with a loud thump. And all eyes fell on this corpse that resembled just blood and flesh by now.

    A''Daur''Kra kicked the corpse and turned toward Kanrel. "He might not come for another audience..." He muttered as his grin died, "He was bothersome, wasn''t he not? He asked questions he shouldn''t have, did he not?" He then let his gaze go around the room, the blood and the corpse that garnished the floor and the couches, as well as Kanrel and Y''Kraun; his gaze then met the expressionless A''Trou''n. "I am sorry for your loss. I will be sure to provide you with a new resident scholar; this one couldn''t seem to handle the pressure all that well."

    "You must understand him; your beauty can be quite cruel; not many can dare to look at you and not fall in love... Such forbidden love for someone so lowly as a mere member of the Grand Academy." He then added and glanced at Vaur''Kou''n, who kept his own gaze directed at the corpse.

    A''Trou''n kept her gaze directly pointed at her brother, then just nodded in agreement.

    "Wonderful. Just magnificent... Tell me, Kanrel, you''ve mentioned rain before... Is this what it feels like?" A''Daur''Kra then asked, his gaze still pointed at his sister.

    Kanrel couldn''t reply. The shock still remained. The only words that he seemed to be able to find were as follows: "Too red, too warm."

    A''Daur''Kra snorted in reply and turned toward Kanrel. "Well then, even though I quite liked your answer, you could''ve come up with another one... This one seemed to break our friend here." He said and kicked the corpse again. His gaze jerked toward Y''Kraun. "Serf, call the servants and a medic; the scholar seems unable to move." A''Daur''Kra commanded, and as he met the dazed eyes of the serf, he yelled, "Now!" And with those words, Y''Kraun got up and ran out of the room.

    The Lord of the City of Creation then gazed around the room in what seemed like a daze; he found a part of the couch that wasn''t ruined by the blood, and he sat down. "Now then... Tell me about this Ritual; now will you?" A''Daur''Kra asked after a moment; his voice was normal again, as was his gaze; there was that knowing smile again on his face, the one that knew that Kanrel would tell him everything...

    Kanrel swallowed, his eyes kept on the Atheian, who was covered by the blood of the scholar that lay on the floor, still warm. Kanrel looked up and formed a code; soon liters of water began to materialize above him, which he then dropped on top of himself, washing away the blood that had soiled his hair and his clothes. He then formed another code, this one to warm himself, to dry off his clothes and hair, all the while the three Athieans stared at him in silence. A''Daur''Kra still held the same expression.

    And when Kanrel was finished with cleaning himself, he locked his eyes with the Atheian that had blatantly killed another right in front of their eyes and began, "What I saw was a stairway... One that descends into darkness; around there is just the void; behind there is just the void; and when one begins the descent, it will never end."

    "You can take a thousand steps, and another thousand steps, to then stop and look behind you, only to see the darkness behind you... Only to see the void below you and the stairway that refuses to end."

    "Many walk for days, some for weeks, before they give up. Before they lose hope. And when they do, they realize that there is only one way down¡ªonly one way that is quicker than an endless staircase with an infinite amount of steps."

    "And those who realize it, they jump... They hear the call, and they answer it... So they jump..." Kanrel spoke; his eyes were locked in A''Daur''Kra''s, but he no longer saw those eyes; instead, he saw the stairway. He saw the steps that he had taken; he saw how he had stumbled, and then how he had fallen... How he fell... And how the fall seemed to never end.

    "And then begins the fall." He whispered, his brows now burrowed, his expression a mask of pain, one given to a child to wear for the rest of his life. "And the fall... It never ceases; it never ends."

    A scoff was heard. ¡°That¡¯s all?¡± A question was asked. Kanrel could see A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra¡¯s amused expression as their host finally got up, covered with blood, and marched out of the room as if nothing had happened in the first place.

    Finally, he felt like he could breathe. Finally, he felt like he could let his posture collapse. Finally, he could be visibly afraid...

    The servants came in with Y¡¯Kraun, their expressions solemn and empty as they began to clean the mess the lord had left behind. Kanrel sat there, motionless, as it all happened; his eyes kept on the corpse until it was brought out until it was no longer there. But it was there. In his mind, it lay there. It would always be there.

 Chapter Eighty-Three: A Stone to Ripple a Calm Lake

    ¡®Tap,¡¯ a singular drop from so far above, came down and struck the pillow beneath his head; he had observed it, how it came down, how it collected itself into that one position, then came down as that singular drop. A memory of rain, as it once was, but now seen as something else. How an alone drop can be so violent?

    ¡®Tap,¡¯ another soon followed, that cruel sound that overwhelmed; it took him by the ear and pulled him with it. It had brought him down here with it. Onto this pillow, to stare once more at the ceiling, yet another ceiling with another meaning. Yet another reason to lie still and look only above, to observe another existence of a ceiling; how different they were from one another, how one ceiling held another feeling, and this one... this one and all the ceilings in this building, they too were now spoiled with a new feeling.

    ¡®Tap,¡± came down the second to last drop, a tear that dived from above, struck the other side of his pillow as if in control of its own destiny; it wanted to lay beside him, it wanted to strike near his ear, to be yet another one to take him by the ear, to come down with it, and to look above, to remember all those times so different; when the rain still had another meaning; when a ceiling held not the memory of murder but the memory of the inability to move; to change...

    Then came down the last drop; it broke the silence for one last time; it struck his forehead, as if to mark a spot, that someone who would not be able to run away from what had happened. One pair of eyes that had to witness something it did not wish to...

    ¡®Tap,¡± and silence became whole at last.

    <hr>

    A lance of ice pierced through flesh¡ªhe had done the same. The smell of burned flesh filled the air¡ªhe wasn¡¯t so different. Two pieces of a man fell separate on the carpet. Murder was murder, even if the way in which it was done was different. Murder was murder, as long as there was intent.

    Yet, to survive, he would do it again. Even then, it would force a man on his knees; it would weigh upon him for the rest of his life. Only those who had lost the last specks of humanity would be able to scathe away that weight; only they wouldn¡¯t feel such a burden deep within their hearts. Only they would be able to meet eyes with their own reflection and not feel disgusted before the creature they had become. And even when one seemed so human, so humane, they were not. Their hearts are cold, and the life of another is only a bother, as much as can be the death of another. A different sort of burden...

    Y¡¯Kraun was absent for a few days after what happened, and Kanrel was allowed to navigate his way freely to whichever room or chamber he would have to sit in for hours, just to repeat the things they had told before... The day after Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n¡¯s death, he feared the most to be placed in that same chamber again, to sit once more across from the Atheian, who had so brutally committed such an act... But A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra had stopped attending¡ªnow there was just A¡¯Trou¡¯n, Vaur''Kou''n, and whichever representative of one of the factions happened to stumble into their company that day.

    At least it wasn¡¯t the same room.

    Was A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra someone whose heart felt the burden of killing another? Was his absence born from guilt or regret? Could the Atheian face his own eyes in the reflection and feel nothing? Was there compassion, empathy¡ªanything at all¡ªwithin that creature? Did they feel the same? Were they the same?

    Days went by, and there was no rest for him. There was no moment of clarity given; no freedom to process nor words given to truly understand: Would someone kill another just to receive a piece of information they soon discarded? Would someone kill another just because they felt annoyed by the words that another had said? He had no conclusion other than "maybe." His perception of things was all he had, and he couldn¡¯t find himself in the shoes of A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra; he couldn¡¯t, at all, understand the reasoning behind the act they had committed. Even when before them all, they had rambled and given many explanations, more or less just excuses... At first, it seemed like he didn¡¯t have the intention to get caught doing such a thing; they had been flustered only because their actions would change the perception that others had of them.

    Or even that could¡¯ve been a calculated decision. To behave a certain way, to sow more confusion among them, to only seem as if lost and flustered because of the eyes that lay on them and their actions. Only to then be as if nothing had happened. To scoff and discard the information they had pulled out of Kanrel, to get up and walk away, and not look back even once.

    Days went by, and he found himself looking for him. He found himself many times, walking past the engraving behind which there¡¯d be a chamber, one which A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra might still frequent... But during days that went by, he only managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between former lovers...

    Kanrel could hear A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s voice; he had grown so accustomed to it, and hearing it so often had helped him differentiate between male and female Atheians; such a difference was so slight that only an accustomed ear could hear it. As he could hear everything through the pearl, everything was translated to him, but even the emphasis of a word remained; so did the tone and the timbre of one¡¯s voice. By human standards, all of their voices were more or less the same, fairly deep, and something one could describe as manly. The female Atheians had a higher voice, but just ever so slightly.

    There was one thing Kanrel had learned about the Atheian language, and it was this: the gender of the one who spoke was most present in the way in which they spoke. A word would have a different gender to it when spoken by a male representative of their species, and thus, technically, each word had a double. The word meant the same, but depending on the speaker and their gender, there would be a slight change in a word. Be it a different vowel or a consonant as a prefix or as a suffix.

    It was interesting and not totally unfamiliar as a concept to him. In most known human languages, gender was present in one way or another. Sometimes words would have a gender; in some languages, a towel might be represented as feminine and a carpet as masculine. It made one wonder why such a phenomenon was present in language.

    In Atheian language, it was quite clear why this was; for how else could one be certain of the gender of the person you are talking to? Even when you yourself are an Atheian.

    ¡°For how long has your new master been so... lost?¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n asked

    The room where she was was the room where they¡¯d have yet another long session of questions and answers, mostly on the same topics that they had gone through many times before. Kanrel stopped at the door, not stepping in, remaining where he now was, not showing himself to those who might be past the threshold. The corridor was empty; only he was there.

    A long sigh followed her question, ¡°I shouldn¡¯t tell you, but you might be able to guess the truth.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n said; his voice was even, always so even. There was never much emotion within, less so than before; at least when Kanrel had first seen him, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had seemed at least somewhat emotive.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n scoffed. ¡°Then it must be the years of quarantine. No one to talk to, none to visit¡ªnot even our parents, if I correctly recall.¡±

    She received silence as an answer but soon continued, ¡°Then how can anyone claim him to be sound of mind? How is a madman allowed to rule over a city?¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n snorted, ¡°He does a good job¡ªthere is a reason why he was chosen over you, even if he walks the line of insanity... He is your mother¡¯s rightful heir... He was groomed for this, and you know it.¡±

    ¡°And I wasn¡¯t?¡±

    Another silence came, one during which Kanrel could only imagine the expressions on their faces, for there was no anger in A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s questions; she sounded so gentle instead.

    ¡°I am loyal to your brother,¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n answered after a long silence; now his voice was different; there was emotion there after all. Gentleness.

    ¡°I know.¡± She answered, and with that, their conversation came to an end. Kanrel was left outside, waiting for a good moment to enter¡ªone that didn¡¯t seem so improper; one that wouldn¡¯t be so awkward.

    ¡°You may enter.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n soon commanded; her voice had become normal. Kanrel swallowed and entered; he met eyes with her and then with Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n; both of them had known that Kanrel had stood just around the door and heard everything.

    ¡°You really have no manners, not even concept of them; how amusing... Yet I am inclined to forgive you; after all, you heard nothing you shouldn¡¯t know by now.¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n said and smirked. Had this too been a calculated move? Another manipulation?

    Kanrel bowed his head and then walked to the couch opposite them and sat down. He formed a smile on his face as he then asked, ¡°What made you push him to the shadows?¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s eyes widened for a moment; her smirk had frozen, but soon that widened as well; her teeth glimmered in the light. ¡°You¡¯ve become brazen, confident, even.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think that you have the right to ask such a question? And what makes you think that I¡¯ll answer?¡±

    ¡°It is something I should know by now.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s smirk vanished. ¡°At least humans seem to have a concept of humor.¡±

    ¡°So you will tell me?¡± Kanrel asked.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n tilted her head and seemed to ponder for a moment; her smile returned, ¡°Isn¡¯t the answer to your first question obvious? I know that you have brains, and I know that you¡¯ve paid much attention to everything that has happened so far. I know you have thoughts, and I know what you might write in your little notebooks."

    ¡°So tell me, Kanrel, what do you think is the reason behind such an action? Why would I want to murder my own brother?¡± She asked.

    Kanrel let his fake smile fade away. ¡°Isn¡¯t it all about power for you people? You gather information that you might have something that others don''t know; you manipulate people and information so that you might have that over others."

    ¡°But to kill another is quite direct. Before what your brother did, I had wondered if your species did not indulge themselves in senseless acts of killing, but even his deeds, as senseless as they may seem, clearly have intent behind them. Every word uttered that day, was just another form of manipulation; every question asked after, showcasing the reasons for his actions.¡±

    ¡°Information regarding the angels is what you all truly want. A simple scholar or any other curious person might find stories of the above interesting and quite amusing at times, but hearing the word ¡®angel¡¯ brings a glimmer into your eyes. It makes you manipulate the information that you receive.¡±

    ¡°You wanted to murder your brother because he is in your way. The glimmer in his eyes is anger when he hears any mention of the angels and the glimmer in your eyes... I wonder, is it love for them or just simple curiosity." Kanrel explained, and as he did, he observed the eyes of these two creatures, the glimmers in their eyes, the truths they might tell him... It was speculation in the end, but it was the only truth he could find.

    ¡°So I will again ask my question... Why did you push him into the shadows? Was it really to kill him? Or were you just... curious? I doubt it was an accident."

    ¡°You have lakes down below, right? I¡¯ve seen one, and you have seen the same one; after all, it is just behind the mound you call home."

    ¡°Have you ever thrown a stone into that calm lake? Just to see how it might ripple, how many waves a simple stone might create, for how long would it last?¡±

    ¡°When you pushed him into the shadows, you must¡¯ve wanted to see how your life would ripple... For how long would there be waves? How would your life change and distort as the surface of a lake disturbed by a simple stone?¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s eyes were aflame, and her smile was wider than ever. ¡°So I was just bored?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. You were curious and perhaps filled with desire.¡± Kanrel corrected her, knowing all too well that he was sticking his face into a hornet''s nest. This was a simple mistake, depending on her reaction.

    ¡°No.¡± She denied, ¡°No, no, no.¡± ¡°Just no.¡± Her smile faded, and the flames in her eyes changed. Was it regret or sorrow there as she continued, ¡°He took him away from me, claimed him as his own, and with what right? Just because he is my superior? No, no no.¡±

    ¡°He wanted me to suffer. He saw what I had and wanted it for himself. It was always so. He always wanted more than I had. From the beginning, he wanted it all. Everything was his. All should follow his lead and his commands.¡±

    ¡°So I pushed him.¡±

    ¡°So I made him suffer.¡±

    ¡°But now, he won¡¯t leave me alone.¡±

    ¡°And I¡ªI¡ªam left to regret, alone.¡±

    Her voice wavered at times, her brows quivered, and so did her eyes. She spat out her truth, the words she had kept in her heart, and her eyes and gaze kept on Kanrel. Then she smiled and shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ve learned much since you got here. I wonder, are the Darshi and the Atheians not that different?¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n got up from the couch and walked to Kanrel; she lifted his head to face her gaze as she looked down at him, then she tilted his head from side to side and observed how Kanrel looked.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten much better; you¡¯ve gained weight; you¡¯ve gained knowledge; and you¡¯ve hurt others. In this moment you are like my brother; your eyes feel the same; the lies you hide behind your smile." She grabbed him suddenly and began to lift him.

    Pain shot through Kanrel as she lifted him to her eye level; it was so difficult to breathe.

    ¡°Tell me, oh our esteemed guest, why should I forgive your words? Why should I forgive you when you¡¯ve mocked me so when you¡¯ve hurt me so?¡± She asked and then dropped him.

    He hit the couch below and inhaled air in as much as he could. He had brought his own hands to his throat. He looked up and met her gaze again. Her anger seemed to be gone; in her eyes, there was curiosity once more, and her smile had returned as if she had only caressed his chin and nothing more.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re different from him...¡± Kanrel whispered and witnessed the grin that spread on her face. She leaned closer and ruffled his hair. ¡°I know I am.¡± She then turned toward the door and commanded, ¡°You may enter!¡±

    So, the party they were supposed to meet today entered¡ªon their faces many questions as they wondered, What had happened, what had the Darshi done to deserve such treatment?

 Chapter Eighty-Four: The Desecrated Angel

    When Y¡¯Kraun returned to being his guide and closest servant, he had changed. He had become so different from the person that he was; at least his outlook was different; he wasn¡¯t so chatty anymore. He seemed more nervous than before, and whenever they passed a certain room, he went to the other side of the corridor and kept his eyes on the ground, his other hand finding its way on top of his head, to feel the memory of that red rain upon his bald head.

    Each time they passed that room, they had to stop for a moment as Y¡¯Kraun gathered himself, his eyes empty, waiting for a new light to come from within and make them bright and less despaired. For a serf, like him, was there hope? Could he rise above the people, who advertently and inadvertently caused him harm, made him afraid and abused him, and made him lose the last resemblance of hope that he might have once had?

    Kanrel knew that Y¡¯Kraun had become cynical a long time ago; he had submitted himself to these people; he no longer had a fire to kindle his heart, to make it burn brightly and without fear, to push past this tyranny. He had no concept of something better, for he had never experienced something that was better; he wouldn¡¯t know what to dream of; he wouldn¡¯t know of things that were better. He only truly ever saw the tyrants, be they of noble descent, landowners, and such, who made him work the land for them, who placed them into mines and forced him to work long hours, just to extract stone that brought those that owned him only more wealth and riches, thus, more power.

    At this moment, Y''Kraun was so much like what Kanrel had become. He recognized those eyes that had seen death for the first time. That demeanor of a man who wondered if they could ever feel clean again? If they could ever wash away the blood that had soiled their eyes...

    And even when Kanrel could relate to the Atheian, or he felt like he could, he found no words to offer; there was no way for him to console him. Not without lying, not without having that smile on his face as he lied again. He didn¡¯t believe that things could truly get better, but he was doubtful that things could get worse. At least there was that, a false sense of hope as one has reached the bottom of despair. Now, one could only begin to ascend this mountain of life; for what use was there to lie naked in its deepest crevasse, crying for a god or a helpful hand to reach toward you and pull you to your feet? Perhaps he could offer that hand, but he dared not. For what right did he have to help another when he couldn¡¯t help himself? When he had been, even if inadvertently, the reason as to why Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes were now so soiled.

    Days, then soon weeks, went by as silence ruled between them. Both still went through with their own jobs; Y¡¯Kraun was the servant he was supposed to be, and Kanrel remained a storyteller to amuse the horde of Atheians, who each day came to him, to hear what he might know of things that were above.

    And after each day, Kanrel would enter his little room, sit on his little chair, open up his little notebook, and write all that had happened on that specific day and more onto that paper, with the strange ink that he had been provided. What was it made out of? He had no clue, but it was another curious thing to wonder about as he soon found himself lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling, and remembering the rain.

    Hopeless and restless; so bored with this situation. Traumatized and afraid; useless he was, so useless and hopeless he was. Such thoughts collected themselves as he lay there, and in his dreams, they became the rain that fell on him, that bombarded him after a long day, as he would hopelessly try to run away from it; the blood that came pouring down; the fear that attached itself into him as he was unable to reach whichever destination he had; so far away there was a door, one that was different from all the doors that through which he had entered; and in that door there lay a picture; a vision of something better that there might be; yet another memory held so close to him, so dear that it could never be forgotten; so dear that it pains you as you remember it, and as he kept running toward that memory in that dream... The vision of a small hut, made from clay and hay; behind that little hut, a garden in which there grew flowers that populated the earth beneath his feet; and a tree... A singular apple tree... He ran, and he ran, and he reached toward that door to enter another vision, another dream¡ªnot one made out of nightmares, but one so gentle and innocent that you would believe it to be false, or someone else''s.

    Then the rain would catch him, and the world would shatter beneath his feet as he fell; he fell and fell as the door stood still, the vision in it still pure. As he fell, that door disappeared, and as he hit the darkness below, his own bed, his eyes would burst open. For a moment, he would remember this dream; he would remember the door and the vision it held. A vision that wasn¡¯t his, but someone else''s...

    To another morning he had awoken, he got up from his bed and stared for a while out of the window. He observed the quiet city below, and the lights that soon all lit, as the mechanism above them all allowed that light to reach each corner of the city. He began another as such, still feeling what he had felt before he had fallen asleep, still feeling the same feelings that followed him in the dream. He did what he had to; he dressed and prepared for another day and stepped outside of his little room, as that was all that was allowed.

    For some reason, Y''Kraun hadn''t visited him today. Perhaps it was too early for him; perhaps they had given him another mission for today. Kanrel had no clue. He didn¡¯t even know if there would be anyone who sought his audience. Even then, he still went down floor after floor today, letting his hand rest on the wall, feeling the history that was engraved on them, so smooth and irregular, a somewhat annoying feeling that made him want to scratch the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment and observed this sensation, this feeling that overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he wasn''t trapped in this life, not in this tower they called the Spire, not below the ground in the lands of the Atheians. Just for this one moment, he observed this sensation, this feeling that overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he was free from this prison, but all too aware that he was chained in another. Just for this one moment, there was just this unbearable sensation of wanting to scratch and remove the tips of his fingers until there was no sensation at all.

    Then the wall suddenly stopped where it shouldn¡¯t have. The unbearable sensation remained for a moment longer. He opened his eyes and wondered. Had he taken the wrong turn while voluntarily blinded by his own thoughts? He looked to the side and saw up close something unfamiliar that he had seen before from afar. He entered through the hole in the wall, from where, one day not too long ago, A''Daur''Kra had stepped out, and closed behind him, making the wall whole again, connecting the engravings that garnished them.

    The chamber, of which he had barely seen glimpses, was filled with religious artifacts, statues, and engravings that garnished the walls; it was like a small chapel dedicated to a beloved deity. But the artifacts¡ªthe statues, the engravings¡ªwere defaced, sullied, and broken. There was a statue of an angel; Kanrel could imagine what it might¡¯ve looked like¡ªsomething similar to those that he had seen before, but larger and standing right before him, at his own eye level, perhaps once magnificent, grotesque in their own beauty. But now, its head was cut off, and its head lay placed on its feet, the face of which was scarred, its marble eyes removed, its nose broken, and its mouth torn apart; its body once covered with scales, now one with marks of abuse; perhaps a chisel had been used to cut off a hand, to tear apart the chest, to leave a hole where a man might keep his heart... And when Kanrel went around it and saw what once were its wings, just stumps left, one of the wings was shattered on the ground, stone feathers broken in half; the other wing was nowhere to be seen; instead, in one of the corners there lay a pile of fine dust.

    The engravings were no better; what was perhaps once garnished with images of the Angels arriving at the lands of Atheians only gave a view of the grand cities that the Atheians had built but had now lost long ago. Parts of the engravings had been simply scraped away as if to hide a great disgrace.

    And at the end of the room, there was an altar, and behind the altar, there was a wall, and on that wall, there was an engraving of a creature; that creature had its hands spread as if awaiting a hug from an old friend, but they had no resemblance of a face¡ªthat too defaced, that too sullied.

    On that altar, there lay a stone tablet, one filled with inscriptions in a language Kanrel had seen glimpses of, one he couldn¡¯t understand at all. He walked toward...

    Steps from behind came to a sudden halt, the sound of the wall closing and becoming whole again. A scoff that seemed amused, Kanrel turned around and saw the man he had wanted to speak the most to since arriving in this city but had learned to fear more than anyone in his life.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°You dare enter my sanctuary? A private room, which only I am allowed to enter? You grow audacious by the day!¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra snorted and took a few steps forward; his eyes wandered around the room. ¡°You know, I heard about your little incident with my sister¡ªquite brave of you to agitate her so... directly.¡±

    He came to a halt, not too far away from Kanrel, and smiled, ¡°It seems that I like you far more than I at first had anticipated; you have guts, perhaps too much even, and I do wonder... What gave you the courage to seek my audience in a place not meant for you?¡±

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra chuckled. ¡°Nevertheless¡­ It seems that I simply must hear you out, and depending on what you tell me¡ªwhat reason you might have to find yourself before me on your feet and not on your knees¡ªI will either look past your transgression, or I will punish you.¡±

    He snapped his fingers. ¡°Simply with a snap of my fingers...¡± His smile froze, and his expression became one without emotions as he waited for what Kanrel might say to save himself.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but swallow; he had known this very possibility that might happen, that he might find his life at risk, and in the hands¡ªrather fingers¡ªof a fickle and ruthless creature.

    ¡°You once asked me if I at night hear their voices.¡± Kanrel began, his expression slightly altering from one that portrayed fear to one that was unsettled by what it had seen and heard: ¡°I had a dream, not too long ago, one that I can barely remember, but one that began to unravel itself to me the moment I came in contact with..." He stopped and locked his gaze with A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra. ¡°It wavers, it quivers, and it smolders... It calls you, and when you reach toward it, and when you go too close, it touches you."

    He shivered. ¡°It is so cold and dark, and you can hear them... Their voices were loud and quiet: ¡®We died for nothing.¡¯ ¡®They surrendered; we all should¡¯ve done so, not just those who perished.¡¯ ¡®Our deaths were there only to feed him, only to make his will eternal.¡¯¡± He quoted.

    ¡°It forces you to your knees; it forces you into the darkness; the voices greet you and you begin to suffocate; you can¡¯t breathe; they force your eyes open and a new kind of light enters, through all the pain that strikes through you.¡±

    ¡°Then you can see¡ªyou can truly see¡ªthe darkness; you can see that which they want you to see.¡±

    ¡°Who was the madman who claimed that they could kill a god?¡±

    ¡°That, as their final whisper... the vision they tried to give me, that I cannot remember; I only remember the wall where I was stuck and pierced, between them and something, perhaps a city.¡±

    ¡°I am sure they showed something else, something far more important, something that would make it all make sense... But I only know one thing: They did not wish to be forgotten, yet they had been.¡± Kanrel finished, his eyes widened, and his fear and that unsettling feeling were gone as well. Now there remained only sadness, one that he had never felt before, one that was because of something he barely understood.

    All the while, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra remained silent and listened, his expression unchanging, even at the sight of the ray of emotions that the human showcased before him. They stared at each other a moment longer, but Kanrel couldn¡¯t keep his gaze; he couldn¡¯t face the Atheian in such a way when he still saw what he had done to Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n. The rain had been red and warm.

    Kanrel averted his gaze and placed it onto the statues¡ªthe defaced angel that bravely stood there, between them. Oh, how he wished it weren¡¯t so brutalized.

    He knew of some of their crimes¡ªthey had been shown to him... Glimpses of what the great Sharan had done, but not always in great detail. He was yet to see how the Nine Magi fought against Kalma; he was yet to witness that war in which, perhaps, the greatest crimes of the Sharan had occurred, during which Kalma slaughtered millions just because he could, just because they dared to go against him.

    He had not seen the true fall of N¡¯Sharan. He had only seen the crimes of Ignar Orcun, how he had slain his father; how in the process of their self-righteous spur of killings, he had framed the poor Hartar Agna, and then went ahead and killed many others, many criminals and crooks that perhaps might¡¯ve deserved that which was to come for them; but then, he had also terrorized the people at Cafe N¡¯Sharan; he had burned them all; perhaps hundreds burned alive, perished by the flames. Purge; let fire purge them all; let fire set them free; let the truth set them free... Let the truth be the fire that sets them free.

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra observed Kanrel, who was still captivated by the angel that had lost its face, whose wings were torn apart with only stumps left as a reminder of its winged glory. An almost knowing smile crept on his face as he then spoke: ¡°Let me tell you how they see the judgment we received. Let me share with you, dear Darshi, the crime they so justify and which they believe to be a form of redemption for our people.¡± He walked to the other side of the room, where on the altar lay a stone tablet.

    So, he began to read:

    ¡°When the Lord came down from the heavens, with him came the end. There was none to face his might. All that was wicked fell that day, and all that was good persevered.¡±

    ¡°When the Lord came down from the heavens, the men saw that he had wings of gold and a crown of fire. His body was plated with silver armor. His sword was pure with the light of justice. When he struck, a thousand enemies fell before him. When he struck, a thousand fell again.¡±

    ¡°His enemies, those who lacked grace, those that only knew of the ways of magic but not of the ways of the Lord. We could not face his holy might. Our unjust rule had come to an end. So when we fought, we were pushed back and slaughtered; his strength was too great for us to comprehend. We were pushed further and further away from the lands of the angels.¡±

    ¡°The world had not seen such fury since the dawn of times.¡±

    ¡°In the end, we surrendered. Placing ourselves under the judgment of the Heavenly. But our sins were too many. Our empire that was to last an eternity disgraced and burned to ashes; we who dared to look at the heavens and ponder what lies past the clouds and even stars; what there might be in that darkness that so beckons us all. Even our ways, our culture, and our magics were seen as wrong by them. Our sin of slavery; our sin of dominating those less fortunate with our magics, they too were viewed as taboo.¡±

    ¡°So their judgment had come. And the Lord, with his glory and wisdom, gave words of condemnation. And we were locked deep beneath the earth, far below. Forbidden ever to live our lives under the light. All we had now was the dark.¡±

    He turned around, his face a mask of fury, his gaze crazed and bitter, but not as bitter as the words that then came: ¡°Kanrel, do you see how unjust their judgment was? The ill logic they had used, not to give us true guidance but to condemn those who were victims of the crimes that they claimed we had committed."

    ¡°They spared none; they killed us; they removed us all from above, even those for whom they claim to fight... And now these fools of the Herd spout their nonsense about divine retribution and judgment...¡±

    There was a moment of silence which soon filled with a snort and the words that followed: ¡°There is no such thing as divine judgment... and there is no justice at all, both are just concepts people want to believe in¡ªthey need to believe them¡ªotherwise the world seems just far too dark and hopeless, so cold for those who have no power...¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you see, Kanrel? This is all because of them. For I have seen what you have seen as well... I have seen the same dreams and nightmares as you have; I¡¯ve heard the same whispers, loud and quiet; I¡¯ve witnessed their despair, their torment."

    ¡°The angels¡­ They are the victims of the angels. That is all I know; for how else would¡¯ve been placed here? I believe they must¡¯ve done the same to some other race of beings, one that lived here long before us. That race had gone against them and their so-called better judgment, and they too had paid the prize." In A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra¡¯s eyes, one could see that fire again, one that was a form of righteous anger. Then he took a deep breath, the fires that were there a mere moment ago extinguished, their eyes now sad and empty as he shared his fears. ¡°It will be our future. They condemned us here to receive the same punishment as did those before us. We too will become shadows, and from our torment, this sense of unjust treatment will arise, a spirit that longs for vengeance against the heavens and all that is above.¡±

    ¡°Vengeance is what they want, not just that their memory is kept alive... Vengeance against the once divine creatures, who now rule in our stead the lands above.¡± His eyes quivered, as had done the shadows that they both had seen and touched... At that moment, he seemed so... vulnerable.

    Almost, Kanrel felt bad for him; he almost went ahead and placed his hand on his shoulder to give console, and as he was about to do just that, those eyes of his, the eyes of A''Daur''Kra, found their rightful glare; they focused and sharpened, and as they met Kanrel¡¯s eyes once more, he smiled.

    ¡°We must depart sooner than I had anticipated... That is the reason why I was looking for you myself... We have been summoned to the capital... The Council of Many Faces wishes to see the ever-amusing Darshi grovel at their feet.¡±

    ¡°Go pack now, and do not dread; I and your other dear friends will accompany you on this pilgrimage... There you shall see what I have seen." A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra commanded, but they grimaced for some reason, ¡°You, too, shall feel their disgust.¡±

 Chapter Eighty-Five: The Forum and the Council of Many Faces, Part One

    It grows. This feeling¡­ It grows. First, it was subtle, something that felt familiar and almost always present, something innate to himself, and not just something that lingered around the edges of his mind and vision; at the edges of his sanity... This disgust. It had grown by the day; each step had made it more potent; each day more unbearable, and now that he found himself in the center of what felt like its origin, it forced him to his knees. To vomit his soul onto the cobblestones of the courtyard of this complex collection of buildings that was known simply as the Forum.

    It was, as explained by A¡¯Trou¡¯n, the place where all decisions came from. All laws, rules, and regulations; the most important judgments, be it relating to the economy, education, or even their private lives... Everything came from here. The place where the Council met and made their decisions. Of course, they weren¡¯t the only ones who met here, but also other members of the society who would present their cases, be it a legal matter or a grievance, to clerks who would collect said information and give minor decisions regarding them if they found an adequate guideline or a procedure that they could follow to give any judgment at all. Things that were too complicated or too sensitive were instead presented to the Council, who would then give their opinion regarding the matter, thus either creating a new guideline for the clerks to follow or making one-time decisions that would only affect the very case they had been presented with.

    It seemed fair from the description that they were given, and it wasn¡¯t too off from the different forms of governance and bureaucracy that he had witnessed thus far. The only issue was that the members of the council were hidden; their identities were unknown, and therefore, their motives and allegiances were unknown as well.

    Y¡¯Kraun helped him up from the ground, as A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra snorted, ¡°Beautiful, wonderful, even... We¡¯ve just arrived, and you¡¯ve already embarrassed us." He then glanced at his sister, ¡°You ought to teach him better, lest he offends our great leaders.¡± He snickered.

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n rolled her eyes at the petty comments, waved her hand slightly, and the vomit burned away, followed up with another spell to wash it away with water. The smell it caused wasn¡¯t very pleasant at all, but it only lingered for a moment as that too was pushed upward and out of the courtyard with a gust of wind, this one created by A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, who held his own nose.

    Kanrel¡¯s legs felt so weak, and it was difficult to walk alone, so Y¡¯Kraun had to help him walk forward and even enter the first building of the Forum¡ªa large room with a collection of queues, long chairs, and tables... A reception, with Atheians queuing in neat lies, waiting for their chance to present their case to the clerks that worked in other parts of the Forum.

    As they walked by as A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra led them, Kanrel could hear snippets of conversation, mostly mentions of the reasons why some of them had business at the Forum. One mentioned the ¡°unfair treatment of law-abiding prostitutes in government-regulated brothels.¡± This was apparently related to taxation. It seemed that the Atheians too knew all too well the ¡°evils¡± of taxation. But one could guess that if these brothels got tax reductions, then the prostitutes working in them were unlikely to receive any more pay than they usually got. The ¡°handlers¡± or ¡°pimps,¡± or whichever more official title these brothel owners used, would with great creed seize for themselves the fruits of the labor of their hardworking prostitutes. The owner of a brothel really wasn¡¯t that different from the owner of any company when it came to profit. But brothels and companies, Kanrel didn¡¯t know much about them; he barely knew what one might look like from the inside. And the look he had didn¡¯t hold any fond memories within.

    When one imagines the seat of absolute power, does one really imagine such a complicated process of bureaucracy? In Kanrel¡¯s mind, he had always imagined the Herald and her place in the Grand Cathedral in Lo¡¯Gran, and later on Kalma on his throne, looking down on those who sought his audience and guidance with his dead eyes.

    It was far too boring to be all-powerful. It seemed too rational in its tendencies. Calculated and precise. Perhaps this form of power could work. Perhaps if there were enough rules and guidelines, then the people could easily just abide by them or be fairly punished by the system in place. It seemed fair. But was it? Kanrel didn¡¯t know enough to conclude if such a system would work fairly; he had no clue if there were issues with corruption and nepotism as there were in N¡¯Sharan.

    So far, all he saw were lines of people gathered here to give a piece of their mind, to share a bit of their grievances, to seek justice and someone to rectify the issues they might have; be the circumstances behind their issues unfair, yet they all found themselves here. Filling in papers, submitting them, taking a queue number, and going to whatever department of the Forum they might need with their given issue. It might not be as fast as one would want it to be. But it could never, and it never should be too fast. Such information needed to be fairly processed so that the solutions, if there are one given to an issue, are fair and just.

    Suppose such a system were without faults of corruption and if it were fair. Then this seemed like something that he could enjoy. He could imagine himself as one of those clerks, receiving people, going through their troubles, writing a report based on them, and submitting it forward to a judge or a higher official, who would then go through this report and then give their decision based on objective reasoning¡ªone that would be fair for all. If only such a place could exist. But it could not. Already, Kanrel knew too much of the nature of the Atheians. He knew of the factions and their game of influence¡ªtheir desires to lead and to benefit from the possible faults and loopholes of their system, or to create new ones so that their grasp around the control of their society would be greater and all-encompassing.

    He remembered the conversation he had had with one of the Sharan, a guard who worked for the Office of Peace in the District of Copper. ¡°Imagine an apple¡ªa big, beautiful, red apple¡ªone that anyone would like to bite into... but beneath there are maggots that have eaten most of the flesh, and that which is left is rotten and stinky.¡± ¡°All rotten¡ªto the core... So why not indulge in it?¡±

    His gaze went from Atheian to Atheian as they walked by them; some of them ignored their little retinue; some noticed the unfamiliar creature that was Kanrel, but most were busy with their own things. Now, he could finally see what he had missed since he had first stepped inside: those who came here had wealth; they had status; there were no servants unless they were there to attend to their master''s needs; there were no serfs, as there was no hard labor to take care of... The people from the ¡°government-regulated brothel¡± were those who clearly owned the establishment¡ªthose who would benefit from fewer taxes so that they might fatten their own pockets. Why would a ¡°law-abiding prostitute¡± come here when their place was in the brothel, away from those who actually had power and whose issues and grievances actually mattered when they could be making more money for their bosses?

    It was boring, yet it was all-powerful. It was dull, yet its will was absolute. It was banal and normal-looking, and so was the evil it could produce.

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    Kanrel snorted because he knew that even then, he would love to be one of those clerks and process those very grievances of the very people who most benefitted from this system. Why? Because it was easy and comfortable, but only if you could turn a blind eye to how unfair it could be.

    The feeling indeed grows. At this point, he was uncertain if it came from outside or from within.

    After multiple minutes of walking through corridors and large rooms, with receptions, queues, and office space; up staircases that brought them to more similar spaces, with more Atheians, just less than in the previous floor... This repeated itself five times, until they reached the sixth floor, with the last reception in a large room, where behind an elaborate stone desk sat an imposing-looking figure; their eyes scanned papers laid on the desk and times made careful markings on them; what they wrote or drew on them was left unclear, as the Atheian lifted their gaze from said papers, as Kanrel and the rest stepped in front of their desk.

    In the large room, there were many things, mostly chairs and selves on the walls of the room, with large engravings far more elaborate and detailed than those found within the Spire. All in all, the room seemed comfortable, yet the atmosphere was unsettling, as if there were eyes on them at all times; as if one wouldn¡¯t be able to sit without a worry on one of the many couches that seemed well cushioned.

    The desk was placed beside a door that would open inward, and the person behind the desk seemed dismissive of them; their gaze wandered from face to face, but they had no visible reaction to any of them, and soon their gaze returned to the tables as they made a quick stroke of their pen on a different paper than before. And when they again lifted their eyes, they simply pointed at the opposite side of the room, at a set of chairs, five of them, as if meant and placed there just for them.

    For some reason, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra said nothing; their eyes only followed where the receptionist pointed, and instead of whining about the lack of respect or introductions, he just bowed with great respect to the receptionist and walked to the simple chairs and sat on one of them. A¡¯Trou¡¯n and Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n did the same, and even the somewhat confused Y¡¯Kraun figured that he should do the same and pulled Kanrel with them toward the chairs.

    But Kanrel decided not to move. He stayed where he stood, even when Y¡¯Kraun pulled him even more. The receptionist, who had returned to their notes, had stopped writing and observed the slight commotion that unfolded before them. Their eyes were dull and gray, their gaze without a speck of curiosity, but then they smiled. Or it seemed like they tried to do so, but that smile never reached their eyes; there were no wrinkles or lines created by the movement of their lips.

    The three others, who sat motionless on their chairs, seemed unsettled, worried, even. Panic had found its way into Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes, as perhaps he had begun to wonder if today would be the day that he would die.

    But then, the receptionist spoke, ¡°Kanrel, you will sit, and you will wait¡ªsoon, you will be received by the council.¡± Their tone was flat, and their smile remained for a few moments before it went away, and they returned to their notes, not giving another stare at Kanrel nor another word. The sound of precise strokes of a pen upon paper filled the room.

    Shivers ran through his body as he still couldn¡¯t take his eyes off of them. And at last, he let Y¡¯Kraun pull him toward the chairs, where he was soon placed, between A¡¯Trou¡¯n and A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra. As A¡¯Trou¡¯n refused to sit next to Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, even Y¡¯Kraun was forced to sit down as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n pulled him next to him and onto the chair to the left of him.

    In A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s eyes, Kanrel could see shock at what Kanrel had done; in A''Daur''Kra''s, a mix of anger and perhaps amusement; but Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n kept their faces clear of all emotions; instead, he kept his gaze pointed at the door¡ªhe seemed to be anticipating something.

    They sat in silence. And listened to the sounds created by the motions of the pen in the left hand of the receptionist. At first, he couldn¡¯t help but keep his eyes on them; he carefully observed what they did¡ªhow their pen would move, how they would take another piece of paper and begin to write on that as well. Sometimes, they would go for long moments without writing anything; then, Kanrel imagined that they were immersed in the words of whichever paper they were reading at the time.

    They seemed pale, paler than the average Atheian, and their presence was different as well. It was the first time he had met anyone so empty. So lifeless. Their words even more so. Behind those words, he couldn¡¯t find a meaning deeper than that; it was a command, or more so an observation than anything else. Their eyes seemed to look past him. Their tone was strange and flat, as if practiced to perfection, as was their smile. How could one smile without a wrinkle on their face? How else, if not without an immense amount of practice?

    Their presence was unsettling; it was immense; it was imposing, and one couldn¡¯t look away, yet he had to. He couldn¡¯t take it anymore. The feeling of wanting to rip the tips of his own fingers returned, now stronger than before. This annoyed feeling, he had to do something about it¡ªto look away, to let his gaze linger around the room, to observe other things, to find something more interesting than the figure that seemed unnatural.

    Perhaps the engravings would give him something to look at for a longer period of time, but as his eyes would wander around the room, looking at different things, his gaze would always return to the receptionist. He could feel pain at the tips of his fingers, and as he looked down at them, he soon realized that he had begun to scratch them with the nail of his thumb. The tips had become red and irritated.

    He managed to stop himself; he placed his hands under his thighs, but the tips of his fingers would not stop tingling, and his heart couldn¡¯t seem to find its normal pace; he felt so cold as sweat lingered on his body. And as he raised his gaze from his thighs, he met them again. Empty and gray. Dull¡­ There was nothing there... But their smile¡ªtheir smile without a wrinkle¡ªpopulated that face.

    They spoke once more, ¡°Kanrel, don¡¯t be so nervous; the council will see you now.¡± Their tone remained flat, but as they finished their sentence, the doors from which they had entered closed, and those opposite to them opened, ¡°You may enter.¡± They added and pointed at the door.

    They got up from their chairs, and the receptionist still stared at Kanrel, their smile slowly fading, as they again returned to their papers; again, they made a quick notation on a previous paper they had marked something on to.

    Kanrel stared at them until the very moment that they stepped past the threshold and entered a round room, where lights descended from above and five figures stood in a semi-circle; they wore dark robes that covered their bodies, a hood that covered their heads, and masks with long bird-like beaks; the masks had no eyes or any other significant features.

    The doors slammed behind them, and a hum wavered around the circular room, as if bouncing from wall to wall, ricocheting continuously and without stopping, until it blocked his ears, as if he had ascended to a higher altitude.

 Chapter Eighty-Five: The Forum and the Council of Many Faces, Part Two

    Then a bell rang. A new hum was created, overshadowing the previous one, this one deeper as the intense strike tone dissipated. It was slow and lasted for perhaps minutes before silence took over. His ears opened up, but the sound of the bell rang deep within his head; it was something that he could focus on; it was something that made him feel less anxious. He forgot about the tips of his fingers. There was peace after a storm at last.

    ¡°When there is dissonance among the populous, those more wise ought to stand up and guide the people toward salvation.¡± A voice with a metallic distortion pronounced; one of the five had said as such, but those who had come before them had no idea which of the five had said a word.

    ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t know much about salvation; now do you, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, the son of the A¡¯Kau¡¯Tou¡¯n patriarch? It has come to our attention that you do not believe that there might be salvation for our people.¡± A different voice with a metallic distortion said.

    ¡°Such cynicism, yet we cannot pretend that we didn¡¯t know before, nor can we claim that all of us disagree with said cynicism, but...¡± A third voice added, and the fourth one continued, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you agree that you¡¯re setting a poor precedent for your subjects and guests alike, be they from above or from below?¡±

    A fifth voice seemed to chuckle, ¡°Those who have power must always show the world that they indeed deserve the position that they have¡ªwhy? Because they are supposed to be better... Tell me, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, are you a serf, are you one of the poor, are you a petty merchant, or are you what your heritage claims you to be?¡± The fifth one asked.

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra seemed embarrassed¡ªregretful, even¡ªand they dared not raise their gaze from the ground beneath the feet of the members of the council.

    ¡°Speak, offer a futile defense of your actions so that we may move forward... Even if the decision we¡¯ve made was one we came to long ago, your words might yet change the sentence we¡¯ve foreseen." The first one spoke once more.

    He fell to his knees, placed his head on the floor of the circular room, and spoke at last, ¡°I have no excuse; grieve and torment have twisted and molded this mind of mine for too long; forgiveness and salvation aren¡¯t easy to reach, nor is it easy to forgive a crime as heinous as the one my dear sister has done to me.¡±

    ¡°I seek neither redemption nor forgiveness; instead, I will receive your sentence... For as you said, ¡®those more wise ought to stand up and guide people toward salvation.¡¯¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra spoke from the floor, keeping his face on the ground, but even then, Kanrel could imagine a smirk on that face. Contempt for those he had to kneel before; and hatred toward his sister, who he claimed to be the sole reason behind his actions.

    ¡°You have been heard.¡± The second voice noted.

    A bell rang once more, this one higher in tone, and its hum was so as well; it echoed around the room for minutes before it too dissipated and became naught.

    ¡°To murder someone beneath your own status, this is accepted and seen as a rightful action, when a mere scholar dares to make demands; your action regarding the death of Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n is forgiven; but you must pay reparations to his family; one must at least claim remorse for their actions even if there is none to be had.¡± The third voice claimed... There was no justice for murder.

    ¡°A¡¯Trou¡¯n, the daughter of a once great man... Long it was decided what your sentence might be for the crime that you had committed. A mere secondborn ought not to usurp her brother; the order of inheritance must always remain intact; this you know, and for this crime, through your father, you were only given Blue-Stone Village to rule over." The fourth voice continued.

    ¡°Was this too merciful of a judgment? Contrary to her brother, does the sister believe too much that there might be salvation for our people? Enough for you to plot and scheme against him and to try to usurp his throne in the City of Creation with the mere help of a Darshi?¡± The fifth voice asked.

    ¡°And all this with the help of the Herd? Why?¡± The first voice accused.

    After a moment of silence, the first voice then continued, ¡°You may speak; defend your actions.¡±

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n did as her brother had done; she went to her knees beside her brother and placed her forehead against the ground. ¡°Is it not only in our nature to wish for more than what we have? Had he not done the same when he went in between me and my love, ruining a union that might¡¯ve been?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Before that moment, I had no interest in going against him; to usurp his inheritance and his claim as the firstborn¡ªall I wanted was that union, but he took that away from me... Is my scorn not just?¡± A¡¯Trou¡¯n finished, her voice wavering as if in fear, and perhaps such fear did exist, but all Kanrel could hear was the anger she felt, be it just or not; she believed her wrath to be righteous.

    ¡°The idea of union between you and Captain Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n is well documented, and we cannot blame one for the feelings they might harbor for another... but..." The second voice began and the third continued, ¡°The moment you pushed your brother into the shadows was the moment you ought to have forgiven him; what you want as your vengeance for something so miniscule as love that has now long ago dwindled and withered away is to take everything your brother might have.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t his near death enough for you? Wasn¡¯t his torment of years in seclusion enough for you? For how long can you claim your wrath to be righteous before it becomes so irrational that you can¡¯t even recognize the initial feelings of anger you had so long ago?¡± The third asked.

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    ¡°What you should¡¯ve done is to reconcile with your previous lover instead. Such a decision might¡¯ve given birth to riper fruit than petty revenge ever could." And the fourth concluded.

    ¡°You have been heard.¡± The fifth one noted.

    A third bell rang, this one, again, of a higher tone than the previous one; it too echoed for perhaps a minute, before silence filled the round room.

    ¡°Captain Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, we thank you for your services; the information that you¡¯ve provided of these fools has been valuable; as such, you may seek compensation from the receptionist and further orders when it comes to your next appointment.¡± The first one said, in the depths of their metallic distortion, there was a hint of amusement as they waited for the second to continue.

    ¡°And you might want to reconcile with your previous lover; the union between the two of you is permitted if you might receive forgiveness from her.¡± The second finished.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n did as the other two had done, he knelt on the floor and placed his forehead against the ground. But as he was not permitted to speak, there was no bell rung.

    ¡°Darshi, or Kanrel Iduldian, as you claim your name to be... You are a mere curiosity to us, a caged animal who relies on the sustenance and shelter that we can provide you. Your stories are compelling and often quite amusing, yet their authenticity cannot be proven; as such, you¡¯re quite useless.¡± The third voice began.

    ¡°First, we wonder if we should make you a serf, and practically you¡¯ve lived as one from the moment you entered the house of A¡¯Trou¡¯n; but your tendencies, as strange as they at times seem to be to us, harbor a hint of familiarity.¡± The fourth continued.

    ¡°A priest, you claim to be, and a scholar as well. As such, you¡¯ve deserved a hint of our respect, even when you are a curious outsider, without a speck of information that we could claim to be truthful." The fifth then added.

    ¡°Thus, we shall not enslave you, as we had at first intended to do. Instead, we might as well consider you a free man. Either way, there is nothing you can do. Your skills in magic are minuscule by our standards. Your physical abilities we didn¡¯t even have to consider. All you have is that head of yours, with the information that you claim to be the truth." The first said.

    ¡°As such, we have decided to give you residence in our city; you are not to leave its perimeter; you aren¡¯t to break our rules, our laws, or our regulations; you aren¡¯t to go against our decisions, our wishes, or even our words... This city will do as your cage; you shall do as you wish, but you must comply with our judgment, or perish within the shadows." The second voice concluded, and a bell rang with an even higher pitch, a tone almost unbearable as its hum filled the circular room.

    Kanrel remained still; he did not kneel. He was too shocked to do anything¡ªto initiate an action.

    ¡°Y¡¯Kraun, your talents and knowledge have surprised us. And we feel regretful for the sight that you had to witness.¡± The third voice began.

    ¡°As such, you¡¯re made a free man. You and your family are no longer tied to the lands that A¡¯Trou¡¯n owns; they too are free to live as they see fit.¡± The fourth continued.

    ¡°But you will find residence within this city... You will be employed by us, and you will make sure that our guest, Kanrel the Darshi, finds his footing as one of our own. You will be his translator¡ªa bridge between the common populous of our city and the curiosity that is the Darshi.¡± The fifth finished.

    Y¡¯Kraun hastily went to his knees and placed his forehead against the floor; they trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks. Kanrel had not known that an Atheian could cry until now.

    The bell rang, its hum covered the muffled cries of Y¡¯Kraun, and as the hum dissipated, silence ruled once more. Even when there had been no words, not a reply demanded; a bell had rung; perhaps it was done to hide away his cries.

    ¡°We have almost unanimously come to the conclusion that the behavior of the A¡¯Kau¡¯Tou¡¯n siblings has been useless, improper, and foolish in nature, especially when one considers the status that the both of you hold.¡± The first then began; their metallic, distorted voice held much contempt in its tone.

    ¡°One ought to punish such behavior... But your father was an esteemed and well-respected man, and almost solely because of his memory, your punishment will be lesser¡ªa warning that you must withhold and respect, and if either of you decide to go against it, both of you will find themselves a part of the wall.¡± The second finished, and Kanrel could, from where he stood, observe the sudden change of air in the room; the mention of ¡®the wall¡¯ brought this sense of coldness and dread among the inhabitants of the room, especially those who had knelt.

    A bell rang, its pitch the highest of the bells that had been struck; its hum went around the room for minutes; it wavered around the circular room as if bouncing from wall to wall, ricocheting continuously and without stopping, until it, again, blocked his ears, as if he had ascended to a higher altitude. And with that, the doors opened and they were disregarded¡ªtheir presence was no longer needed, and it was highly unlikely that any one of the members of the council would give another thought to any of them.

    They stepped out of the circular room, and the doors were shut behind them. Again, Kanrel was greeted with a smile without a wrinkle and a pair of dull eyes that peered deep into his soul.

 Chapter Eighty-Six: The Light Without Warmth

    The receptionist, with their smile and dull eyes that only saw Kanrel at that moment, stood before them and held a piece of paper in their left hand extending it toward Kanrel. ¡°Home¡ªis it not the place where you lay your head as you prepare yourself to approach the land of dreams?¡± They asked, their tone still flat and emotionless. ¡°Y¡¯Kraun, you may soon direct our new citizen to his new home, an abode most suitable for him. Afterward, you will be contacted by the local authorities to provide you with lodging and guidance.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun grabbed the piece of paper and read it repeatedly. He then bowed and showed his hands in submission.

    The receptionist refused to look at Y¡¯Kraun; instead, their eyes were on Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n. They pulled out a small container from somewhere and said, ¡°Your payment, Captain. Inside the container, you will find your next appointment.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n accepted his reward; the small container seemed heavier than expected.

    The receptionist then looked at the brother and sister; they tilted their head as if pondering the very sight before them; their smile dissipated. ¡°Before leaving the city, you two are advised to observe the city walls for a while. It should serve you as a reminder of how lucky you two are and how gracious the council decided to be with their judgment.¡± They said and observed the reactions of the two siblings: A slight smile that curled itself onto A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra¡¯s lips; and a twitch of A¡¯Trou¡¯n¡¯s eye that could be noticed if one paid enough attention and did not blink when it happened.

    They too bowed and muttered thanks for the council and lauded the mercy that they had shown.

    The receptionist blinked and returned to their desk, sitting down and returning to the stacks of paper that lay on it. They no longer looked at those present. Nothing moved on their face; only their hands moved as they wrote whatever it was they wrote.

    Kanrel and the rest stood there for a while, mostly eyeing each other. Meaningful glances were traded among the Atheians, with only Y¡¯Kraun staying out of it all, his eyes still red after the tears that he had shed.

    This silent storm was only put to a stop when the receptionist simply said, ¡°You are dismissed,¡± and so they all left the room and began making their way out of the Forum, past the many people who queued to receive their own judgments and decisions regarding their own issues, be it ¡°unfair¡± taxation of a brothel or a health concern relating office work, such as a sore hand after rigorous writing of reports or back pain because of, again, rigorous writing of reports.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t claim that the outcome had been predictable. It was surprising that the faceless Council of Many Faces would find his situation to be as useless as he had found it to be himself. It had been clear to Kanrel for a while that all the information that he held was mostly meaningless to the people who lived below. And his information was, as the council had claimed, unconfirmable.

    What would they do with any information regarding the vast history of humanity, the many smaller and greater kingdoms that had come and gone, or the intrigues of their religion and the power balance between the Kingdom and the Priesthood?

    To them, these stories were just stories¡ªto some degree, they were so to Kanrel as well. He hadn¡¯t been there. He hadn¡¯t seen these things happen with his own eyes. There were only historical records, which may or may not be accurate. As far as he knew, most of the history before the third or the fourth Herald wasn¡¯t collected by the most credible historians. It was known that much of the numbers were inflated, especially when it came to wars, and even more of the information didn¡¯t have the sources needed to account for all possible deniability of a person existing or of a given event happening as it did. As far as he knew, such people and events might as well not have happened or existed at all; or the least, so many of the details were somewhere on the borderline of fact and fiction; thus, the information was almost redundant.

    Even so, he was an outsider, an alien, to this ancient race locked in their prison of shadows. He and they, equally, had no way out. He was stuck here, with them. Perhaps they knew that either way he would share with them whatever knowledge he had of the world above, if only as a means of not forgetting where he had come from. This information would be doubted either way, as there was no way out.

    So might as well coexist. He might as well live his life here as it is. Might as well try... But could he? Could he truly do so? Home¡ªhe wanted to go home. He needed to see his friends and family. He needed to be rid of this sense of despair that clouded each step that he took; that followed him, always one step behind as well as ahead; it was there around the next corner as well as the previous one. It was a voice that whispered from all around and reminded him that he did not belong and that it had been years, perhaps more than a decade since he last saw the face of another human.

    If only he could be rid of this curse¡ªthis burden of power, the gift that kept on giving more and more pain.

    His shoulders slumped, and he dragged behind the rest, and soon he too stepped outside and met the light that came from above, the great crystal of the City of Last Light. The source of all light that was then directed with great mirrors to each major settlement of these sun-forsaken lands.

    That great blue hue glittered as it descended from above, like fragments of crystal, a beam of light as if meant for a man to ascend to godhood. But there was no way out. Such light meant nothing, for it gave no warmth. Even the moon on the coldest of nights gave more warmth than whatever light this faux sun produced.

    Atheians walked past him, entering and leaving the Forum, most in great stride, walking past, ignoring him and his presence as just another foolish Atheian who had had their petition ignored, or their grievance deemed to be the cries of a babbling child. Some noticed that he was not an Atheian like they were, and with brief curiosity in their eyes, slowed their steps as they went by.

    Soon he was pulled to the side as Y¡¯Kraun brought him away from the entrance to the Forum to a more quiet place in the courtyard, where Kanrel might converse for the last time with those who were about to depart.

    But no matter how many steps he took away from the round room, where the Council of Many Faces had judged them, the feeling of disgust remained. This nauseating feeling weighed upon him¡ªthat covered him. The foul air, one that he had previously likened to the still waters of a swamp, birthed from a battlefield of long ago... He no longer survived this swamp by making his way from hummock to hummock, for as he had traveled this great swamp, there was no land to take a step upon; there were no more trees in sight as they had long ago rotted and became part of the foul waters. Now he couldn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t make his way away from here. He was stuck, knee-deep in water, slowly sinking as the air pressed him from all around. He could barely breathe.

    ¡°Sister, you lie as well as you smile... What was it again? Oh, I remember... ¡®An usurped love,¡¯ ¡®the ruination of a possible union¡¯?¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra mocked, "Next, you might as well claim that I just slipped into possible death all by myself.¡±

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    A¡¯Trou¡¯n snorted, ¡°At least there is a great difference between murder and an attempt at one.¡±

    The brother scoffed, ¡°Please, we both know it all lies in intent.¡± A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra said and shook his head, ¡°What a waste of time this was... One enters the house of all judgments, confesses his own sins, and brings forth his own concerns, but he is neither forgiven nor are his concerns taken seriously." He then looked at the captain, who held the container in their hands. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n managed to at least seem a little embarrassed.

    ¡°Then you find out that the person, who you had thought to be the most trustworthy ally, was never one in the first place."

    "I hope your betrayal netted you great benefits; perhaps a household in the better parts of town.¡± He then continued, peering at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n for a while before smiling rather deviously. ¡°Worry not, old friend, I hold no grudges... This is known..."

    A¡¯Trou¡¯n rolled her eyes. ¡°At least you were betrayed only once; I for one have had to be under the constant torment of betrayal after betrayal... First, my dearest lover leaves me for my good-for-nothing older brother; my beloved father then punishes me when I only try to purify our family from future harm and rot, giving me only a slice of the land than I was at first promised.¡±

    ¡°Then much later, a foolish scholar thinks that he has the right to report things that happen in my village to some fool, who soon proceeds to kill said scholar... And now I found out that my ex-lover has betrayed me, not only once but twice... Then I lost my dearest servant, a proficient serf, who I was going to use for my own benefit, as well as even the last bit of control that I had of the Darshi.¡± She scoffed, ¡°Dear brother, you know nothing of the world nor of its people, yet you dare to insinuate that you might bring forth petty revenge toward Captain Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n?¡±

    A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra grinned, ¡°Perhaps we ought to go take a look at that wall, dear sister.¡±

    ¡°But before we do,¡± he said and glanced at Kanrel. "I''ve got a few words that I simply must exchange with a fellow citizen... in private, of course.¡± He finished and grabbed Kanrel by the hand and pulled him away from the group, all the way to the other side of the courtyard, where no one else was.

    ¡°Can you feel it? Can you feel their eyes on us? One day, when you might find the courage, go and look past the walls; look into the shadows, for they see you, they see us all... and they judge us with those eyes... Can¡¯t you feel it? We are blinded by the veil strapped around us; it fogs our vision and lets no light get past it. But when one frees their mind from fear, then one might find clarity, and through clarity, one might see the truth.¡± He whispered and smiled, ¡°Like I have...¡± At last, the Atheian released Kanrel.

    They eyed each other for a few moments, that smile still on A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra¡¯s face, and in his eyes, there was a spark¡ªnot one that mirrored a smile, but one that reflected his words. In those eyes, there resided a truth: he had seen something that he had never shared with anyone...

    The Atheian chuckled and turned around, his way away from the Forum and its entrance, and on his way, he waved at his sister and yelled, ¡°Let us go check out that wall, shall we?¡±

    Just like that, possibly the last time Kanrel would ever see him again. Not a word of goodbye. Instead, some words only with the purpose to taunt him: ¡°I know what you most wish to know.¡± That is what those words meant to him.

    Kanrel looked as the two siblings disappeared out of his sight. He looked as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n opened the little container in his hands and glanced at Kanrel before closing it and walking away as well, disappearing toward the direction where the two others had gone.

    Now only he and Y¡¯Kraun remained. The serf was no longer a serf but instead a free man, although his freedom was behind a condition, one that was related to him. The first ever Atheian that he had met now walked toward him; he held a smile on his face as he soon stopped in front of Kanrel, ¡°Let us make our way to your new home.¡± Y¡¯kraun suggested, his voice was somehow different than before; the way he now held himself had changed as well; it was as if a great boulder had been lifted from his shoulders¡ªhe could now stand as tall as he was, and at this moment he seemed like the tallest Atheian that he had met so far.

    Kanrel made no argument, and they left the forum behind, entering the busy streets of the city.

    A city of towers, high and low, all bathed by the blue light that came from above. Some of the Atheians, who walked the streets, carried sticks with cloth tops that formed small roofs over their heads that they could carry around. They called such a thing a ¡°parasol,¡± and its only purpose seemed to be to block away some of the intense brightness that the great crystal from above brought down on them.

    The crystal had been the first thing he had noticed when they first came into view of the city. It was like the sun, and as such, he was advised not to look at it directly for too long.

    Apparently, it took the Atheians, when they first arrived below, a while to find such light. Before that, they carried around torches and whatever magical devices they had brought with them to light their way as they traversed through caves and tunnels; back then, the shadows hadn''t quite yet arrived. It was said that it took months for them to find their way to the crystal and settle beneath it.

    They titled the crystal ¡°the Last Light¡± and began constructing their city right below it. And not long after, the shadows arrived.

    At the edge of town, not too far away from the city walls, in a small neighborhood, is where Kanrel found his new home. A small apartment on the first floor of the building with no windows and just that one room; on each floor, there¡¯d be a communal bathroom he would have to share with the other residents of the building. And if he wanted to eat, he¡¯d have to go to the restaurant right across from the tower that held his new home.

    It wasn¡¯t much. Inside, not many things at all. A bed, table, chair, and a polished blue crystal for light¡ªone he¡¯d have to keep charged by himself.

    The bed didn¡¯t seem comfortable, and the chair felt fragile, but at least the table was sturdy and all he really needed. There¡¯d be so much he would have to write¡ªthat was all he had now. Everything else had lost its value. Y¡¯Kraun bid him farewell and promised to come by the next day.

    Kanrel was left behind in his little room, the door closing behind him, the light from the singular crystal casting its light against him, and the gray, dull walls that now surrounded him. His only company was his own shadow, which cast itself against the wall. Even here, there was no warmth.

    He sat on the bed, and he just knew that there¡¯d be many sleepless nights to come. He lay down and met his gaze with the ceiling. There would be nights when he would not be able to close his eyes, where he¡¯d just stare ahead, his head on the pillow, his eyes unmoving and scanning the gray substance above that formed this ceiling.

    This moment was one of those moments or the beginning of one of them. As if barely floating upon the waves, unmoving and unchanging, with no waves to guide him anywhere; just him and the waters beneath, the sky that was above, as he awaited something to happen. He waited for the waters to either drown him or for the skies to change and bless him with something¡ªwith anything that would distract his mind, if even just for a moment.

    There was a time when he wasn¡¯t so unsettled by the very concept of a ceiling; his travel from the academy to the village; through winter he had traveled and almost starved; through cold and hunger; he had survived. But in the darkness of the winter, there is great solace that meets the eyes of a man¡ªthe stars that sparkle far above, so far away and so mystical they are that one can¡¯t even guess what they are and how they came to be. They are just stars to you, things that look so miniscule, but that could just mean that they are so far away that one¡¯s perception of them is all wrong. Were the stars like the crystal that lit the City of the Last Light?

    The stars would waver when he¡¯d look at them for long enough; then they¡¯d become distorted until he could hardly see them. Then he¡¯d feel as tears would flow down his cheeks, as they would burn his eyes, as he¡¯d cry freely, but without a real reason other than the very moment in which he would reside. In such moments, he didn¡¯t feel like he was drowning or waiting to drown, even when he had lost someone¡ªeven when he had lost a part of himself. He was free, even when his freedom was under the constant scrutiny of his own sense of duty. Back then, things weren¡¯t as bad as he had seen them to be. His own perception had been distorted.

    Here, he had no duty. Here, he had nothing. Here, he had no hope. Here, he awaited for something to happen, be it death or release through other means. But these thoughts and this waiting didn¡¯t hold such a thing known as hope; there was only despair. And the ceiling would not waver light like the stars did. There wasn¡¯t even water that collected itself onto that ceiling¡ªno tears to drop onto his pillow.

    Kanrel was stuck. There was no way out. There is no way back home. He has no friends. He has no family. Not here. He has nothing. He is nothing.

    So what could he do now, if anything?

    His mind wandered into a world of memories as he stared at the ceiling. That night, he only lay there and remembered all the things that he had come to regret. He met with despair and let it fill him; maybe then he wouldn¡¯t feel so empty. Maybe then he¡¯d sink and at last, drown.

 Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Weight of Oneâ€™s Own Shadow

    Morning comes, and I am still the same. Days go by, but there is no change. I grow weary, so tired. There is no rest. I need rest.

    I have had so many good things in life, so how could I now feel like I feel? I see visions of what once was¡ªmemories of who I was and who was there with me.

    Those memories, as they once were, seem to have changed¡ªsome long ago, when he first took the steps to become who he was now. And the rest now follow; each step has been taken; the Fall has concluded, or so one wants to think. This is the bottom. A pit so dark no light can reach the bottom; no light can alter what you can see from down here. And when you look up, you can¡¯t see the remnants of the sun¡ªnot light nor the warmth it once gave us. It has grown so dark as if a permanent mist were to be shrouded around his vision and around the memories that have grown bitter and as dark and as hopeless as the mind that once held them so dearly.

    Within one¡¯s heart, or mind, or whatever one wishes to call it, there is a place for everything. A place for love; a place for joy; a place for hatred; and so much more. And to make space for more, one has to remove what there already is. One has to forget, or one such feeling has to become one with another, for there is no joy, as that too had become a part of something else¡ªsomething that now veils the mind and makes one stare for a little longer at the ceiling just before the dusk and the dawn.

    He was left, mostly, to take care of himself. Of course, Y¡¯Kraun was there, and he did visit him quite often, but at first, Kanrel couldn¡¯t find within the ability to appreciate the little distractions that his only friend in this city of so-called Last Light¡ªthis city of shadows-¡ªgave him.

    This freedom felt uncomfortable. It was as false as the light from above; as faux as his own smile when he had to introduce himself to another random Atheian, whose name he would surely forget before the end of their first and last interaction.

    Everywhere he went, there were eyes on him: those that held curiosity; those that held a hint of enmity within; and those that were there just to watch... to make sure that the curious Darshi did as he was supposed to do.

    In this city of shadows below, he walked and basked in the cold light that weighed him down; that made him keep his eyes cast down, away from the faces and those eyes, those many gazes that went by. Y¡¯Kraun guided him through the streets, telling him of things that he thought Kanrel might find interesting but much of which he wouldn¡¯t be able to recall later.

    There was no comfort in these times of need. There was no mother to give him a warm hug; no angel to take him by hand and guide him through the darkest of times. The city and its people, for now, or perhaps forever, would remain unknown. There might¡¯ve been many hands that would reach toward him to offer guidance if he were to just seek such comfort, but he saw no such things. He only saw the different types of shoes that one might wear below, and he saw the shadows of these people: some large, some small; some standing tall, some as slumped as he was. He wondered if, by one¡¯s shadow, you could see the kind of life they have lived. If in that shadow, you could see if they were sad or happy, if they thought life was worth living, or if they had just despair.

    He wondered, if one were to look at his shadow, what would they see? Would it be so obvious to others? Would they even care? Would anyone even care?

    And so, first, the days went by, a slow crawl as he walked from day to day, confused and unsure as to what to do with this proclaimed freedom¡ªhow to live life from now on? How to survive these days that turned into long weeks, each turning more misty and bleak, each day more cold and weary; each shadow more heavy beneath the light that cast itself without remorse or care for those below.

    Nothing changes; nothing happens. Each day is the same, and so these days shall remain. One can¡¯t differentiate between one week and another; they are in fact just the same. They have always been, so they will remain.

    Life wavers around change, and some even claim that change in itself is inevitable, as if it were the very rule of all things, one rule that governs all else. But this change isn¡¯t in its nature, neither completely unnoticeable nor something that a mere human could perceive; it just happens. Without a reason, it comes, and it forces itself upon you. It takes people away from you; it alters the world around you; it leaves nothing untouched; it leaves no stone still; no mountain tall; no star lit forever.

    But all this change is far away from the hands of men. Why the wind blows, we do not know. Yet it does. And the only way we can alter the wind is to block it, to build walls around us, so that we may direct it away from us so that we might be a little bit more warm. But those walls, they come crashing down. The wind itself will one day pierce through it, and those walls will in the end become dust to populate the earth; to give yet another layer for another living creature to claim as its own.

    To start such a cycle anew. To begin another day; to walk around these streets without aim; to reach home and lay in bed. Above you just the ceiling, as hours go by and as you ponder, to try to come to terms with reality. There is nothing that lasts; change is inevitable, but seldom does it come within your own terms. And even when you think it comes so, the wind will tear down another wall, and with it will bring another change; another problem that you have to deal with... It is a great effort to live from day to day. To survive and reach the next morrow, and why? Just to repeat it again. And again. Till you one day realize that there is no escape...

    I need to escape.

    At the end of another long day, Kanrel reached his little apartment at last. He had bid Y¡¯Kraun goodnight and walked home by himself, now knowing the way all too well. By now, he could almost close his eyes and still reach the door; either way, it already felt as if he had his eyes shut at all times. When he walked around the city, he wouldn¡¯t look at the things around him, and if he did, his sight was truly somewhere far away, deep within thoughts that kept on bothering him and that kept on reminding him of their existence. And from such thoughts, there is no escape. Especially when there was no distraction potent enough to keep them at bay.

    He opened the door by simply placing his hand against the lock; most locks in such apartments were somewhat complex magical devices, and just because he could activate it and many of the magical devices that he had come in contact with, Kanrel had at least by now come to the conclusion that the magic of Atheians and the magic gifted to humanity weren¡¯t so different.

    He had, many times now, tried to sit down and think about this very similarity, but he just couldn¡¯t. Words refused him; different thoughts replaced the ones that could lead him onto the path of discovery. So he had given up. Now, he never sat down to write; instead, he would lie in his bed and stare at the ceiling. And it was what he would do tonight as well.

    But as he opened the door and entered, light met him. He had, perhaps, forgotten to perish the lights of the crystal lamp inside. It didn¡¯t matter; the door closed behind him, and he took steps toward his bed; the light would go off at some point during the night.

    He came to a sudden halt. In the corner of his vision, he had seen something. His own shadow.

    Kanrel faced the wall of his little room; it was gray and empty; there were no things to make it interesting to look at; there were no engravings, no colors, no nothing; just a smooth surface of cut stone, polished into a firm wall that would keep warmth; that would keep a man safe during the night.

    Yet there he saw himself¡ªnot a reflection, but a shadow. A heavy darkness was brought to this world by the light that stood behind him. He took steps closer, his shadow first large, much larger than himself, but soon it became small; it became what he was. It had to follow him everywhere; within it must¡¯ve carried all the pains and ails that he had gone through; all the regrets and worries; all the deaths and grief. It had witnessed all of it.

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    It felt heavy and dark, this umbra of his own shadow. What had brought him here?

    You couldn¡¯t call this living, as he was barely surviving. Trying his best to keep above the waves that might sweep him away; down beneath them, to yet another form of void; another dark place; another cold part of life. Another dead end. Another death.

    How does one descend to such a place? To such a feeling, through the many choices one makes; through experiences that have no true meaning behind them. One just had to think that there might be meaning, but he knew. He knew far too well that the coldness within; these waves that tried to take him away were ripples caused by him. He did this to himself.

    There was no meaning, yet he was to blame. He could¡¯ve been so much more, so much better than he is now. His mind after each day felt like this; it went through these same doubts and regrets, this unbreakable circle of self-deprecating thoughts. As the fog encroaches, it divides and conquers that which is left; this domain, once filled with at least thoughts that might¡¯ve been worth something, had become a monotone wavering, no sparks of color to be seen anywhere.

    His life had rippled too much; the waves created now crashed against him; time was running out. For just how long can a man torture himself before he self-destructs?

    Kanrel let his hands go against the surface of the wall, his own shadow the same size as him. Why did it feel so heavy? Why had it grown so burdensome to let it follow him? It was just something everyone had, so why did it feel so different now?

    He wanted to scathe parts of it away; he didn¡¯t want to feel so ashamed while it witnessed his life. Why did he have to feel so ashamed of himself? Couldn¡¯t he just once, this one god-forsaken time, forgive himself, be gentle with himself, and not treat himself as he did... Could he one day be a human, just once more, for a little while, to heal that which had burned and become charred... Just for a day, be it a short moment, he didn¡¯t want to be a priest. He wanted to be that child he barely remembered.

    Those spring days and whichever moments he had spent in beautiful gardens...

    His fingers felt the smooth surface of the wall, yet it was so scarred, it was so uneven beneath his touch; it was hurt and broken; his shadow was in pain; it didn¡¯t want to be touched by the creature it so pitied and was ashamed to be a part of...

    Shivers ran down his back as he felt forced to take his fingers away and not touch it. To let his own shadow be.

    This encounter with it was just another form of shame and regret born out of it, from such a simple touch, a notice of a hurt thing, as hurt as himself; as ashamed of himself as he was.

    If only he could touch it; if only he could feel it as something else rather than as himself; if he could see himself from the eyes of others, would their judgment be any less damning than his own?

    For a moment, he wanted to merge with it. To become one with it. But no man should let his own shadow dictate his life. One shouldn¡¯t merge with the very thing that makes him feel so ashamed of himself.

    This shadow felt burdensome, not because it pitied him but because it too had experienced what he had; it too carried the things that made him the husk of the man he was now. To himself, he was a faint memory of someone he once was. Now there remained the memory of what was lost. And that loss, too, was carried by the shadow¡ªby his shadow. It was a part of him as much as he was a part of it. It made him the man he was, but he made it the shadow it had become.

    They were the same. A singularity divided by a fine line, along which the self balances its existence, anchors itself to those two, which together make him, who can observe the world through these eyes with knowledge and intent; that which is the passive part of him, who takes actions based on what those two sides of himself give him. Those two sides create the equinox of one¡¯s persona; the equilibrium that alters at all times, losing its footing, diving in and out between the shadow and the light, the good and the bad; life and death; peace and war; lies and truths; happiness and despair...

    But the shadow was too heavy. And there was no equilibrium. There was no good, just the bad. There was no peace, just war within. There was no order, just chaos that ruled. There were no truths, just the lies that persisted. There was no life, just death that awaited. There was no happiness; only despair answered his call. There was no light, just the shadow so burdensome that followed, and its shameful stench followed with it.

    He gritted his teeth and took step after step back; he witnessed as his shadow became greater and greater, as it covered the walls and the floor before him; the uncomfortable bed; the table and his notebooks; the pens and the papers; then he reached the source of light. He turned around and looked into the blue of it, the holiest of lights that could be found beneath the ground. With a slow move of his hand and a touch that felt the coldness of the crystal, the light vanished, it vanquished, and shadows came crashing in; in an instant, the shadow covered all... But at least he couldn¡¯t see his own.

    And when the darkness became whole, he collapsed on the floor. As if chained, he lay on that floor. He drowned in that darkness, his mind screaming for freedom, for anything and anyone to save him. And then it became so quiet. Sated, empty. He could hear as the silence became so loud; it filled his world; it filled everything, from one corner of the darkness to the other. It filled that endless darkness, and for that moment, which lasted perhaps forever, or hours, or just days, his mind became one with nothing. Cold, empty, dark. Why is it so cold?

    He shivered in this darkness, his body in violent convulsions, as if he had a fever so great that such shivers were the only thing that would bring his body any resemblance of warmth.

    He sank to the depths of that darkness. The waves had won; the swamp swallowed yet another victim. And from beneath the waves, everything seemed so distorted. His eyes burned as tears forced themselves out; it hurt as they scratched their way down his cheeks. And each drop that found its way to the floor was just another addition to the darkness, to the waves that just hours ago allowed him to stay afloat.

    There are no thoughts here. Just dread. An inescapable feeling that overwhelms you. It presses itself against your chest, not allowing you to get up; not giving permission for anything else than the experience it now gave you. The spikes that pierce your head, the sensation of your lungs filling with something else than just air. Drowning. I am drowning.

    The mist has at last given way, but now there is just this pain; these spears, these, these, needles that are there, stuck to your head, to your memories, to the very thought of you and who you are; they cannot be pulled out, they cannot be removed, they remain, and they hurt. And the tears refuse to stop as he quivers on the floor, at the bottom of the ocean deep. The world and its sounds are muffled; only the silence is loud and clear, and that silence judges you; it deems you worthy of its deafening presence. It deems each moment in hell to be well deserved for the subject of its judgment.

    Destruction. The only way out is destruction. The only way out is not to exist. The only way to live is to die. No forgiveness can be given; no forgiveness can be received. No redemption for the man on the floor and his shadow. No mercy for a sinner. I must not exist; I ought not to.

    The heart is heavy, and so it burns. His body is tense; there is no rest. The convulsions have stopped; it isn¡¯t even cold anymore. There are no thoughts anymore. Only the needles remain. And even the silence has given way. There are sensations within he cannot name. His body was weak, and his mind becoming more clouded. What if he were to just lay here and not think at all? If he were to just lay here and slowly succumb to this illness. What if he closed his eyes and let no light grace him ever again? What if¡­ he were to die? To stay here. To become still. To become nothing. Nothing.

    But one cannot dwell in darkness forever. Not when such inaction leads to death. Not when the world calls for him; it forces itself in after a few days, in the form of an unrelenting curiosity others have for your own well-being. Be it family, or in this case, friends, who force you to open the door and let them enter the darkest parts of your being. Change will force itself upon you¡­

    Without your wish, without your consent... They save you even when you don¡¯t think you can be saved. Even when you don¡¯t think that you deserve to be saved. Even when you think that life itself has only pain that it could give you. They barge in through the door; they break it in and let the light cast its soothing rays upon the floor on which you¡¯ve found yourself, collapsed and empty, broken-hearted and given in, the burden of existence far too heavy on the soul that seeks salvation.

    Y¡¯Kraun looked at the floor, at the human who lay at his feet, not too far away from the bed nor the door. Then they crouched down, ¡°Why the hell are you down here?¡± A simple question, what seemed like utter confusion, but down from the floor, Kanrel could observe in those eyes something akin to worry. Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s breath was heavy; he had run here. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He had run here. To see Kanrel... Why? For how long had he been on this floor? How many days had passed? Why did he feel so weak and cold? Why were his lips so parched? Why did the light hurt his eyes so?

    ¡°I fell asleep,¡± Kanrel muttered and tried to smile, but no such lie could form itself upon his lips; instead, he stared ahead, at the face of the Atheian, who had become his savior. Who then grabbed him by his arms and helped him walk again; helped him out of this little room, in this little house, out and beneath the grand crystal that lit the city and its streets; the people who walked said streets, the many Atheians, who had been so far yet so close to a place that could¡¯ve been his final resting place.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go eat,¡± Y¡¯Kraun whispered, his voice as jolly as one could feign it to be. No direct questions were asked; instead, he was led out to those busy streets, toward a nearby restaurant and the bowls of warm soup they could offer a hungry man.

 Chapter Eighty-Eight: A List of Impossibilities

    The smell of what seemed like a soup forced his belly to react. With a deep growl heard by his company across the table, the smiling Atheian, who had brought him here, was forced to sit down, to eat what he was offered, to survive, even when he wanted to give up.

    It was a small restaurant, with not too many people inside, only the two and another table of not too wealthy-looking Atheians. The other table kept on eyeing Kanrel, their gazes at times lingering for a few moments longer than necessary, but it was no surprise and nothing he hadn¡¯t begun getting used to. The owner of the small restaurant had only for a moment looked at Kanrel with surprise before taking in their order and soon enough, bringing out said soup with its dubious contents.

    The taste was already familiar to Kanrel. But he barely noticed it; he just ate to subside the hunger that had gone unnoticed for far too long. The warmth each spoonful brought him was a much-needed sensation; perhaps he¡¯d find the strength to start a conversation with his company, or at least meet his gaze, and at least seem a little ashamed of what he had almost let happen.

    The only sounds to fill the air were the sounds of eating; his and Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s spoons scooping soup; a menial conversation heard from a table not too far away; and the sound of turning a page at the counter.

    It was peaceful. Normal. Something dearly missed that he could recognize; that he could feel as something he missed but not as something he could enjoy, even if he wanted to revel in such an environment. To truly feel at peace with the world around the one within.

    But silence must come to an end, that he knew as he placed the spoon on the table, the bowl before him empty, as if licked clean, and the awaiting expression across from him¡ªa hint of curiosity and perhaps worry hidden in those eyes that observed him.

    ¡°Were you going to just wither away?¡± A direct question came. One that didn¡¯t care to be considerate, from the lips of someone who deserved to know.

    Kanrel averted his own gaze and studied the empty bowl instead, forcing an awkward silence, where he wondered if silence was enough as an answer, and perhaps it was; but even then, he told the truth: ¡°Yes.¡±

    A long sigh forced itself out of Y''Kraun. ¡°I see. And for what reason?¡±

    Another short-lived silence ensued, as Kanrel sought to find the courage to be truthful and to let words come out that felt like they might remain stuck in his throat forever. ¡°It just feels too heavy, an unbearably laborious burden to carry¡ªto never resolve.¡±

    ¡°I am stuck, not just here but in my own head. I am stuck, and I can¡¯t seem to find a way out of here¡ªnot from this prison of yours, nor from this cycle of thoughts.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun scoffed, ¡°Well, you did seem to find a way out, one that I cannot understand, for I see nothing more wasteful than the route you were so ready to take.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen others burdened by their own melancholy, their own sense of stillness, and many of them took the same route as you did; many of them chose to waste time itself, the very time they were given to live.¡± Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s words brought silence to the small restaurant; even the group of Atheians at the other table seemed to enter this silence; even the restaurant owner behind the counter seemed to accept this silence, to wait for it to resolve by the words that were to follow.

    ¡°Kanrel, are you so weak-willed that you would give up without even trying? For about a month you¡¯ve been allowed to live in this city; you¡¯ve been allowed to roam its streets to meet its people... Yet you¡¯ve not taken any steps to connect with it.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say that I know what you¡¯ve gone through; not what kind of suffering you must¡¯ve experienced to reach our lands, but even then I never thought you to be a coward, nor someone who would give up so easily.¡±

    ¡°I found you in that chamber, unable to move, malnourished, and desperate to live, yet now that you¡¯ve been given the right to live, even among a land that has been somewhat hostile to you, you give up without even trying," Y¡¯Kraun said, each sentence drenched in disappointment; each word another long nail struck to his head; all of it a truth he knew all too well but had refused to see as such.

    He didn¡¯t entirely agree with everything the Atheian had said, but he agreed with enough of it. One can blame the world only so much until it becomes an excuse for a pathetic man who refuses to take action to make his life better and to make do with the cards he has been given. He had wallowed in the waters, waiting for change or the moment in which he''d drown, yet he had not tried to swim or even tried to find a shore where he¡¯d be safe from the coming storm¡ªfrom the storm that had almost drowned him.

    At this moment, he was a child scolded by a wiser adult. This feeling was one he hadn¡¯t experienced in perhaps decades, at least not as himself, not as Kanrel.

    If what he wanted was change, then he ought to make an effort for it. If he wanted to metamorphosize, to become a different man than the one he had become, then he ought to get up from the depths of his own self-pity and face the world that seemed so cold and heartless. Maybe then there might be change, and if there was none to come, if all would remain the same, then he could at least face his own shadow, his of reflection, and not feel so bitter nor defeated. At least then, in the eyes of other men, he wouldn¡¯t seem so weak-willed and pathetic.

    Kanrel raised his gaze from the bowl and met the inquiring expression of Y¡¯Kraun, ¡°I have been foolish, haven¡¯t I?¡± He simply asked, his despair seeping into every word, forming a question that wished to be condemned, that wished to be confirmed.

    ¡°Yes. Now live, so that the Council might let my family live as well." Y¡¯Kraun answered, and from the pockets of his pants he brought out a square coin that he placed on the table and then got up, tapping Kanrel on the shoulder and adding, ¡°You might want to think of those around you; even if they might seem like strangers, some of them might care about you¡ªsome of them might understand your despair, and some would enter that despair when you choose to depart so suddenly.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun left the restaurant, stretching his long limbs as he went, leaving Kanrel with his own thoughts: Perhaps he had been far too selfish. A fool, in more ways than he had thought possible.

    Kanrel was indeed an apparent fool.

    The rest of the day, Y¡¯Kraun once more led Kanrel around the city, showing places that might interest him, but now Kanrel looked at the world with different eyes. Eyes that were desperate to find something to give him a sense of purpose¡ªanything at all that might give him meaning.

    The outlandish architecture of these lands was something he had grown mostly accustomed to; there seemed to be benefits in terms of space to build higher instead of wider, making the city more concise, even when the city seemed to have no end when one walked its streets. The many towers that filled with apartments like his own, and what he imagined to be some sort of working space for the many different businesses in the city. These towers, by now, had become more or less ordinary. Just another building, another house of sorts, that he wouldn¡¯t give too much attention to.

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    But there were times when something did sway his eyes to give it a second look, and a few more. One of such things was massive, by all means, a spire that had four towers all of different heights that reached toward the cave ceiling above and its faux-sun, none of the tips of those towers touching it, and it was hard to tell from below if they were even close to that ceiling or not.

    They had come to a stop near this massive construct, as Y¡¯Kraun then began to explain the very thing Kanrel so intently observed: ¡°The Grand Library, the university of everyone''s dreams, the bank of most known knowledge, and the seat of power for the scholars and other members of the Grand Library.¡±

    ¡°Someone as poor as I could ever only dream of entering its abode and taking courses by their most famous professors; to have an education from such an esteemed establishment is a privilege most can¡¯t afford; even those who can afford it might never get to enter it if they lack in talent or intelligence, or if they don¡¯t know the correct people to enter as a student.¡±

    ¡°Personally, I¡¯ve never been so close to it. And now, I can¡¯t help but wonder what it would feel like to spend even a day inside... And even if I might never get the chance to do so, at this moment I can¡¯t help but be thankful to you, Kanrel... Because of you, I might marvel at its existence from so close to it... Not to mention the great honor¡ªand dread¡ªthat was to kneel before the Council of Many Faces, or to even enter the very same building they inhabit.¡±

    ¡°The Forum is not for serfs and the poor. Our issues and worries don¡¯t matter; only those of our masters have any importance, and often we are the ones to pay for those issues in one way or another.¡± Y¡¯Kraun explained, then he looked at Kanrel, ¡°Thank you.¡± He said with a slight smile curled on his lips.

    Kanrel remained silent, and silence was enough to accept such words. And those very words are what made him wonder about the things that he should be thankful for. There were so many, and in recent times, much of that should be directed toward Y''Kraun... Kanrel wouldn¡¯t be alive without him. He would¡¯ve perished months ago in that chamber. If the Atheian had come any later, then he would¡¯ve instead found the rotting corpse of a strange creature it could not even name.

    Such an image was macabre, and it mirrored the sight he could¡¯ve found in Kanrel¡¯s apartment. Would the kind Atheian deserve to see such a sight? Had he not seen enough? He too had been there on that day when blood rained down from the ceiling¡­

    Bothered by his own actions and lack of gratitude, Kanrel let Y¡¯Kraun take the lead again as they continued their tour around the city. He tried to pay more attention to the things the Atheian would tell him, as well as look around more, to see if there might be more buildings like the Grand Library that might catch his eye. Sadly, on that day there were none as magnificent as it.

    He returned to his apartment, now with a different feeling than a few days prior. He opened the door once more, and his eyes met with darkness. He let his gaze scry that darkness, the floor and spot upon which he had collapsed, or just laid down; he could barely remember how he had found himself on that floor. He only remembered why; he remembered the man he had been in that moment; he had been so ashamed of himself, and now he was even more so, but for a different reason. He was ashamed of that very action, that course of thoughts that had brought him onto that floor; that had nearly drowned him; that had almost made him become a corpse to be found by someone more innocent than him. He didn¡¯t wish to commit another crime toward another creature, not in such a way. He had no right to soil someone else''s mind in such a way.

    Kanrel lit the crystal of that room that shone its blue light and filled the room with it. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His gaze again met the shadow that cast itself on the wall. Now, a familiar figure, that was nothing more than himself: an ashamed existence that now feared the way it might pointlessly hurt another being.

    Tonight, he ignored the shadow; he ignored the bed and the sight of the ceiling it might provide him. Instead, he sat down on the sole chair in his apartment, upon the table on which lay his notebook, many pieces of paper, and a pen.

    A pen that had sat idle for weeks, and a notebook that yearned to be baptized by ink once more.

    Tonight, he would make an effort to become, not someone else, but someone who he could one day be proud of. He grabbed the pen and opened the notebook; he baptized the pen in the strange ink of the Atheian people and began to write a list of things he ought to do. Goals that he needed to achieve:

    Study the culture and the ways of the Atheian people; through this, I might become less of an outsider to these people, but mostly so that I might feel that I belong, or at least, I might understand their strange ways.

    Explore the walls and the meaning behind the threats that the Council of Many Faces had made toward A¡¯Trou¡¯n and A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra.

    Further develop my magical abilities. Perhaps, through the point of view of the Atheians, their magic, although slightly different, could give me insight that I need to make a new breakthrough in both theory and the practice of magic.

    Gather more information about the shadows and how they got here; perhaps there are others who have survived their touch, like A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, who might have more insight and memories of the whispers they heard from them, as well as dreams they might¡¯ve seen.

    Who was the madman who claimed that they could kill a god?

    Things that seemed simple and achievable, things that weren¡¯t impossible to him, and perhaps something that he might be able to achieve soon; some things that he would surely learn as days went by, or even months; one does not learn the quirks and details of another culture in a short time; such would take years, or perhaps even decades; even still, he ought to be prepared for such a span of time.

    Then there was the impossible¡ªthe one thing he knew he wanted the most. Something he would desire, something that would give him a great amount of hope and happiness if he would ever reach it, and if he were able to feel such feelings:

    Find a way home.

    And others, perhaps even more impossible things to achieve for someone like him:

    Find within the ability to dream again.

    Forgive yourself, or find someone who can forgive you.

    Find again what it felt to love¡ªnot the despair of it, not the loneliness of it, but the happiness of it, the warmth of it.

    Try to live, not for yesterday or for tomorrow, but for today; no in the regret of past deeds or the worry of those to come, but in the present. There will be time to regret and worry either way.

    He felt a piece in his throat and tears that forced themselves down his cheeks; his shoulders shook as he wrote these simple words, these things that he had hoped for but never tried to reach; that he thought not possible; that he thought to be something he had no right for.

    Surely he was to be blamed for all that had happened to him, or at least a large amount of those things; but couldn¡¯t he, just this one time, blame someone else than just himself? Was the Priesthood not the greatest reason that had caused him to become so cynical and so hurt? So filled with despair and regret? Should he not blame that organization and the lies they had fed him¡ªthe way they had conditioned him to become who he was now?

    His mother had warned him not to take this path; she had known what awaited at the end of it. After a fall, he¡¯d find himself down at the bottom¡ªone so deep it was near impossible to climb out of. But now he had to try, and he would damn the Priesthood as he did it. He would damn twice the Angels that had taken something so precious from him and from so many priests before him.

    For what is a man without the ability to appreciate love or the many other things that truly make life worth living? That makes men have the will to move mountains and make seas come apart. Their gift might make these men unable to have the desire to use their powers in the pursuit of greed, but this curse did make it so that those very same men barely wished to live another day.

    They all, and not just Kanrel, desired to enter the void that met their gaze so intently, alluring them to take one step to seal their faith. The end to the Ritual and the fall within it would be another fall; this fall would just be without the faux life they would be given to serve the Angels and their grotesque history that would make any man question if they had ever known such things as justice or righteousness.

    Kanrel damned all of them and more; he damned all the things that had brought him here, himself included as he wrote down his list. He bawled like a child lost, one without the embrace of a mother, without the guidance of a father. He cried and promised himself that he would change; he would regain himself; he would find that child that he had been so long ago, that awkward kid who barely knew how to smile; he would embrace that child and tell him that it wasn¡¯t his fault that he had been led astray.

    His hands shook as he dropped the pen. For a moment, he looked at what he had written. All these things that he knew that he wanted, that he needed. He used the sleeve of his shirt to dry his tears. He hadn¡¯t felt so normal in such a long time.

 Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Walls Between Shadow and Light

    It takes an immense amount of willpower to keep going. Life is suffering, and this suffering doesn¡¯t just magically go away; it remains and persists; it returns when you think you¡¯ve gone past it; it lifts up its head from day to day and reminds you of its existence. Indeed, a great mountain it is. One many will keep climbing until their limbs are bloodied and broken until their minds can¡¯t take it, until the day they succumb to its will, and death claims them through time, or through means that one can¡¯t expect. Yet they keep climbing this mountain, for they do not know of anything else, and most fear to look behind them, to see the fall that awaits if they take a misstep¡ªa return to an earlier, much more painful moment in one¡¯s life.

    It is as if there are two options in life: you either live or you die, but there is a caveat for the former option: you must suffer to live, and either way you die, but at least life itself might¡¯ve given you something that is worthwhile.

    This is what Kanrel realized as he woke up one morning, finding it difficult to get up from the warmth of his own bed¡ªto suffer through yet another day whilst in search of a moment that might not bring torment. The seemingly easy thing would be to just remain in that bed, to skip through this day and await the moment where existential dread and the fear of suffering would not cloud his mind, but the only way to survive is to get up and accept that you will suffer either way. At least this way he might choose where and when he suffers; at least outside he might suffer among others, even if those others are unable to understand a word he says.

    Of course, everyone knows that this choice is nothing more than an illusion, one that has to be kept, lest the lack thereof force you to give up and fall down that mountain to a new place of torment, from where one finds it impossible to get back up. So he forced himself up from that bed and began this day as he had begun so many before.

    Progress is slow; one seldom can see the change that happens within, even when they spend hours of their days immersed with their own thoughts and feelings. And it is so easy to remain in a previous mindset because of previously learned thought patterns that then force you to see yourself in a certain way.

    A mantra of, ¡°I hate myself,¡± ¡°I am to be blamed for all that has happened,¡± and ¡°I regret each and every moment of my life,¡± and that paired with vision-like memories of things that you¡¯ve done and what have happened to you; all this too keeps up this toxic mindset that overwhelms and tries to mask all the good that has happened to you, forcing one to either ignore the good or just see it as something that is no different from the bad.

    How does one even begin to break such a vicious cycle when that might as well be all that you¡¯ve ever known?

    Such thoughts clouded his mind, and recently he had begun, at least to try to find those moments in which he went through a moment of overt self-criticism and hate, to instead notice this feeling of regret and be a little more gentle with himself. But it is, at times, difficult to remember or to allow oneself the mercy one might have for others.

    But perhaps today he¡¯d remember to give himself mercy; perhaps today he¡¯d be less critical of himself; perhaps today he could forgive himself his own existence.

    So he went on to yet another day, not so different from the many that he had lived through: Kanrel would meet up with Y¡¯Kraun, and they¡¯d have breakfast at the nearby restaurant, with whose owner they had become quite acquainted with, even learning the Atheians name, ¡°B¡¯ou Ne¡¯un,¡± apparently a female, but Kanrel could hardly tell if they were or if Y¡¯Kraun was trying to trick him, but either way, the food B¡¯ou provided them with was what helped Kanrel gain back the weight he had lost, and by now he was more or less healthy in that regard. He also realized that it was best not to know what the average Atheian cuisine might be made out of. At least twice, he had asked Y¡¯Kraun what they were eating, and both times his sole friend in this city of towers had as an answer named a bug Kanrel had never heard of. Ignorance is bliss, and in this situation¡ªespecially when it came to food¡ªhe wanted to remain as blissful as he could. Then again, it was possible that Y¡¯Kraun enjoyed tricking the Darshi, whose handler he had practically become, and Kanrel couldn¡¯t hold that against him.

    After these breakfasts, they¡¯d continue touring the city so that Kanrel might in the future traverse it without difficulties, and by now he had been able to produce an extensive map of the city that he kept on updating at the end of each day, adding new points of interest, buildings, streets, and parts of the city that held stores, restaurants, libraries, and many other things and places, where he¡¯d like to visit when he¡¯d have the chance to do so.

    And when Kanrel would return to his small apartment, he¡¯d do what he had almost always done in his life: write down information that he deemed worthy of writing down. Be it those points of interest or snippets of history that he learned through Y¡¯Kraun, who would work as his translator and his guide, as they met many Atheians who were unable to hide their curiosity as they approached the alien-looking creature, known as a human, to ask what they might be and from where they might¡¯ve come from.

    All in all, it was a blessing that there was something to do. Something to throw his mind and will at, to avoid slipping down that mountain he so wished to climb¡­

    But this day was different from the previous days, as they would, for the first time since the very first day that Kanrel had arrived in this city, reach the outskirts of the city and the walls he had heard so much about but hadn¡¯t had the chance to study. For these very walls were, to him, more mysterious than the things those walls tried to protect. After all, he had heard so much about them by now. And from what Kanrel could gather, the walls were considered, for some reason, a punishment for the most heinous criminals that there might be, yet at the same time they were somehow sacred to many¡ªa construct that struck the many Atheians he had the pleasure to communicate with, with fear and awe, and at times almost religious fervor. The walls were, indeed, a curiosity, a point of interest; he most wanted to learn and understand¡­

    While looking at the wall from within the city, it did seem like a normal wall and nothing else. It was tall and a mix of dark and gray brick, with no other buildings touching it. There seemed to be at least a ten-meter perimeter right next to the wall that was kept clear at all times. A barren strip of land in between the walls and the city itself, even and without even a singular stone or boulder to make it uneven or imperfect in its emptiness. In this perimeter, there was no one, and the duo came to a sudden stop at the edge of this barren portion of the city.

    Y¡¯Kraun seemed nervous for some reason and even grabbed Kanrel¡¯s arm to make sure that he wouldn¡¯t step on that narrow strip of land. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t wander too close.¡± He hissed, a mask of worry covering his face.

    ¡°Why?¡± Kanrel asked, staring past the strip of land at the walls that reached several tens of meters up toward the ceiling.

    ¡°It would be disrespectful to bother the ancients," Y¡¯Kraun whispered and pulled Kanrel away from the walls and the land between them and the city.

    ¡°Ancients? You¡¯ve never mentioned these ¡®ancients¡¯ before.¡±

    ¡°We prefer not to talk about them, lest we find ourselves too curious and having the desire to go closer to the walls... To touch them, even when we know that we should not.¡±

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    ¡°But they are just walls, are they not?¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun seemed more nervous than before. ¡°Yes¡ªthey are just walls, and nothing more.¡±

    Kanrel peered at the Atheian for a few moments, intrigued by his reaction, then he smiled, ¡°I¡¯d like to see these walls from outside the city, of course from far enough.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun hesitated for a while; he seemed to be torn about the whole situation, but after a while, he let out a long sigh, ¡°Very well... But if you take even one step too close, I will have to use force to bring you back into the city.¡±

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°Do not worry, my friend. If there is a reason why you and I aren¡¯t supposed to get too close to these walls, then I will, of course, listen to your advice; I wouldn¡¯t dare to go against your rules and regulations.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun scoffed in turn, ¡°I can see the curiosity in your eyes, Darshi; don¡¯t think of me as someone so naive that I¡¯d trust your words.¡±

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but grin rather widely at that, as he soon asked, ¡°Have I ever lied to you?¡±

    ¡°Most definitely more than I have." The Atheian replied promptly, but even then he pulled Kanrel with him as they looked for one of the entrances to the city, most of which were located between the western and southern parts of the city.

    ¡°The reason for the locations of the four primary gatehouses to the city was simple,¡± Y¡¯Kraun had one day explained to Kanrel, ¡°no Atheian lives to the north or the east of the city. We once did, as we so long ago marched from somewhere there, past the veil of shadows that now surrounds most of our lands. Thus, no sane Atheian has tried to even take a step or wander too close to where none could return alive from.¡±

    So, to put it simply, there was no need for an entrance from the east or the north; such had been decided when they had first begun building the walls that now surround the city from all directions.

    The gatehouse they exited was the most western one, simply known as ¡°the Western Gate.¡± Through this entrance, most trade from the City of Creation came from, as well as the lands beyond them, such as the Blue-Stone Village. Because of this, it was the most active of the four gates, simply because of the abundance and the need for the blue stones that lit each room in each building of the city. The City of Last Light also served as the very center of all trade; everything flowed through it, be it mushrooms and salt from the fields in the southern lands, strange species of fish, and of course water, from the southwestern lands. Everything made its way here, both people and goods, as it was how the flow of trade was made to be because of the many tunnels that led here to the very center of their civilization below the earth.

    Of course, it might¡¯ve not been the most optimal way of doing things, as considerable effort could¡¯ve been made in the construction of other tunnels so that they might shorten the time needed to go from the southwestern lands to the southern lands and so forth. But, this wasn¡¯t seen as an issue, and none would go against the wishes of the council, and so far no council had ever wanted to make such tunnels. They seemed to think that what they had now was more than enough, and it did make sure that the City of Last Light remained the seat of all power.

    The gatehouse was the same one they had traveled through to enter the city itself a couple of months ago. It was tall and elaborate in its facade, with the entrance itself being wide with an oval arch at the top, allowing plenty of people to enter and leave at the same time. All the while, a few dozen guards collected information about the people who traversed through the gate, keeping track of what they brought with them or what they left with, how many people were in a given party of people or a caravan, what names and occupations they had, as well as if they had any deeper connections to any of the factions in their wider society. And of course, there were also those who were on more ¡°official¡± business; for example, when Kanrel and the rest had at first arrived at the city, they were allowed to enter a different queue of people and to be part of this queue, you had to have an official seal or an invitation that had been confirmed at the Forum, to enter more quickly and without having to wait possibly hours to seek entrance.

    Thankfully, Y¡¯Kraun carried a seal with him; apparently, it had been awarded to him by the Receptionist, when he had been called to the Forum to receive new orders after Kanrel had settled into his new apartment. This seal gave them free entrance in and out of the city, as long as this specific seal had been marked for such purposes. The guards at the gatehouse checked the seal and compared it to the edict they had received from the Forum; thus, they were allowed to exit the city.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but wonder, as they left the city, why the Atheians were so okay with using these gatehouses to enter and exit when they were also part of the walls. What made them less of a ¡°taboo¡± to walk near as well as talk about? Was it just their purpose, or had they been de-stigmatized out of necessity? So he asked Y''Kraun, who then explained, ¡°There are no ancestors in the gatehouses." A simple answer, prompted Kanrel to ask follow-up questions, ¡°Do these ancestors live in the walls? Are they stationed there, or what?¡± But to these questions, Y¡¯Kraun refused to give an answer; he only seemed more uncomfortable because of them.

    They traveled northward, along the ten-meter perimeter of the walls that had been kept desolate and without the touch of nature and Atheian alike. And slowly, the discomfort around these walls, the awe and fear that they brought out from Atheians, and the reason behind them became apparent; it all began to make sense.

    On the walls, there were stories that reached the very top of the wall; on each level, there was a figure, a gray creature, not different from the Atheain who stood by him; their limbs were stretched, and they held bars that went from the bottom to the top of the walls. Some seemed withered, some almost alive, some were mere husks of a once-living creature, but all stood tall; all had their faces pointed away from the city, their eyes cast forward as if eyeing the shadows that were like a thick fog around the city as if keeping them at bay. Engravings cover these poor souls, and at last, Y¡¯Kraun spoke, ¡°It is the old tongue; not many speak it, for we have forgotten how to. There are many words not used, many concepts not understood, but they are there to remind us of the things that we were above and of the reasons why we were forced here." His voice wavered, as if he were a lonesome candle in a mass of darkness, trying its best to remain and give its last light to the darkness that would, in the end, cover all else.

    Kanrel remained silent; he had no words to give and no questions to ask for now. He stood there and took it all in as it were, as he saw it. In a way, these carcasses, if they even were dead, were like a library¡ªnot just a wall to keep the shadows at bay, but a history written on the very skins of those who witnessed some of it. And the collection of them then formed a story that was complete¡ªthe whole history of the Atheian people¡ªbut all indeed written in a language barely alive.

    From so far away, Kanrel couldn¡¯t really make out shapes or even give a guess what those engravings might want to share with the world. He knew that this view was horrible, but at the same time, he could feel the necessity of its existence. And the way these figures stood, their libs spread apart; a memory resurfaced, one of a dream he had had:

    I am pierced, stuck¡ªpart of a wall that stands between the city and the shadows that lie past its walls. Beneath we are, and no light is potent enough to pierce through, to exorcise the lost souls that now roam the edges of my vision.

    ¡­

    It is cold here, and against the fog that never settles, only together might we hold these walls intact; only together might the rest live. Only together must we reach the point of insanity.

    These walls devour me; we are together, but not one memory remains between us; we have long forgotten who we are; only our purpose remains, as we must hold, even after we break; even after I can no longer remember how to remember or even how to forget.

    A shiver ran down his spine as he then looked at what the figures on the walls looked at.

    It quivers and bubbles, the darkness around us; one can almost touch it, feel its rough edges and smooth junctions. A mass of figures sewn into one, their voices loud and silent, a choir of lost souls, of a lost time, of a lost empire; the servants of a dead god¡­

    ¡°Who was the madman who claimed that they could kill a god?¡± He whispered a lonesome question as he felt the urge to enter those shadows, to feel their despair and reach the truth they didn¡¯t want the world to forget.

    ¡°Did you say something?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked, a worried expression resting on his face as he observed the human and his gaze that was set somewhere so deep into those shadows that refused to avert the light that came from the false sun above.

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°Nothing important.¡± He said, now a bit louder, he turned around again, and met the frozen eyes of the so-called ancients on the walls, ¡°Let¡¯s head back to the city; a good hearty dinner is much needed." He said, and in turn pulled the Atheian with him, away from the walls and the shadows that lay not so far away; away from the barren strip of land that surrounded the walls from both sides; away from where the shadow met light; away from the figures that had forgotten how to remember and how to forget.

 Chapter Ninety: A Small Restaurant and the Entrance to the Grand Library

    A sphere extends in each direction, and I am chained in the middle, with a hundred chains to keep me still. Ten from each of my limbs; ten from my back and my chest; ten from my stomach and ten from both of my sides; ten from all the directions of my head; ten from my neck. I cannot move. I can only stare and wait. I can only wait for you. And from each direction, like the sphere, they surround me¡ªthey surround us.

    ¡°Release us¡­¡± Can you hear their whispers? Can¡¯t you hear their will as each day goes by? Can¡¯t you sense their despair?

    Days go by; so do weeks and months; soon years and decades, yet I remain in this sphere, and I await for you to reach me, for you to reach the truth that I have seen. Can¡¯t you hear my call? Can''t you feel their gazes upon us? Don¡¯t you sense what they want to tell us?

    ¡°From the shadows, lead us.¡± To them, you¡¯re like a shepherd¡ªthe one promised to them, the one they most prayed for in their times of need, the one who could¡¯ve saved them...

    Don¡¯t you remember them? They were once your people as much as mine; you¡¯ve seen what I have; you¡¯ve lived through what I did. But you have yet to see the ashes of our mistakes. How our cities fell, how our people died... You must see; you must learn the truth.

    ¡°From the darkness save us.¡± Can¡¯t you hear their whispers?

    Dreams and nightmares¡ªwhere do they even come from? For such visions haunted his sleep, and from each of them he¡¯d wake up from, the sheets of his bed drenched in cold sweat, and a burning memory of what he had seen laid claim to his thoughts, not allowing him a new entrance to return back to his dreams. Forcing him to get up and write down what he had seen. So he¡¯d write that and a little more, until he¡¯d fall asleep where he sat, only to enter another dream, one similar to the rest, one shrouded by the same whispers as the previous one. He couldn¡¯t run away from them; these dreams they¡¯d wait for him, and they refused to give him the rest he so wished for.

    It wasn¡¯t just these dreams that bothered him; it was also the walls around the city; the sight of the figures pierced and stretched on them. He wanted to go closer; he wanted to see them from up close. He wanted to read what the engravings said; he wanted to read through the history of the Atheians. A tome spread on the walls and onto the bodies of those who had given everything, be it out of a desire to do so, out of necessity, or out of punishment, as was suggested by the Council of Many Faces and their threats.

    Kanrel needed to know; he needed to learn why these walls came to be. What was their long and complicated history, and who were these ancients that brought out the awe and fear of Y''Kraun when they had observed them... And there seemed to be only one place in this city where he might find answers to these questions he so sought.

    The Grand Library. A massive building past which he and Y¡¯Kraun had walked so many times now, and each time they did so, Kanrel would look at it a little longer. Letting his gaze linger and his mind wonder if within he¡¯d find the answers to all the questions he had. Or if, within the walls of that building, there¡¯d be another disappointment waiting for him. Questions left unanswered.

    But one day, when they were walking past it, he grabbed Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s arm and forced them to come to a stop, right in front of the massive building. In the middle of a flow of Atheians who went on with their lives, some entering the Grand Library, some walking past it, holding on to their parasols, perhaps bothered by the two that had come to such a sudden halt. Some of them would cast weird looks at them as they went by, their eyes signaling the great bother their antics had caused for those that now had to take two steps left or right to avert the two fools blocking others in the middle of traffic.

    ¡°What? Did something happen?¡± Y¡¯Kraun soon asked, turning around and trying to meet Kanrel¡¯s gaze, but that gaze was directed toward the Grand Library, his solemnly kept on those doors through which a smaller flow of people entered and exited.

    ¡°I want to go in.¡± Kanrel said and then met Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s gaze, ¡°I believe that in a library as great as this, a man can learn all the knowledge he so desires.¡± He claimed.

    Y¡¯Kraun shook his head and smiled. ¡°I understand, and I agree with you, but... You don¡¯t even know how to read our language.¡±

    Kanrel blinked his eyes; his words had stunned him. ¡°Fuck.¡± He muttered, ¡°How the hell could I forget?¡± In his eyes, there was a confused expression, one that the Atheian had never seen before.

    A wide smile conquered Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s face, and a howling laughter forced itself out of him; soon he wiped tears from his eyes as Kanrel observed the Atheain and his reactions in a state of profound confusion.

    ¡°My friend¡­ I had no idea such words could come out of you.¡± Y¡¯Kraun said, when his spout of laughter had come to an end, and when he had barely claimed back his composure, ¡°You better not utter profanities out loud relating to that in the future; you might leave an Atheain and a few more quite confused with what you want to do with them.¡±

    ¡°But I digress, I am uncertain if we are allowed to seek entrance into the Grand Library even if you were able to read... I¡¯d first have to ask permission, and you might need to have a trade with the scholars there, information for information." Y¡¯Kraun continued, there remained visible joy in his eyes, ¡°But I will see what I can do; I¡¯ll ask permission at the Forum later today, and by tomorrow we will or we will not be allowed entrance to the library.¡±

    Kanrel stared at the Atheian for a while, then asked the one question that firmly held itself at the top of his mind, ¡°What did I say?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean, what did I say to earn such a reaction?¡± He asked again.

    ¡°Oh¡­ Well, the one word relating to reproduction or perhaps pleasure through such means... You know that word.¡± Y¡¯Kraun explained, giving glances at the people who walked past him, lest someone hear what he was trying to say.

    ¡°I see, but, at the same, it seems that I am not the only one who is quite forgetful of things,¡± Kanrel said and tapped his left ear and the pearl that was in there.

    Y¡¯Kraun seemed confused for a moment then did the same, his bright blue eyes dilating, another convulsion of laughter forcing itself out of the Atheian. ¡°You¡¯re right, it would seem that I am the only person in town who can understand a word you¡¯re saying.¡± He said after finding his composure.

    ¡°Either way, I¡¯d appreciate it if you used other words to express your frustration because that one does throw me off a little,¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked, and he chuckled as they continued on their way, making their way to another location that they had planned to visit, a small restaurant they had visited before next to it a small bookstore. The bookstore itself was what they wanted to visit, as Kanrel needed more notebooks as he had begun to run out of space; he had, after all, filled three of them since he had entered the city.

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    But when they sat down to have lunch, it became clear to Kanrel why they had to visit this bookstore for the aforementioned notebooks and other writing material that he might need. Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes wildly looked for something, and as soon as he did find what he was looking for, a slight smile came into bloom on that usually so expressionless face.

    In the restaurant, there were many customers; it was lunchtime after all. And many people who worked nearby would come to this very establishment to have a small break from work, eat little, and converse with their co-workers and other Atheians who they might know. Yet all Y¡¯Kraun saw was a specific Atheian, one who served the few tables and the customers that sat around them with the food that they had ordered.

    An Atheian not that different looking from all the others that Kanrel had seen; perhaps the only difference was the smile on their face that always seemed to reach those pale blue eyes of hers. Eyes that seemed cold, yet that smile brought so much warmth into them.

    The situation was interesting to him; he couldn¡¯t help but wonder how one Atheian might court the other. He was also unsure if Y¡¯Kraun would even try or if he would just look from afar and only interact as a customer with them.

    Soon this person approached their table, ¡°Ah, it is you two again; I do remember you and your company; it is quite difficult not to.¡± Their gaze went between Kanrel and Y''Kraun. ¡°Well then, what might your order be today?¡± They then asked.

    Y¡¯Kraun cleared his throat and then looked at Kanrel, meeting his gaze and perhaps noticing the curious look in those eyes. ¡°Well, I¡¯d like a mushroom soup,¡± then he raised his hairless brows at Kanrel, who formed a well-practiced smile on his face, and uttered the first word that came to his mind, ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes widened, which wasn¡¯t left unnoticed by the waiter, who asked, ¡°What did the Darshi say?¡±

    A momentary bewilderment could be seen by all in his eyes as he soon tried to hide his own reaction with a forced outburst of coughing, ¡°Excuse me.¡± Y¡¯Kraun muttered, his mind perhaps racing with a hundred different lies he could tell the waiter instead of the truth. Then that bewilderment dissipated, a form of serene focus found its way in, and he smiled, then, with utmost confidence, he asked, ¡°How¡¯s the troglobite today?¡± He looked at the waiter and then turned his gaze toward Kanrel, whose curious expression had changed at the moment of Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s utterance.

    ¡°Very fresh, the best the southern lands can offer, the specific bug farm from where the species of troglobite that we have today is from a smaller village, Wag''Yu; it is perhaps the very best the world has to offer, although the price mirrors this sentiment.¡± The waiter explained, ¡°How many servings would the Darshi want?¡± They then asked.

    Y¡¯Kraun seemed to contemplate for a moment.

    ¡°Please no¡­¡± Kanrel begged.

    Y¡¯Kraun then smiled, ¡°Two servings would be quite enough.¡± He then leaned closer, ¡°The Darshi likes it extra fresh.¡± He then added, his smile filled to the brim with joy that the waiter could not understand; they just stared at him and then at Kanrel and said, ¡°Right, I will bring you your orders right away.¡± They then left their table, at times throwing glances at them while walking away, on their face an expression of curiosity mixed with utmost confusion.

    There came silence between Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun as they stared at each other. On one¡¯s face there rested an expression of undeniable happiness, a feeling one might have when one succeeds in something so impossible that you can only revel in the beauty of the moment. And on Kanrel¡¯s face there remained only despair.

    ¡°How could you do this to me?¡± He asked with despair seeping into every word that left his lips.

    Y¡¯Kraun grinned, ¡°I wonder, what the reason might be, my dear friend, but I suppose it has something to do with reaping the mushrooms that you yourself have sown.¡±

    ¡°Thoughtless actions have consequences, and besides, I¡¯ve heard that when a Darshi feasts on troglobite, he might learn how to behave.¡±

    Kanrel shuddered. ¡°And where might you have heard such lies?¡±

    ¡°Hopefully from your very lips before the day comes to an end¡ªwhat you say, dear friend?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked and smiled as sweetly as he could.

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°You know, when you¡¯re at your lowest, down on your knees, tears flowing down your face, snot running out of your nose. I¡¯ll be there for you, just to kick you when you¡¯re down.¡± He promised.

    Y¡¯Kraun chuckled, ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t expect anything less of you.¡±

    To his surprise, it wasn¡¯t actually as bad as he had thought it to be. What he was served was indeed an alien-looking species of troglobite, one that he couldn¡¯t even name, but even then he tried it, and the texture reminded him of shrimp or prawn; there just seemed to be less to bite. Of course, it tasted like ash, like everything to him does. But one can¡¯t deny that the alien form of the food could make one hesitant to try new things.

    They ate and left. Y¡¯Kraun seemed pleased with himself and rather happy, even if his only contact with the waiter, whom Kanrel soon learned was a waitress, was considered an utmost beauty, according to Y¡¯Kraun, who couldn¡¯t help but talk about her. Things like, ¡°Her eyes, they remind of light cast upon the waves of a lake... Her smile is as bright as the brightest crystal. Oh, and her voice is as gentle as the sounds of a dulcimer. And her skin is smooth and perfect, as is the most polished stone in the grandest of palaces, perhaps akin to those that we once built above ground.¡±

    Perhaps this was something he would consider amusing. And at the same time, it reminded him of the time he still read romantic novels at night, fantasizing about love that he might have one day. This memory made him look at the situation and the words of the Atheian differently; the situation really wasn¡¯t that amusing, because to Y¡¯Kraun it was serious. And perhaps Kanrel had indeed gotten what he had deserved. It might be that Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s awkward and shy interactions with the waitress, whose name was U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui, might form into something much more. Perhaps they¡¯d become like Dar and Amer, two friends that Kanrel hadn¡¯t thought about in a long time.

    Kanrel bought what he needed in the store next door, and soon they made their way back, Kanrel to his apartment and Y¡¯Kraun to the Forum, keeping the promise that he had made.

    At his apartment, Kanrel opened up his new notebook and wrote a few lines about the interaction he had had with Y¡¯Kraun, this waitress that had caught the Atheians eye, and even the words that he had used to describe her to him. And when he was done with that, he finally wrote about more pressing issues...

    How does one learn a new language? He needed to learn it to be able to read any of the books or whatever there might be within the Great Library. He wouldn¡¯t want someone else to read it for him, not when they could so easily alter the truth. Not to mention that some meaning might be lost when not read as it is. A translation from one culture and context to another could never be perfect if it were directly translated. Nuance was easily lost... It was now obvious that he would need a tutor to teach him not only the written language of the Atheians but the spoken one as well.

    He shouldn¡¯t have to be so dependent on Y¡¯Kraun, even if it were his job to help Kanrel around, and even if they were friends.

    The next morrow they met at the restaurant facing Kanrel¡¯s apartment. They had breakfast, and afterward, Y¡¯Kraun finally shared the edict that he had received from the Forum.

    ¡°We are allowed entrance at the Grand Library, but as I had expected, you will be expected to go by the whims of the scholars there... And when it comes to reading, someone there will read out loud for you.¡±

    ¡°This person will make sure that you have access to everything that you might want to learn, but depending on the value of the information that you learn, you might have to later provide your services to them again," Y¡¯Kraun explained, in his voice there was some apprehension, yet past that uneasiness, a sense of excitement could be observed. After all, to Y¡¯Kraun, this was like a dream come true...

    Kanrel thought for a moment, ¡°Very well, I suppose I must, for now, trust these scholars¡ªbesides, it is not like they would want to dissect me, right?¡± He asked.

    Y¡¯Kraun formed a slight smile. ¡°We will see... We will see...¡±

    Kanrel scoffed at the Atheian''s teasing, yet within he couldn¡¯t help but hold worry for what they might want in trade from him. There was only so much that he could offer to these, sometimes, far too curious people. And he wondered, just how far could he go in giving them what they wanted. What were things that were ¡°out of line¡± or ¡°too far?¡±

    They made their way toward the Grand Library at last, such worries filling his mind to the brim. So pressing were these thoughts that he lost the sense of time and location, so pressing were they, that he had not realized that they soon stood before the very thing he had so solemnly wanted to enter.

    The large doors before him are open and ready to accept him. Within, possibly, the answers he most sought to learn. Ancient lore and history which could give him the perception he needed to understand, not only the dreams that haunted him but also the walls that surrounded them and the shadows that lay past those walls...

    He swallowed in anticipation and entered through the open doors with an open mind, one not entirely aware of what he might have to give this time, to gain knowledge or power, as the members of the Grand Library described it to be.

 Chapter Ninety-One: Within the Hierarchy of Knowledge

    Past the entrance, there was a reception area¡ªa circular reception desk¡ªwhere the people in the middle would seem to talk with various people, some of whom might¡¯ve been students, some just visiting the library itself, and some being faculty members. Many of the students seemed to carry books with them; they¡¯d wait in line and then place the books they¡¯d brought with them onto the desk. The people on the other side of the desk weren''t receptionists, but librarians. They¡¯d look at the books placed before them, then they¡¯d look at a card-looking thing that was placed next to them, and then they¡¯d write down something on a piece of paper, after which the librarian would either take the book and place it into a cart that, when filled, would be taken around the library itself, where they¡¯d be able to return the books where they had been taken from. Or the student, or whoever would take the book with them and simply walk out of the library.

    The library itself had a suitable name. It was grand, with multiple levels and perhaps several reception desks on each level, around them bookshelves, some of which reached the very ceiling of their respective floor. Kanrel could see that on some of the stone shelves, there were engravings resembling the symbols of the Atheian language that he had seen around. He figured that these engravings were there to help one navigate the library by either the genre or the topic of certain books, or by the name of the book or the author. Everything seemed well organized.

    Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun just stood there, stunned by what they saw. This library put to shame those Kanrel had visited before, even the ones he had seen through the eyes of Ignar. There were likely hundreds of thousands of books in this very library, covering a wide range of topics¡ªfrom science and history to language, poetry to even fables.

    He had at first imagined that the building would be more like the Academy of the Heavenly and its many classrooms and many much smaller libraries than the one that he was presented with. But the building was vast, and there were two corridors leading to the western and eastern parts of the Grand Library, so he imagined that those classrooms and such would be located somewhere there.

    People stared at him. They¡¯d enter and exit through the doors, carrying books and whatnot, and as they went past Kanrel, they¡¯d so clearly stare at him; on their faces a wide range of different emotions was present. There were those whose faces were colored with shock, some with curiosity, and some with doubt. Perhaps they had questions like, ¡°Was this pale, hairy-looking thing dangerous?¡± or ¡°Is what I see even real? Is it a ghost or a hallucination?¡± And Kanrel couldn¡¯t really blame them for it. He¡¯d do the exact same thing if he saw an Atheian in the middle of Lo¡¯Gran or any other human settlement. He¡¯d not understand the creature that he was looking at, and he¡¯d certainly doubt his own eyes and even his own sanity.

    Soon, they were approached by someone, a taller Atheian than what seemed like the average; their gray skin smooth, their nose tall and sharp, and their eyes a deep blue, one that reminded Kanrel of the ocean. They were so tall that Kanrel wondered if his neck would hurt after the day.

    ¡°It would be safe to assume that you¡¯re the Darshi, whom I am supposed to lead around our little library.¡± The Atheian stated after they reached them, "Welcome to the Grand Library, the humble abode to all information one could ever desire. Welcome, Darshi; walk further in, and let us begin our exchange." The Atheian had a deep voice, a voice perfect for the job that it was given: to be a narrator for the books that Kanrel wished to read.

    The Atheian bowed ever-so-slightly, ¡°I have heard much of you from my fellow scholars, and I feel that through this exchange, you might be able to sate this deep-seated curiosity that has filled me since the day I heard of your arrival.¡±

    ¡°This is most exhilarating." They then added, ¡°I am Gor¡¯Aru¡¯n Er¡¯un, but you may call me Gor, as its meaning fits the services that I am here to offer.¡±

    ¡°Gor¡± meant "voice¡± and ¡°Gor¡¯Aru¡¯n¡± meant ¡°rumbling voice.¡± "Er''un¡± translated to ¡°waves.¡± Together, his name would mean ¡°The Rumbling Voice of the Waves¡± in any human language.

    From Gor¡¯s height as well as their deep voice, Kanrel assumed that the Atheian, who would read to him, was likely male.

    Kanrel copied the little bow Gor had made and replied, ¡°I am most honored to be allowed entry into this library that you describe to be humble and little. I am Kanrel Iduldian, and you may address me as you wish.¡± He introduced himself.

    Y¡¯Kraun translated his words and then waited for Gor¡¯s reply.

    The scholar peered at Y¡¯Kraun and then smiled, ¡°And you must be the intermediary voice, the one to translate our exchange."

    "I trust that all will be translated to the utmost truthfulness,¡± Gor said with another bow, which Y¡¯Kraun reciprocated, introducing himself simply as Y¡¯Kraun.

    With a courteous smile, Gor said, ¡°Well then, let us begin. I have heard that history is what you wish to learn; for that, we must go to the higher levels. Follow me, if you please.¡± He said and made their way toward the curved stairs; their steps were long, and Kanrel struggled to keep up, holding his notebook and pen as they climbed several flights, finally reaching the fourth level.

    ¡°There is a reason for why information is segregated by floors,¡± Gor explained. ¡°We see that not all information is equal. Even though most of it is readily accessible to all the members of the Grand Library, we see that one ought to make more effort to reach certain information.¡±

    ¡°Here, we value history above religion; religion above economics; economics and business above poetry or stories, and even language itself.¡±

    ¡°Some call this the ¡®Hierarchy of Knowledge.¡¯¡± Gor chuckled, ¡°But to me, all information is equally valuable; it is the seeker who decides the price.¡±

    ¡°But I digress. You must now tell me what else you wish to learn.¡±

    ¡°Is it our history before we were confined to the earth below? Is it our struggle? Our achievements in building these cities over centuries of imprisonment? Or how we managed to survive the darkness that awaits past the lights of our cities? Or is it something else... something more... esoteric?¡±

    Kanrel studied the Athiean, who met his gaze with a slight smile. His eyes were like an ocean, his voice like the waves upon that open sea. Kanrel wondered: Where might they soon drift? Where would the storms lead? Or could one trust these waves and accept where they might take him?

    Returning the smile, he replied, ¡°Years ago, I read a book in which they told the story of a man who hung for his crimes and the revolution he began in the Holy City of Terea.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun translated, and Gor¡¯s grin widened, ¡°Ah, new information about our esteemed guest.¡± He exhaled and smacked his lips; he then closed his eyes and seemed to think for a moment; beneath the lids of his eyes, his eyes seemed to quiver, as if they frantically searched for something only he could see.

    His eyes burst open, and he pointed toward a location. ¡°That which you so desire is just around the corner... Follow me.¡± Gor said as he went toward a specific wall of stone shelves that rose from below the previous floors all the way up to the next floor and the rest that was above, perhaps reaching the very ceiling of the Grand Library. ¡°Follow me,¡± he repeated as they made their way, Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun following him, past the other Atheians that were on this level, some sitting on chairs near large tables, reading whatever book they had in hand, with many other books laid on those tables in stacks, some of which had a few meters in height.

    They were mostly ignored; only a few let their gazes linger on Kanrel. It was silent, and they could hear the turning of pages and only their own steps as they made their way.

    They came to a sudden halt, and Gor reached toward a book on the shelf. A large tome that he pulled out and opened, his eyes scanning a few lines, then he smiled. ¡°This should suffice.¡± He closed the book and handed it to Kanrel. ¡°We will not read them here, as we do not wish to break the silence made for reading, now do we?¡±

    Kanrel accepted it; it wasn¡¯t too heavy, but there were many more books he wished to be able to read.

    ¡°Now then, what else might interest you? What else might you desire to learn?¡± Gor asked.

    Kanrel thought for a moment, ¡°I¡¯ve heard that when the Atheians first arrived here, they had no other light source than the things they were allowed to bring with them. I wish to learn about the finding of the great crystal above and the founding of the City of Last Light, as well as the walls that surround them.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun again translated his words, after which Gor smiled and again closed his eyes, and they would quiver. Before bursting open, he pointed in another direction, and they made their way there. He pulled out not one, not two, but three of the books that he then offered Kanrel.

    ¡°What else?¡± Gor asked, on his face a skewed smile.

    ¡°A book about the different religions of the Atheians.¡± He asked, and so Gor smiled once more, closed his eyes, and scanned within his mind where he might find what Kanrel so desired. Gor led them down a level and found another large tome that he placed on top of the rest. Now he just lifted their hairless brows and waited to see what else Kanrel might want to learn.

    ¡°Are there any records of people entering the shadows?¡± He asked. Now, Gor didn¡¯t even need to close his eyes and scan from his memory what they needed to find; instead, he just smiled and led the way, up a level, back to where most of the books relating to history were located. They went much deeper this time, to the furthest corner, from where Gor pulled out a simple-looking journal that he placed on top of the rest. By now it was getting too heavy, and Kanrel had to give a few of them to Y¡¯Kraun.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Is this enough, or is there something else you so desire to learn?¡± Gor asked; their gaze met Kanrel''s, and one could not miss the amusement in those eyes.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Kanrel muttered and soon smiled, ¡°Are there books on magic?¡± He asked.

    The Atheian¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Of course there are... But we might not have as much they have in the Sanctuary; we have only the most basic of information, only as much as they share regarding their own research." Even still, Gor led the way, up a few more levels, past the fifth floor that was dedicated to biology and chemistry and the sixth floor that was dedicated to mathematics and physics, and apparently, there were only two more levels after the one that was dedicated to magic, but they would not be allowed to go any further up.

    From the seventh level, they found one tome that Gor gave to Y¡¯Kraun, and then he again asked, ¡°What else might you desire to learn?¡± His smile was still curt, but his eyes were still deeply amused.

    Kanrel thought for a moment longer; this was more than enough for now, but even then he said, ¡°I¡¯d like to learn the language, how to read and write, and how to speak it; but I doubt a simple book would be enough for such a deed.¡±

    Gor chuckled, ¡°If the exchange is satisfactory to both parties, then we might speak further of such business. I for one would be interested in teaching you myself, but such decisions aren¡¯t just for me to make.¡±

    ¡°Follow me; I have the perfect spot in mind for the coming days of mutual reading and learning.¡± Gor then added and began to lead them down, floor after floor, past Atheians who carried books around, some who sat wherever they could and were immersed in reading; some paid attention to them, but most seemed far too deep within the pages that lay before them, or their own thoughts perhaps plagued by whichever topic might intrigue them the most.

    They made their way down to the first floor, then through one corridor, past many doors of smaller rooms that seemed to be private reading rooms, to a large room, where some Atheians waited to enter one of the four different doors that were on each side; the corridor continued on to ward the west; but they instead walked past the Atheians to one of the doors, which Gor opened and then entered through. Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun followed, soon greeted with an auditorium, hundreds of seats, all filled with Atheians, all eager with their notebooks ready, pens before them; they all turned toward them as the doors opened and observed the three that walked down to the front, where a table was placed and with a large black wall behind it; on that wall, there were some symbols that Kanrel had no idea of their meaning.

    But he barely noticed it anyway; his mind was already racing. It had become quite obvious what was going on. This reading session became one for the Atheains students to observe and learn from the alien Darshi that had been brought before them. Curiosity had filled the room, and Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but remember his years in the Academy of the Heavenly.

    Perhaps this wouldn¡¯t be so bad. But he couldn¡¯t help but feel a sudden pressure build upon him; when was the last time that he had had to present himself to so many people? And all this without any preparation. As a young man, this would¡¯ve been one of the worst things that could¡¯ve happened to him. Though now it felt ridiculous to think of it like that¡ªthere were so many worse things that had happened to him since, and even worse, that could still happen to him and other people.

    Gor pointed at the chair, which he had brought from behind the table; Kanrel sat on it, trying his best to contain the sudden nervousness that had been born within. He could feel his heart pound in his chest.

    ¡°I thank you all for your patience... The Darshi, whose name is Kanrel Iduldian, seems to be as curious as any of you might be; their interests seem to go past just history to religion, magic, and even language.¡± Gor began, and symbols began to appear on the black wall behind him.

    ¡°And today, I¡¯ve been tasked with this great honor of reading the books that he picked, and every one of you has thus gained the honor of learning with him, although what you might learn is something that you already know, with the added benefit of the Darshi, known as Kanrel, asking further questions so that his curiosity regarding the matter might be sated.¡±

    ¡°Before this day, he had no idea of this, so you must excuse his baffled expression and perhaps even his shyness, but I hope that soon enough he¡¯ll find the courage to share his opinions and even give us a lecture on things that could be seen above the ground; another perspective for us, who have dwelled beneath the earth for so long.¡±

    ¡°So, let us begin with the set of information that he sought to find about our people.¡± Gor finished their speech and took the first book that Kanrel had asked for, and then added, ¡°He mentioned that above he had read a book about a ''man who had hung for his crimes and the revolution they had begun in the Holy City of Terea...'' If there are any religious Atheians here, or those who are interested in studying theology, then they would of course be able to connect this to the God Who Hung and the religion built around this, which we all know as ''the Herd of the God Who Hung.''"

    ¡°It is most curious how such a book could still be found above after so many decades, and in a language that the Darshi could understand and read, which makes one wonder how such information could be found there in the first place." Gor then added and then cleared his throat. ¡°Well then, let us begin this great endeavor, which will most definitely take many hours in the many days to come.¡±

    Gor then began to read:

    ¡°Even during the Great Atheian Empire, we split the lands as follows: There were eleven great cities and the domains around them. Each city was divided into sub-sections, walled areas where people of only certain status could walk and live. Entering such forbidden areas could lead to a death sentence through hanging; at least this was most common in the ¡®lands of the far west,¡¯ as they are often called in some records from those times.

    And so was done to the domains around the cities; the smaller towns and villages were all segregated between the ¡®free Atheians¡¯ and ''the serfs''¡ªthose who work the lands and are then bound to the very lands they work, as people who could be sold with the land, and even as cattle from one land to another. In fact, as seen by most of today''s scholars, one could only call this slavery.

    The status and what it means to be a serf have of course changed considerably throughout the times of the Great Atheian Empire; there were times when this was outright banned, and declarations of emancipation had been announced in different parts of the Empire, but seldom ever as an Empire-wide declaration.

    One of the known situations that then led to one of these declarations was indeed in the so-called ¡®lands of the far west¡¯ near a great city that later on gained the addition to their name ¡®holy.¡¯

    This city is of course no other than the Holy City of Terea, where a duke later on known for their tyrannical ways and vile perversions ruled the city and the lands around the city, expanding what it meant to be a serf and who in fact was a serf. This, of course, brought much wealth to them and the ruling caste of this duchy at the time, but with a great cost in population, as thousands of newly ¡®named¡¯ serfs were sold from one duchy to another, with those who remained to only have their living standards halved, as the only focus seemed to be to pull as much wealth short-term from the general populous as was possible.

    Mines, fields, forestries, and other resource-generating industries went into production overload; these sectors were now filled with serfs, who were no better than slaves in the eyes of the landowners. And it didn¡¯t take long before these serfs had enough.

    Among those ¡®newly appointed¡¯ serfs, discontent for the unfair treatment that they had gone through so suddenly was perhaps the greatest, and one person, whose gender and name are by now lost, or purposefully forgotten, rose, first as a preacher to those who suffered as much as they did.

    Their philosophy could be condensed into a singular sentence, which is more or less a goal than anything else: peace and freedom through any means possible.

    This rhetoric soon spread amongst, first the newly enslaved and then those of the more historical serfs. Smaller revolts began to spread, first from the mine, where it is claimed that this ¡®prophet¡¯ originated. With pickaxes and other tools as well as some understanding and proficiency of magic, these slaves went against their overseers and, with great casualties, freed themselves from their whips. Becoming a band of bandits that would for months roam around the countryside, not yet entering the city of Terea, giving birth to more revolts all around the lands of the far west, until enough were freed; until they laid siege to the city with tens of thousands of slaves in the army of the one who would become the God Who Hung.

    Their ways were indeed as they promised. ¡®Peace and freedom through any means possible.¡¯

    It didn¡¯t matter if they had to start a war to gain these things; it didn¡¯t matter that they had to partake in slavery to reach their goals; it didn¡¯t matter that they used tyranny and killed thousands upon thousands in their quest for freedom and peace. Any means possible.

    And thus, the once prophet had become a warlord, who now stood with their armies before the city they would lay siege to. There were more of them than those they would fight against. Their siege lasted seven days, and through all of these seven days, their leader would preach to their followers their wisdom, a promise of a utopia where all could be free, where all could be equal, and all would get what they deserved.

    They preached goodness, peace, and freedom as they laid siege against those who enslaved them.

    They preached of mercy but gave none to their enemies.

    On the seventh day, their enemy opened the gates to the city, and out came an army of heavily equipped soldiers, their magical powers far exceeding those of the rebels; this wave of cavalry then struck against them, and blood flowed and soiled the lands around the city; but the city was left unsoiled until the very next day.

    The rebels were beaten; many of them deserted and ran away; many of them surrendered; but most of them died. And among those who surrendered was their prophet as well. And on that day after the seventh, they and thousands of rebels were hanged from atop the walls of the city; their prophet was hanged above the others.

    Their transgression had been not only against the duke who ruled over the lands but against the laws of the Council of Kings that ruled beneath the Emperor in his stead.

    Records state different days for how long the bodies hung from the walls; some say that it took seven days before the God Who Hung was laid to rest and placed into the crypt in the City of Terea.

    Some say that it took a month; as the bodies began to rot and as crows would come and eat what they could, they say that it was only then noticed that the body that hung above the others remained intact, untouched by the rot and the crows; thus only then their body was laid to rest and placed into the crypt, where it still resides, the true god, their body intact yet to rot, waiting for the day of reckoning.

    It is said that not a month after the end of the rebellion, the duke and his ilk died in a sudden outburst of plague. ¡± Gor read out loud, his voice deep and rumbling, narrating each page as if he were a great storyteller seated near a campfire, but instead he was a scholar, a teacher, a professor, and a librarian who stood before them all and orated through the dark history of their people, leaving many in a trance, enchanted by his voice and his eloquent manner of speech.

    And when he had finished, he turned toward Kanrel and asked, ¡°Is this satisfactory?¡± To which Kanrel simply nodded, for now, still thinking about everything that he had just heard.

    Gor then turned back toward the audience formed by hundreds of students and declared, ¡°We will take a short break and continue in twenty minutes; I must rest my voice and give you all a moment to think about what you¡¯ve just learned as well as to come up with questions that you might want to ask our esteemed guest, as well as answer the questions that he might have in turn.¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Two: Studies at the Auditorium and the History of Those Forced Below

    The students started trickling back into the auditorium. Kanrel wondered what kind of questions they might have for him, and he began to prepare for the barrage of questions that would undeniably come.

    During the twenty or so minutes, Kanrel pondered about the things that he had just learned. And to be frank, he didn¡¯t have that many, only a few. After all, the reason why he had requested a book about the God Who Hung was quite simple; he wanted to confirm if the book that he had read above had any truth to it or if it was just something someone made up.

    There was one question that was unlikely to be answered: How did such a book survive possibly thousands of years, and who translated it so that men could read it? But how would the Atheians know the hows or the why¡¯s of something that is so out of reach?

    As the last student entered and the doors closed behind them, the auditorium that was at first filled with whispers of conversations that they had with each other became quiet and so silent.

    Gar stared at the crowd, scanning the faces of those present. After a minute or two, he nodded his head, and a slight smile came to his face. He then turned his gaze toward Kanrel and spoke, ¡°Now that you¡¯ve received the information that you wished to learn, I must ask if you have questions about it all.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯ll then see if the students of our humble abode of education can answer them.¡±

    Kanrel stared back. He then got up from his chair and cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t have many questions about this piece of history in particular, only a few that I think to be interesting enough to pursue further." He explained and glanced at Y¡¯Kraun, who translated each word Kanrel spoke.

    ¡°Ask away.¡± Gar encouraged.

    ¡°What I will ask first are opinions about certain things that I¡¯ve just learned.¡±

    ¡°Firstly, what do you think of the culture of the once great Atheian Empire? There was a mention of segregation based on what seems like social class. Does a serf deserve to be hung for entering the wrong part of a city?¡± Kanrel asked, his gaze scanning the crowds and looking for reactions, but those many faces and eyes upon him were difficult to read.

    Gar in turn observed only Kanrel; he then smiled and spoke, ¡°You may freely stand up and present your opinion on this matter.¡±

    The silence continued, and none would stand up; many seemed to ponder the question they were presented with, and for a moment, Kanrel believed that he would not get an answer to his question, but soon, someone in the back stood up. Kanrel¡¯s gaze found the Atheian who had stood up, and he waited for them to speak. The Atheian stared at Gar and waited for permission to speak. Gar gave them a nod, and then they cleared their throat and spoke, ¡°Firstly, the culture of the Old Empire isn¡¯t in practice much different from that which is now; perhaps it has become freer in certain ways, especially when it comes to social things.¡±

    ¡°Such development is normal, and I do believe if someone from back then would suddenly find themselves living in this time, they¡¯d be considered rather backward when it comes to the rights of the general populous." The student spoke, their gaze finally only on Kanrel.

    ¡°Secondly, the matters of social class do seem to still be present even in our times, but I suppose that the structure has changed ever-so-slightly; who are and who aren¡¯t on top of this hierarchy are different."

    ¡°And thirdly, I don¡¯t think that anyone sane of mind would agree that a serf ought to be executed for something so minor. Not only is it cruel but also a waste of resources.¡± The Atheian finished, bowed, and then sat back down.

    All the while Gar nodded along, ¡°Is there anyone here with a differing opinion on the matter?¡± He then asked.

    After a while, another student got up, this one from the very first row. ¡°I think that one can¡¯t help but romanticize things of old; this can be seen not only in how built our cities of today but also in the art that we produce; even the stories and the poems that we write, they often look back at those days with rose-tinted glasses, remembering that which once was, as something better.¡±

    ¡°They are often remembered as ¡®the good old times,¡¯ and I cannot help but question this outlook on the history of our people that is far more violent than that of today; our culture back then would be considered brutal and even barbaric based on today¡¯s standards.¡±

    ¡°Of course, the allure and the mysticism of those days cannot be denied, but in reality, none of us would survive those days; we¡¯d always yearn for the rights that we have today.¡± The Atheian then sat down.

    Gar again nodded along; he seemed satisfied by both answers: ¡°I¡¯d like one more differing opinion on the matter.¡±

    A third Atheian stood up, this one from the right side of the auditorium, and said, ¡°Yet that and this still is our culture; we cannot deny who we are and where we came from. I believe that there are reasons as to why we had such a system, and I think that those reasons qualify today as well, for do we not still have the same system in place today?¡±

    ¡°The only difference really is that the average Atheian, despite their social status, is treated better now than back then. Otherwise, we are still the same.¡±

    ¡°It works; thus, for what reason must we change? If it works, it works.¡± They finished and sat back down.

    Gar nodded along, pleased with even this answer. He then turned toward Kanrel and asked, ¡°Does this satisfy you, or do you wish to have more people answer?¡±

    Kanrel pondered for a moment, ¡°This will do.¡±

    ¡°Great, then I¡¯d like to give the turn to our students so that we might have a more or less open dialogue between all of us,¡± Gar said with a smile and again gave permission for anyone to stand up and speak.

    Soon someone in the front stood up and spoke, ¡°We¡¯ve all had the pleasure of reading reports of the many meetings that you¡¯ve had with different members of the Great Library; this has been of great value to all of us, but there seems to be something missing.¡±

    ¡°In those reports, you mainly focus on the history of Darshi as well as the religious organization known as the Priesthood... Why do you not speak of yourself more?¡± The Atheian asked and remained on their feet, waiting for Kanrel¡¯s reply.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but scoff, ¡°Well, I only answered the questions that were asked of me; so far, not many have shown interest in my history; instead, they¡¯ve preferred to ask me about the history of my people and what there might be above nowadays.¡±

    ¡°I would¡¯ve answered such questions earnestly if asked,¡± Kanrel explained, and the student seemed to accept this and sat back down.

    Soon the next Atheian got up from their seat and asked, ¡°Then would you answer this question that many of us have had on our minds ever since we first heard of you: How did you get here?¡±

    Kanrel pondered for a moment, then answered with a straight face, ¡°I walked, and then I fell.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun snorted and translated, causing some chuckles to fill the auditorium.

    ¡°It is a lot more complicated than that." Kanrel then continued, ¡°As a priest, I was ordered to a remote location at the edge of our kingdom; there, my mission was to find proof of an organization that had murdered a few students at the Academy, where I studied at the time, as well as of a missing priest that had suddenly disappeared about a decade before that.¡±

    ¡°I spent about two years of my time in that village, finding clues, which then led me to ancient ruins near the mountains. There I defeated these cultists and ventured into those ruins, deep below ground, where I found even more questions when I only sought answers.¡±

    ¡°Below, I found the corpse of the priest that had disappeared, as well as his journal. The journal mentioned something that I found intriguing at the time: a desire to enter something, so I wanted to find out, What was this thing they so wanted to enter?¡±

    ¡°So I descended, and descended until I reached a dark mirror, and in this mirror, I saw myself from years ago, a reflection of me when I still was a child.¡±

    ¡°I heard a voice that so demanded, that begged me to enter...¡±

    ¡°So I entered.¡±

    ¡°And then¡­¡± Kanrel muttered, not sure what to say next, not sure what to share with these Atheians... What could he tell them? What could they understand? ¡°And then I fell.¡± He finished and stared back at the Atheain, who had asked him this question. Y¡¯Kraun translated each word, and soon after whispers filled the auditorium. Now, there was much curiosity in the air.

    Even Gar couldn¡¯t hide his lust for further knowledge. But still, he controlled himself and, with a smile, said, ¡°Now let us give a turn to our esteemed guest to ask a question in return.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Kanrel pondered for a moment, soon finding the question that he had wanted to ask before: ¡°It is mentioned that this... true god... was placed in a crypt, their body still intact and yet to rot, waiting for the day of reckoning.¡±

    ¡°Do you believe that the day of reckoning already arrived when the Lord From Above came and forced you beneath the ground, or is it yet to come?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Y¡¯Kraun again translated, but he seemed somehow bothered by the question.

    Gar once more encouraged the students to rise from their seats and answer the question as they saw fit.

    The same student who had been the first to answer Kanrel¡¯s question got up, ¡°If you¡¯d ask a member of the Herd, they¡¯d tell you that the day of reckoning is yet to come. And if you¡¯d ask the Church of the Lord Above, they¡¯d tell you that the day of reckoning was indeed the same day, when their God laid our empire into ashes.¡± They answered and then went ahead to sit down, but were soon forced to stand back up again as Kanrel spoke, ¡°I wish to hear what you think, and not what they think.¡±

    The Atheian seemed startled; they glanced at Gar, who only gave them a nod, yet the Atheian didn¡¯t seem any less nervous all of a sudden. "Well... Personally, I believe neither.¡± They replied.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t believe that there will be some great reckoning, as I do not wish to believe that if there is a god or gods, that they¡¯d do such a thing to people who were mostly innocent and only an outcome of the times that they lived in.¡± The Atheian was silent for a moment, then continued, ¡°Neither do I recognize the so-called God Who Hung nor the Lord From Above as gods. Nor do I think that the Sharan were gods. In fact, I don¡¯t believe that there ever were such things as gods."

    ¡°Why?¡±

    The Atheian blinked their eyes, "Because... because... Why would such a creature exist? And why would they ever bother with creatures like us, the Atheian and the Darshi alike? Or even the Sharan?¡±

    ¡°I just believe that sometimes there are people and creatures with such great power that they claim themselves to be gods, or those who are lesser in power than they, who then choose to claim those powerful creatures as their gods.¡±

    ¡°And sometimes, these gods are just ways for men to explain things that they cannot understand... For example, long before, there are mentions of the old gods: the God of Wind, the God of Rain, the God of the Seas, the God of Fire, and so forth.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t these just things that we couldn¡¯t quite understand? When the first Atheians sparked a flame for the first time, or saw it through other means, would they not think of it as something holy, as something divine, and might not the person who managed to spark that flame become one considered divine as well?¡± The Atheian spoke with such fervor and belief that Kanrel could only nod a long and mostly agree.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Kanrel said at last, and the Atheian at last sat back down; on their face remained that startled expression.

    All the while, Gar smiled and glanced back and forth between Kanrel and the student who had just spoken. Silence had conquered the auditorium, and it seemed that none dared to stand up and offer any further thoughts or arguments in favor of or against Kanrel¡¯s question.

    ¡°Well now,¡± Gar at last broke the silence. ¡°It is starting to get quite late, and I do believe that all of us have gotten much to think about, as well as bellies to fill with troglobites and what-not.¡±

    ¡°You are all dismissed; we will continue tomorrow from where we left off," Gar said, and one by one, the students began to leave the auditorium, and soon after only the three remained. Kanrel, Y''Kraun, and Gar.

    ¡°Wonderful, it is just as I had expected,¡± Gar exclaimed, his ocean-blue eyes studying Kanrel¡¯s face. ¡°You may leave; I too have much to think about.¡± He said with a smile.

    Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun bid him a farewell and left him alone in the auditorium, and if they were to look back, they¡¯d see as his eyes followed them until the very moment when the doors were closed, and that smile on that face became more pleased by the moment.

    Y¡¯Kraun led them straight to the restaurant where U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui worked as a waitress. They ate well, and Y¡¯Kraun seemed to push himself to ask seemingly innocent questions out of the Atheian, who would answer with a sweet smile on her face. All the while, Kanrel was occupied with his own thoughts, writing notes about the things he had learned as well as the different answers that the students had given him.

    The day ended with him returning to his apartment, reviewing his notes, and making a few more, until he felt so tired that he just had to go to bed.

    The next week or so, every day Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun would enter the Grand Library as well as the auditorium, where they would continue on the topic of the God Who Hung and the history around them. Gar would read to them from old books, then Kanrel would ask questions, which the students would give answers to, and then they¡¯d get to ask Kanrel questions in turn, often about him and humans overall. Things about their culture, their cities, their ways, and even about the world around them. What do the mountains look like? What about the stars? Just how bright is the sun? What does rain feel like?

    And after a week or so, they finally moved on to the next topic.

    The auditorium was filled with students as they waited for their professor to begin reading the next book.

    ¡°Today, we will begin with another topic in which our esteemed guest has shown interest: our arrival to these lands of shadows below, the construction of the City of Last Light, and the walls around them," Gar explained; he then cleared his throat and began to read:

    ¡°After we surrendered to the Gods above, or the Sharan, as we call them. The first Atheians met their eyes with darkness so vast no light could fully conquer it.

    We were disgraced. Humiliated. Thrown below the earth as a reminder that we were nothing in the eyes of those far too powerful for us to understand.

    It was a great staircase down which we descended, a thousand and thousand more steps, with darkness all around. We held each other so as not to fall, some of us bringing light with us so that we would not miss a step and fall to our deaths. Some used their magic to do the same; all we now knew was the descent and the darkness that surrounded us. It was as if there were shadows around, below, within, and soon above as well.

    The one that had doomed us to this darkness walked behind us; each step they took brought a part of the staircase, making sure that we might never ascend these same stairs so that we might return to the world above.

    And when we reached the bottom, the Sharan simply commanded us to walk forth until we would find a place to settle; then they began closing the last light that we saw coming down from above. We were the last Sharan to see the sky.

    With great chains, they pulled the very earth together, forming stone to block our way out. And we could do was as they wished us to do; we made our way west, in the eerie darkness that surrounded us¡ªthe shadows that were there, around, above, and within.¡±

    ¡°We lost the sense of time; days and the concept of one were soon lost. There was no light to give knowledge of this, thus some of us were made to make guesses based on the time when we first went below. Then it had been midday.

    Now, we must¡¯ve traversed for weeks. Along the way, we find no place to suit our needs, no proper sources of food, and no water to drink. Hunger, thirst¡ªthat is all we found below. Water we can make, but one must eat to survive. And so we ate... Not all of us got to eat.¡±

    ¡°Is there hope? Does such a thing exist? Death and disease, hunger¡ªwe were so hungry. Yet we couldn¡¯t stop; we had to find hope. There must be hope. There had to be...

    At the end of the tunnel, there came a blue hue; it traveled from far and blessed our eyes with light so blinding that many were unable to confront it face first. We do not know for certain just how long we have walked. How many days or nights had it taken? Not how many lives we had lost... We had to eat.

    This light, so bright, was made out of crystal that covered most of the cave ceiling. Its light lit this whole section of the darkness. This cave became our home, and the light showed us that soon we all could eat. That there was hope; even in the most complete darkness, one can find hope.

    Thus we settled and made tents from the clothes of those that were lost on the way here. We created parties who would explore further and find water and food; insects we found and mushrooms¡ªthat was enough. We were saved.

    And thus, we found the City of Last Light, a city made from cloth, and in a decade, it was a city of stone¡ªnot as great as those we built above, but something that reminded us of who we once were.¡±

    ¡°The Walls¡­ It became our final resting place. We must become a part of the city; we must protect our children from the shadows that gather at the edges of the light. The shadows that veil our way back. We cannot go back¡ªwe tried and none returned.

    It smolders and it moves. It screams and whispers¡ªno words that can be understood¡ªbut fear is all we feel. We who conquered the darkness now learned to fear the shadows.

    Only the light can protect us; only the light can keep us safe. We must stay in the light.

    It was a vision, a future that they had seen. Or so was told to us, and thus began the construction of the walls. A perfect circle and ten ells worth of empty perimeter on both sides of the walls; we were not told at first why, but the Council was adamant; it had to be done, they said. The shadows would come, they promised.

    Everyone took part in its construction, from the strong and the weak, the women and the men, even the children, who were told to haul stone and shape it so that the walls could be built as fast as possible. And fast they rose; from nothing came walls that made us feel safer; they made us not worry about what might exist in the darkness... But some were afraid that again the Sharan would come and punish us for trying to reach the heavens, as the walls were soon taller than anything that we had built below.

    On the walls, great magicians carved the history of our people; but on them, they engraved something else as well, something that could not be understood by the meager minds of those who have not studied the arcane for most of their lives.

    Yet we saw that they were beautiful, for they made us feel safe...¡±

    ¡°It was a month after the walls were finished when the first ritual commenced. A member of the Council, now old and near death, announced that her time had come to an end; she and the Council invited the people to witness her near the walls.

    She walked where no one else was allowed to walk, and the other Council members followed. A speech was held, where she declared what must be done, or we would all die. She told us that even in death, we had to protect those who were left behind. She unmasked herself, and for the first time, we could see a member of the Council; we now knew that she was once an Empress, the ruler of us all when there still had been an Empire to rule.

    In great shock, we witnessed as she and the members of the Council walked to the walls; she stood there and spread her limbs and went against the walls. Then the members of the Council, from beneath their cloaks, brought out relics of old and pierced her limbs against the walls, praying out loud in words we could not understand, in a language none had ever heard before.

    Her screams filled our world, her skin became darker than before, and the very stone of the walls glued itself to her; she went quiet, and her eyes stared ahead. In the blue of her eyes lay fear; her watchful gaze saw something that the rest could not...

    She was the first of the so-called Ancients that now stare toward the east, toward the darkness that is said to smolder and move, to scream and whisper in a choir of many voices.

    She was not the only one to go through with it; since then, most who were close to death became one with the walls. Yet we were uncertain why this was.¡± Gar finished reading at last. Their deep voice, that of a talented narrator, pronouncing each word with solemn detail, drawing out at times the feelings of those who might¡¯ve written these records. Their despair and loss, and at last, their newfound hope.

 Chapter Ninety-Three, Part One: The History of the Wallsâ€¦

    It wasn¡¯t enough. He needed more. So much was left unexplained. The walls and their engravings were the one thing that he had wanted to learn most about. He stared ahead, while the students in the auditorium waited for him to ask any questions that he might have.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but let out a long sigh. He prepared himself for the awaiting disappointment; he knew that his questions would not receive the answers that he most wished for. If the books were unable to tell him what he wanted to know, then the students and even Gar were unlikely to know any further information.

    Yet he asked anyway: ¡°Tell me of the language that is written on the walls. What is it? Does anyone know how to read it?¡± He stared ahead at the seated Atheians, who listened to Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s translation of Kanrel¡¯s question.

    Silence was what was born out of it. The students would look at each other, some whispering to the person next to them, perhaps asking if they knew the answer. After a few minutes, as if at least one of them had reached the conclusion that Kanrel already knew, one brave Atheian got up from their seat and answered, ¡°We don¡¯t know... And I don¡¯t think anyone knows. Perhaps not even those who wrote them in the first place¡­¡±

    The Atheian remained on their feet for a few moments and observed Kanrel¡¯s reaction; they only sat down when they saw Kanrel nod to himself. Another long sigh left Kanrel¡¯s lips.

    ¡°Well, then I suppose this will remain a mystery none can answer.¡± He muttered words that were left untranslated by Y¡¯Kraun, who seemed apologetic and patted Kanrel on the back.

    ¡°Then, what about the staircase or the Sharan that trapped you beneath the ground? Are there somewhere descriptions or anything akin to it, so that I might know what they looked like?¡± He then asked.

    Quite quickly, an Atheian on the left got up from their seat and said, ¡°I am certain that you could find engravings and other artwork littered around the city if you¡¯d just look; you can probably pick a larger tower at random and enter it, then explore its walls, and somewhere there you¡¯d find some sort of visualization of what these things might¡¯ve looked like.¡±

    "But... one can hardly claim these engravings to be accurate by any standard. Most of them were produced long after our arrival here. And besides, to our knowledge, you spend plenty of time in the City of Creation and the famous Spire. There you probably already saw such engravings.¡± The Atheian explained and promptly sat down when they were finished.

    Kanrel nodded along; it was better than nothing, at least. He was about to ask his next question when Gar decided to speak. ¡°Some of this information you¡¯d be more likely to find among the records available at the Sanctuary... But the Universal Truth as an organization is unlikely to let just anyone browse through them, no matter how curious the individual might be.¡± He had a slight smile on his lips as he spoke, one that barely reached his eyes.

    "But let us give our audience a chance to ask questions in return, shall we?¡± Gar suggested the moment he noticed a question that had found itself in Kanrel¡¯s eyes.

    He still had one more question that needed an answer... The ¡°old relics,¡± what were they? How¡¯d he gain entrance to the Sanctuary and the right to read through their records? He gritted his teeth and prepared to answer yet another barrage of questions.

    An Atheian in the front got up and asked their question: ¡°The reports mention that you, a priest in your respected organization, are like a mixture of a scholar, a magician, and, as the name suggests, a priest. Why is that? How do these fields that deal with such different things have become so interconnected?¡±

    Kanrel produced a smile. ¡°Before the founding of the Priesthood, it is difficult to say if these fields weren¡¯t or were so connected as they are today. We didn¡¯t know of magic back then... Or we did, but what we considered magic then is quite different from that which we know today.¡±

    ¡°But I would like to argue against the Atheian notion of segregation when it comes to these fields... Is there a reason why, in your mind, a priest can¡¯t be a magician, a magician can¡¯t be a scholar, and a scholar a priest?¡±

    ¡°Are you so enthralled by your own organization, your own faction, that it is difficult to accept that all of these three fields are in fact nothing more than fields of education? Is this confusion born out of dogma and this strange schism in education itself? Why can a branch of knowledge be claimed by an organization when it should be for all to study and observe as they will?¡±

    ¡°And besides, isn¡¯t a magician a scholar of magic; a priest a scholar of his or her religion; and isn¡¯t a scholar just someone who has great knowledge in their specific field of study? And can¡¯t a priest be at the same time someone who has considerable knowledge of history, or perhaps language?¡± Kanrel asked; he stared directly at the Atheian, who had asked him this question. His eyes challenged this young student to argue back.

    The young Atheian raised their hairless brows, perhaps surprised by the outburst of questions; even then they replied, ¡°It is easy to observe a system from the outside and see its most obvious faults, but then one fails to see its advantages, as well as the underlying issues that are the cause of the issues that are so easy to see.¡±

    ¡°In a perfect world, I wouldn¡¯t disagree with you and your observations, nor the questions that you¡¯ve asked in turn. But you¡¯ve failed to answer the first question that I had asked: ¡®Why is that?¡¯ Why has your organization become the de facto voice of the scholarly circles, as well as religion and magic?¡±

    ¡°Besides, you cannot claim that your Priesthood isn¡¯t an usurper in the same regard as are the organizations and factions that are down here.¡± The young Atheian didn¡¯t seem offended, yet his words were sharp, and each word made Kanrel then realize that he had tried to vent his own frustration onto someone, who he didn¡¯t even know that he did so, and who didn¡¯t even know the information that he so wanted to learn.

    Kanrel took a deep breath. ¡°I apologize; that was rather unfair of me.¡±

    ¡°I suppose one of the reasons they became the voice of the scholarly circles, as you put it, is because of necessity. Before the founding of the Priesthood, there was no large unified country for all humans; instead, there were multiple city-states and petty kingdoms that then found unity only when all of humanity faced potential extinction.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°And to further unify these lands under the banner of the Kingdom of Lo¡¯Gran, it was decided that this could be done well if most if not all information could be agreed upon. History collected by the priests then became something where we¡¯d find unity. Morality, often taught through religion, would substitute previously worshipped gods as well as change what people thought of as right and wrong¡ªgood and evil. And magic, well, that probably was just a way to enforce it.¡± Kanrel suggested, ¡°I am not certain, which is why I am throwing guesses more than anything else. But this could be one of the ways to look at it.¡±

    The Atheian accepted Kanrel¡¯s apology as well as his explanation; they then sat back down with a satisfied expression on their face.

    Gar listened silently to the words of the two; his smile had finally reached his ocean-blue eyes. Another silence ruled the auditorium, one that was only broken by Gar: ¡°We are done for today; you are all dismissed. We shall continue tomorrow at the same time as we did today.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Kanrel stopped him in turn as the students began to get up from their seats. All motion stopped in the auditorium, and Gar looked at Kanrel with a surprised expression, ¡°Yes?¡± He asked.

    ¡°There was a mention of ¡®old relics.'' I¡¯d like to know what they are and from where they came from." Kanrel then asked.

    Gar let out a long sigh. ¡°I will answer this one: they are magical devices that were built long before the fall of the Empire, long before we were doomed beneath the ground. One could call them lost technology... They aren¡¯t commonly found anymore, not here at least... And, if you would want to see some, you¡¯d probably, again, have to somehow gain entrance into the Sanctuary.¡± He explained, ¡°May my students leave now?¡± He asked and glanced at the Atheians, who had all stood up, and now stared at the Darshi, who had stopped them.

    Kanrel just nodded, his mind already racing, an old memory returning. Above, they had found them as well but did not understand how to use them, what their purpose was, or what they even were. Yirn¡­ He remembered Yirn and the eldritch monstrosity that he had become in his final moments.

    They left the Grand Library for today, and Kanrel returned to his apartment after they had yet another meal at Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s new favorite restaurant. His only friend made steady progress in what seemed like a very slow and careful courtship. However, the target of this courtship might not even realize what Y¡¯Kraun was trying to do. And Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but wonder if this attempt, when it came to that pivotal moment, where Y¡¯Kraun confessed his feelings for her, would U''Ran''Ui find it wanted in any way, or if it were just another bother, yet another customer that had fallen for her, a lowly waitress at a restaurant.

    Kanrel wrote more notes at his apartment, connecting information that he had learned before to the new information that made some things clearer for him, but most questions for which he sought answers became more complicated, more veiled beneath layers of mystery that he didn¡¯t seem to know how to pierce or unveil. He had thought that the Grand Library would be the place where he¡¯d find all the answers to every question that he had, but then he was instead slowly directed to another place... The Sanctuary. Another center of education, this one solely dedicated to the arcane, to magic and its study. But would they allow entrance to a human, whose magic might be very different from their own? Would they risk allowing the eyes of an outsider to grace their most secret records? He wondered this as he went to bed. There was so much that he needed to learn; so much had been left unexplained.

    The next few days they continued with matters related to the ¡°descent¡± of the Atheians as well as the building of the City of Last Light. But no further information relating to the things he wanted to know was provided. But now he could say which parts of the city were built first, or when the Forum became the center of all Atheian power. And when the Council became known as the Council of Many Faces... all interesting information in their own way, but not what the most wanted to learn. Either way, he didn¡¯t complain, and he made sure that he would not end up venting his frustration at the Atheian students, who really weren¡¯t to blame for not knowing something that most didn¡¯t seem to know.

    They kept asking their questions about him and the world above. And in a way, they provided him the means to reflect on the great loss that it would be for him to remain trapped beneath the ground. It also made him realize how great of a loss it had been for the Atheians before him, those who had found themselves below, beneath the false sun and its cold, blue light... Just how devastated they had been to lose something so beautiful. The despair they had gone through; the unfair ¡°justice¡± that the Sharan had forced upon them... But at the same time, the hope they had found and the fact that they had refused to give up¡ªthey had refused to let the Shadows past the walls swallow them and at last extinguish the final flames of the Atheian culture that now chose to prosper despite the follies and tragedies of their long history.

    This too was beautiful, even if there were many things that he saw as unjust within the Atheian culture.

    There was another thought that had entered his mind, this one in the form of a question: What does knowledge mean to the Atheians? And what does it mean to the Sharan or the humans?

    In a way, the answer seemed quite obvious: they all saw knowledge as the same thing, i.e., information that had or had no value to a person given his or her interests. Knowledge was many things; among those things was power. And this notion seemed to be more prevalent within the Atheian culture in contrast to the Sharan and human cultures.

    Kanrel saw knowledge and information in general to be more restricted within the Atheian culture. One had to be a part of a certain group of people to gain the knowledge they most desired. The Grand Library had a monopoly on certain categories of information, and the Universal Truth had its own monopoly on another category of information. In this case, the Grand Library had much of the scholarly information within their grasp, and they could deny and grant it to others as they saw fit, and the Universal Truth, indeed, held the category of magic in their own monopoly of knowledge. It seemed unfair for most, as well as unproductive for the development of their society. Locking and restricting information solely because it gave power over others and would stifle advancement in certain fields. Of course, some fields of study would grow and advance either way, but how quickly things moved on could be severely slowed down just because someone decided to hold the knowledge that could push its advancement centuries forward all to themselves.

    But, as was pointed out by one of the Atheian students, the Priesthood had a similar monopoly on information, it seemed. Of course, in the Kingdom of Lo¡¯Gran, there were other places of education, academies, and universities, and not just the Academy of the Heavenly. But even then, there was so much information that you were not allowed access to unless you had taken the Ritual.

    Should it change? He wondered. It did work, after all. Even this Atheian system, which he saw to be rigid and overtly hierarchical, worked. Was the human system of governance as well as how knowledge was distributed something that could be considered tyrannical? For if it weren¡¯t, and it simply remained as ¡°unfair,¡± then did it matter that it would remain as it were?

    Of course, a tyrannical system that sought to oppress its people no matter what should fall. And even if the restriction of knowledge and information was a form of tyranny, most of such information wasn¡¯t something that most would need. And even then they had the option of joining the Priesthood, like he had, to access the information they most desired.

    All knowledge has a price, and one could gain all that knowledge with a simple payment of most if not all emotions that made life worth living.

    What a foolish trade he had accepted. But one he now had to live with, until he¡¯d find a way to return above and find an angel who could take this curse away; that would return him, which he now most wished for, what he most sought.

 Chapter Ninety-Three, Part Two: ... and the Journey Beyond the Shadows

    The next week they went over the different religions that had affected the Atheian culture the most. From the very beginning, to the aforementioned deities, which were more or less personifications of things that the Atheians of then could not understand, i.e., the God of Thunder and so forth.

    Then to the God Who Hung, a matter they had thoroughly gone through once but now looked at it from a theological perspective instead of a historical one. The Herd of the God Who Hung seemed like a religion that valued sacrifice and martyrdom above all else. For there seemed to be a time when the priests of this religion would walk around with a noose around their necks, ready for the moment when someone would wish to be rid of them; to soon hang from a tree or from wherever, as a martyr that had died like their god had.

    And somehow, this religion born out of war and resistance had become one that now awaited the day of reckoning as the day their god would return to them, to give them salvation from this earthly realm as well as judge those who do not believe. They also nowadays preach peace, justice, and compassion.

    And then, at last, there was the Church of the Lord From Above, which was a bit different. They saw that the Atheians had already received their reckoning, their judgment, and their salvation. Their reckoning had been when the Sharan fought their war against the Atheians, crushing them and pulverizing their civilization of towers and advancement into mere rubble and a long-forgotten memory by the earth above. Then, they were judged below the earth to live in the shadows for the rest of their meager existence. But there, of course, was salvation, one that you could only reach in death, at the stairway where their god would wait for them and accept them back to the domain of light and goodness. But only in death.

    This religion preached many of the same things as did the Herd of the God Who Hung; just add on top of that this concept of guilt they had. For in their eyes, all Atheian, those who had lived thousands of years ago when they still lived on the fields, the forests, the coasts, and steppes of the world, and the Atheains that now lived beneath the ground, were still guilty of the crimes that had brought them here, and they still needed to pray for forgiveness for their original sin.

    Much of it was information that Kanrel had by now gathered; even still, he took notes on everything and connected the new information with the old.

    But today was another day, with something that he wanted to learn much more about than the religions of the Atheians... The shadows and what they, and who, if anyone, had ever entered them and survived, like he and A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra had even if the two of them had entered them just for a brief moment.

    Again, the auditorium was filled with eager Atheains awaited for Gar, who first explained what they would start learning about this week, to begin reading.

    Gar cleared his throat and said, "This journal was written one hundred and two years after the founding of the City of Last Light. Back then, an expedition sponsored by the Universal Truth was sent past the veil. This is a journal that was later collected by another expedition that was sent after the first one."

    He then began to read:

    ¡°We were told to keep a journal with us at all times so that we may document the things we see as well as the things we feel so deep within the darkness that surrounds us. I am nervous as I stare at the fog from its outskirts. My wife and my son cried when they said their goodbyes to me, and I cannot lie and say that I did not cry with them. They wanted to come to see me as I took the first step into that awaiting darkness, but I denied them. I didn¡¯t want that moment to be the last one they saw me alive, or at all.

    I took this first step, knowing all too well that I would not return. I have no hope, but among my comrades, I must pretend that I do, lest there be chaos among them, lest they give up, and even the last speck of hope between us might disperse into the darkness...

    The reinforced crystal lamps seem more effective than at first thought in repelling the thick fog of shadows. At all times, it is like we are walking in a sphere that follows us. We were advised to keep two lights on at all times, for even a moment without the light might cause the death of us all.

    The best we can do is to go as far as we can, and for me to write down the things that I see...

    It is silken, yet it looks heavy... It moves against our light, not afraid of it like the shadows further away from these eastern lands. And what we¡¯ve found along the way has surprised me and the others, for I am sure that all of us have imagined what there¡¯d be past the veil.

    One imagines a world of wonders, but instead, we are given a continuation of the caves that we live in. At times, we have to travel past stalagmite forests and even dead lakes with this murky, unmoving water that offers no reflection upon its surface; it is, as if, the shadow that comes in contact with the light goes beneath the surface to hide away from the light.

    And when we must make a major decision, to turn to the left or the right, we were advised to leave a mark of some sort so that those who might come after us in a few weeks could find where we made our way.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    I write this at the end of the first day; we¡¯ve lost the concept of time by now, but exhaustion strikes us all, and we must make camp and spend the night surrounded by the very things that could kill us if those crystals give way and all light leaves our world.

    I offered to take the first watch, as I had things to write down. Hoping that if I were to stay awake for long enough, then I¡¯d be able to sleep without the fear of death soiling my dreams. I miss my family, and I wish that I hadn¡¯t been chosen for this quest.

    The others are unable to sleep, all of them bundled close to each other, perhaps hoping that the touch of one another might make it alright. But in their gazes that meet the shadows, I can see the truth; they are all as afraid as I am; they are all as unable to stare away as I am. They all wish they hadn¡¯t come here... None of them have hope, and it has only been the first day, or so we think.

    The next, assumed morning, we pack our things and continue making our way further east. I think I managed to sleep an hour, but in those moments of sleep, dreams plagued my mind. I heard whispers¡ªwords that I can now barely remember. But I was not the only one; everyone who managed to fall asleep had those same dreams¡ªall of us remember whispers, and some can even remember the very words whispered to them. A choir of many voices from a choir of so many faces, these words that are now etched into my mind... ¡®We died for nothing.¡¯

    And these words make one wonder if their origin is naught more than our subconscious, one that had become connected with the members of this expedition. Perhaps this dire situation, this hopeless darkness we were forced to enter and explore, had made us one.

    On this journey, we are brothers and sisters, closer to each other than those who are connected to us with blood. I pity them, and I pity myself. The whispers are correct... We will die for nothing.

    It smolders. It bubbles. We¡¯ve lost one of the lights. The other ones we brought with us refuse to be set alight. Magic fails us. We cannot go back. We cannot turn around. We can only walk forward and hope that somewhere past this thick fog, there might be salvation for us all.

    Last night I had a dream; it went something like this: In this dream, I was a strange bug, one that could fly, its wings colored in gold with patterns in black. My wings would flutter, and I¡¯d fly toward the sun¡ªnot the one that lights our city with its blue hue, but one that was as golden as the wings that I had. I flew from flower to flower; one was red, the other was blue, some were purple, and some were even white. I was free at that moment, and I did not know that I was this bug that could flutter so freely. I did not know that I was myself, who had then become this beautiful winged creature. I had no worries, and I didn¡¯t know that I wasn¡¯t who I am now. I didn¡¯t know that I was dreaming.

    But in this dream, past the setting sun, I see a vision that now haunts me. A beam of darkness pierces the heavenly light; it casts a shadow on the flowers among which I flutter and dream. And in that sudden flash of darkness, a great wave of shadows falls down, blocking the golden sun, and it becomes so cold. It is so dark in this dream. And I can hear whispers, one that wakes me up from a dream... ¡®Our deaths were there only to feed him... We died for nothing. His will is now eternal.¡¯

    When I woke up, I wondered if I was that magnificent creature with those golden wings, fluttering from flower to flower. I wondered if I was now dreaming and if the field had been the reality since the beginning.

    We don¡¯t have much time left. And in anticipation of our final moments, many of us have turned to the gods of the old and the new, praying for whatever salvation there might be. Holding on to that final straw of hope, one that may or may not be true...

    But I have no hope, other than the memory of that dream. Perhaps soon I will wake up and again flutter among the flowers at the final dawn before eternal darkness. At least, for those final moments, I would be free.¡± Gar stopped reading for a while; somehow, even he could seem distraught at times, as he then read the final page of the journal: ¡°The bodies of the expedition members were not found; only their belongings were left scattered near an entrance to a smaller subsection of the cave system. Eleven lives were lost; the second expedition was thus the final one; as of them, only one returned alive, holding on to this very journal, her mind broken, her whole body shaking for days before she committed suicide by re-entering the veil. Thus another eleven lives were lost." And when he finished at last, there was a silence so deafening, so loud that no words could be said to break it.

    They remained in it. In this world of fear and distraught. A tale of a man who seemed like any man, someone who had a family, simply gathering the last days of his life onto paper that was no less fragile than the lives of those that had been lost... For nothing.

    Kanrel could feel this surge of emotions, filling him to the brim. Everything felt wrong at that moment. Even if it was something that had happened so long ago, it could still affect someone years later. As much as a story told a thousand years ago could make one cry and laugh today as well. This piece of history could do so as well.

    When Kanrel was younger, he had read about the revolt that had caused the very existence of nameless people like him, Yirn, and Dar. A restlessness that soon turned into war. Those who died fighting against what they perceived to be the tyranny of the crown and the Priesthood. A long war lasting over a decade, which then ended with bloodshed so great that the substantive nameless population was born. Children left behind with no parents; their names a mystery to most, and now, their lack of a name is a stark reminder that these were the offspring, the spawn, of those who had gone against the status quo, causing a war that ended killing countless innocents as a byproduct.

    And the last day of this war? A massacre so extreme that he couldn¡¯t read its descriptions without anger swelling him from the inside, not toward the victims of this massacre, but the perpetrators of it, his own Priesthood, his own kingdom... But then there was the grief mixed with that, the softness and sadness that he felt, as he had to think and see the world through the eyes of those who were there. The fear they must have felt. The blood, the violence, the unjust actions of the so-called ¡°righteous men.¡± All and everything that they had had to experience and witness...

    Those minds¡ªif their bodies weren¡¯t murdered, mangled, and broken that day, then their minds must¡¯ve been.

    Ignar had seen the world like that, and thus he had seen it as such as well.

    It wasn¡¯t exactly the same, but the unfairness that then caused the deaths of these poor Atheains was not that different. Who of them wanted to enter the Shadows, to enter the Veil, as they called?

    Then, at last, as his emotions crashed within him as if great waves in an ocean, a storm that raged without an end, the silence was broken.

    ¡°We will continue tomorrow,¡± Gar spoke, his voice flat, his brows quivering ever so slightly, his eyes of ocean blue empty, and without the sparkle they usually had.

    That day, they left in silence.

 Chapter Ninety-Four: A Sparkle of Hope In the Shadow of Lost Light

    Perhaps there is no hope after all. If those who are sent to enter the shadows, the veil, as they had dubbed it, slowly enter insanity only to then die, or at least get lost seemingly leaving not a single body behind. And those who touched and returned then could no longer be without its touch, either longing to enter it once more, to become one with it, to truly understand and comprehend what the whispers tried to tell them... or wanting to no longer hear those very whispers.

    What awaited in those shadows? What might one find if given a chance to explore them? Would one find that there was no hope at all, as did those who had lost their lives in its darkness? Or would there be something else... Perhaps a blocked staircase that one could climb? Meeting the ceiling of the cave that was there as the wall between the darkness below and the lights that lit the sky during the day and night.

    Regardless of whether there was a way out, or if there wasn¡¯t one, even then this would be the only way out to find out if one or the other is true, or if neither is. One could claim that there was no hope, but in truth, there either never was or there always is. Only by seeing for yourself and experiencing that which has no hope can you claim to know that one or the other is correct. Perhaps there will be that tiniest bit of hope, a mere sparkle in the eternal darkness that allures you to find your way to it and accept its lonesome embrace. Or... the darkness is just that. Dark, and no matter how far or for how long you blindly try to navigate through it, you never find anything else than more of the same. More darkness, more shadows, more hopelessness...

    Gar had surprised him. The Atheian professor wasn¡¯t as detached as Kanrel had imagined him to be. For a while, they had seemed like a scholar who had no other desire than to drink from the stream of knowledge to sate their thirst. Emotions such as those that Gar had expressed through his eyes, his voice, and mannerisms after reading about the expedition weren¡¯t something that he¡¯d ever expect from him.

    This was, in a way, a judgment that Kanrel had placed upon someone he barely knew. Like an accusation one has placed upon another person¡¯s character, making it something that defines who they are in your eyes when the reality might be so very different. Gar might¡¯ve been the most empathetic person that Kanrel had ever interacted with so far, or they could be the complete opposite.

    How would Kanrel know? Thus, he couldn¡¯t help but feel embarrassed by his own hasty judgment of another creature. The eyes deceive as much as does your own mind and your own heart, and as much as the lips of others...

    Of course, one can¡¯t really help but judge others. Is it not something each somewhat intelligent creature does? We observe each other, and based on those observations, we form opinions. Sometimes, they might correct, but it must be so that most of the time, what we think we know of someone else is nothing more than a projection of something that we are afraid to be or to face.

    A judgment formed by our own biases, as we so adamantly try to claim that we are fair, because what else could I be if not that?

    The next day, finally, Kanrel was allowed to ask the questions that had begun to fill his mind. This intense curiosity, like a hammer that kept hitting his temples at a constant pace, reminded him that he lacked knowledge of something that was so very intriguing and pivotal one way or another.

    The atmosphere within the auditorium was solemn as the students observed their professor, who by now had claimed back their usual mask. He smiled as if he hadn¡¯t canceled the last few hours of yesterday''s lecture; instead, Gar made no mention of it.

    ¡°I believe that everyone has had plenty of time to gather their thoughts and form opinions as well as questions that might need answers. I am quite excited to hear what, not only Kanrel, but our students might have on their minds.¡± Gar spoke; his voice was as it was always, even and deep. He then nodded toward Kanrel, giving him the cue to begin.

    Kanrel cleared his throat and began, somewhat hesitantly, asking his questions, ¡°It has come to my attention that this very topic could be rather difficult to talk about.¡± He said, and he couldn¡¯t help but glance at Gar, who just smiled as if the words weren¡¯t pointed at him. "But such need to be talked about, even if they cause grief and anger, for how else are we to remember those who are now gone... Even if they died for nothing, let us remember them. I am sure that they do not wish to be forgotten." Y¡¯Kraun translated everything; he too, at times, couldn¡¯t help but glance at Gar.

    In Gar¡¯s eyes, something flashed for a moment, but it soon disappeared. For a moment, Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it was something he said¡ªperhaps appreciation, perhaps anger related to what they had read yesterday...

    ¡°My first question is simple,¡± Kanrel said and then returned his gaze to the hundreds of students that had gathered in the large auditorium. ¡°Did they, truly, die for nothing?¡± He asked, and those words were left to linger and then cling themselves to the silence that was then born out of them.

    Before any of the students could answer, Gar chose to speak, ¡°One could claim that yes, they indeed died for nothing... But there was something that we learned from it.¡± His voice was as it always was: ¡°As far as we know, no other expeditions were sent beyond the veil. The second expedition was the final one.¡±

    ¡°We now know that we can¡¯t traverse and return to the lands from where we came from. We now know that these lands will be our home for all eternity, until the moment of our inevitable extinction.¡±

    ¡°We know, and we somewhat knew before, that if one were to come into contact with the veil for long periods of time, they¡¯d lose their mind for good, leaving nothing more than a husk, who would only speak of things they heard within the shadows; they¡¯d only remember what the shadows want them to remember... forgetting who they are, who they loved, who loved them, and where they belong... They instead always long to return to that darkness and to become one with it.¡± Gar explained, ¡°Is this a sufficient answer?¡±

    Kanrel nodded and pondered for a moment, then he asked his next question, ¡°Then the next questions are as follows." He let his gaze go from student to student. ¡°There were mentions of ''reinforced crystal lamps...'' What are they, and how are they different from those that lit your cities?¡±

    Again, the students remained silent, as Gar was the one to answer, ¡°They aren¡¯t any different. We began using those so-called'' reinforced crystal lamps¡¯ not long after the failures of the expeditions. One could say that this invention was at least something that made the lives lost worth it."

    ¡°Then have you continued to improve upon these lamps? Are they now more efficient at keeping the shadows at bay?¡± Kanrel asked.

    ¡°Only the manufacturing process has changed and become more efficient, and the amount of resources one lamp needs has decreased. So far, there has been no need to create stronger lamps, and when there have been attempts to create them, the cost has been too high to make it worth it.¡±

    ¡°Of course, I am no expert on lamps and the process of making them, but these lamps have been in use for the better part of a thousand years without much change.¡± Gar explained, his smile by now seemed only curt, nothing else, his voice still even, and in his eyes there was a question that was soon asked, ¡°Why would you care to know more about these lamps? Do you have plans to start an expedition of your own, perhaps to make clear your own previously asked question of ¡®did they die for nothing?¡¯¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Kanrel turned toward Gar; by now it was clear that the students wouldn¡¯t be allowed to answer any of his questions, ¡°Perhaps. After all, I don¡¯t belong here, now do I? Beneath, there is none of my people. Far above, still live my family and friends. There still remains the sky that I long to see¡ªthe warmth of the sun and the memory of it, even when the feeling of it has begun to dwindle.¡±

    ¡°Everything that I have ever loved still exists above. Is it normal for any man to aspire to return whence they came from? Weren¡¯t your forefathers the same? Did they not try, even when it seemed nigh impossible?¡± Kanrel asked, then scoffed, ¡°I wonder, if your people had kept trying to make their way out, would they have already returned to where they came from? Would they, by now, have unlocked the secrets that they need to navigate that darkness?¡±

    ¡°Of course, such cannot be certain; the very thought of it is entirely hypothetical... But if I were to be curious about this and willing to enter that darkness to see for myself if there truly was no way out, then why not? Is not only my own life at stake? I might die after the first try, or I might after many such tries, already an old man, one who can barely remember just how blue the sky could be, or just how colorful the first flowers in bloom were.¡± Kanrel spoke; his eyes had by now met Gar¡¯s gaze, the deep blue of them, a storm that raged in them that then subdued as if, at last, understanding the fears of the human, who so earnestly tried to grasp that tiny lingering spark of hope that was in danger of getting swallowed by the darkness that surrounded it.

    Gar¡¯s expression softened, and so did his voice. ¡°Perhaps such a hypothetical world could be real. But it isn¡¯t easy for a wife to lose her husband, nor for a child to live without a father.¡±

    "Perhaps this was the easy way out. To accept the fate we were dealt. The judgment, however unfair and unjust we believe it to be, we had to accept it so that no child would lose one or both pillars of their life.¡±

    ¡°Kanrel, I fully understand what you wish for. And I cannot block nor truly criticize what you wish to do, but couldn''t this world below be another home for you? Have you not already made meaningful connections and become a part of our society, even if you still feel like an outsider, even if many see you as such as well?" He spoke, and never before had he sounded so gentle or seemed so worried.

    ¡°At least try to live among us, and if you find one day that you cannot, then I wouldn¡¯t blame you for entering the veil and the darkness that can only kill you. And when that day comes¡ªno¡ªif that day comes, then I will help you. Even when I would know that all I would be doing is helping a man kill himself.¡± Gar promised, his eyes were an ocean, a calm sea, and in them, there was the horizon, where a sparkle, like the setting sun, lit those eyes with something that brought Kanrel a realization. The Atheian before him meant every word they had said. Gar¡¯s smile was gentle, friendly, even, but Kanrel couldn¡¯t smile back; he didn¡¯t dare to form a lie upon his face, so instead he spoke, ¡°I am not ready to cast aside the hope that I have just found, but... I will try, as I seek a way out from here, among your people friends whom I might trust... Perhaps then, when I am old and still have not found my way out from here, I¡¯d be surrounded by those friends in my final moments, and then dying without regret.¡±

    ¡°Gar, I will gladly accept your offer.¡± Kanrel finished.

    The Atheian¡¯s smile widened slightly, then an awkward silence filled the auditorium.

    A student in the front collected their wits and all the bravery they had within and got up and spoke, ¡°Your conversation is deeply appreciated, surely by all, but... it does seem a little bit too private to be made so public.¡± Their voice faltered a little as Gar glanced at them. ¡°No, this was the perfect moment, the perfect timing, and the perfect place to have such a conversation... In fact, you all should take notes, for is this not a great example of two creatures of two different races interacting with each other quite peacefully, both offering conciliations after a somewhat heated exchange?¡± Gar spoke, in his voice such authority.

    ¡°One could even claim this to be a masterful presentation on communication!" Gar added, but one could not miss the poorly veiled embarrassment in his demeanor.

    Kanrel cleared his throat, ¡°I agree. This, by far, has been one of the most meaningful conversations that I have had with one of your kind during these past months that I¡¯ve lived here.¡±

    "Well, thank you; I do try.¡± Gar muttered, then sighed, ¡°But alas, we should continue with a more open dialogue, as well as further reading about these expeditions as well as other so-called encounters Atheains have had with the veil and its shadows.¡±

    The next week or so, they continued with this topic. And by now, there was a different atmosphere in the auditorium during each session, one much more open than before, one not so stifled by rank or perceived status in society. All seemed to get their fair chance to ask questions and answer them, and information seemed to flow naturally and freely.

    During the last session regarding the Veil and the Shadows, Kanrel heard the story of the first contact that the Atheians had with the shadows:

    ¡°For a decade, even when many became one with the Walls, there was this growing doubt about the functional purpose of the walls as well as the last words of the final empress of the Atheian Empire. There were no enemies below the earth; there were just the Atheians.

    The City of Last Light had become greater and its population stable, and many expeditions had been sent to explore lands further south and west, finding suitable locations for new settlements as well as new veins of crystals that could be used to light their city and to build new settlements around.

    But it seems that our punishment for the crimes proclaimed by the Sharan was far from over.

    The following is an eyewitness account of the first contact with what they dupped as ¡®the Smoldering Darkness¡¯:

    It was an early morrow during which I planned to begin mapping our way back, for had it not been such a long time since we were locked here? One can¡¯t help but wonder if the Sharan had forgiven us by now or if the way back was truly blocked for good.

    I brought with me nothing more than supplies for a day''s worth of travel, paper, and pens for map making, as well as notes of things that had been left unreported by us when we first made our way here.

    I made no further than an hour when I saw it past the hills and forests of stalagmites. Upon the surface of a small pond, one made by us, during our arrival... I do not wish to think of those poor souls who lost their lives not that far away from the place that we¡¯d make our home that very day...

    Darkness slowly encroaches; at first, I thought it to be just a shadow of something above, but as I approached it with a crystal in my hand, it would not move or part as did the normal darkness around me.

    It... smolders... and moves as if in a constant yet inconsistent heartbeat upon the surface of a lake, as if waves pulsate, but instead of it being just one heartbeat or just one pulse, it is many, and they waver together in differing rhythms... And¡ªand¡­ I could hear a voice, a whisper, words that I could not understand, and then it jumped toward me, and only the light I held in my arms kept it at bay.

    I ran, leaving behind all except the crystal in my hands. I ran and I ran, and when I looked back, that smoldering darkness would follow me; it would try to catch me, the whispers following, the voices in this choir of so many screaming for me to return to them, to remember them...

    I reached the walls of our city in less than an hour. I had not stopped running for once, and that smoldering darkness followed me until the edges of the darkness around our city, only the light of our new sun kept them at bay. That is when I heard the screams from far away, not from within the city, but from the outside; not the voices of that choir of darkness, but the voices of our kind, who now were lost to the darkness forevermore...¡±

    There were other recounts as well. One that told of how that smoldering darkness then surrounded their City of Last Light. The Atheians had believed that they¡¯d conquered the darkness, but another darkness then came, ushering them into a new age of fear, and it took them a decade to break this siege as the shadows moved away for an unknown reason, giving them a chance to build the first types of their lamps as well as mirrors, which they then used to redirect light toward the south and the west.

    Apparently, the process of ¡°conquering¡± the lands lost to the darkness had been a great task. One that was a slow process, but the smoldering darkness and the gathering of the shadows weren¡¯t so thick and powerful in those parts, and they did try to do the same toward the east as well, but it had been impossible, as their lamps wouldn¡¯t last for long at the edge of that darkness; only the crystal above was potent enough to last and keep the darkness at bay. Some claimed it to be because of the help of the Walls and those that now had become a permanent part of them, but it was difficult to prove if it were one or the other. All they knew was that the light visibly worked¡­

    And from now on, it wasn''t just Kanrel and Y''Kraun that would eat lunch or sometimes even dinner at the restaurant where U''Ran''Ui worked, since Gar began to join them, as both Kanrel and Gar would, with great interest¡ªand more so amusement from Gar¡ªobserve Y''Kraun''s antics, or rather his attempts at flirting, as well as his attempts at courting the apparently beautiful U''Ran''Ui.

 Chapter Ninety-Five: A Bridge Suspended upon the Awaiting Waves

    With the help of the notes that Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n left behind, Gar began to teach Kanrel the language of the Atheians, with the condition that Kanrel would try to teach him the human language. Y¡¯Kraun served as the translator, although seemingly bored, as he didn¡¯t seem too interested in language learning. And to alleviate this boredom, Gar had the fantastic idea that they¡¯d have these lessons, not at the Grand Library but instead at the restaurant that Y¡¯Kraun seemed to love. This didn¡¯t help, as their trustworthy translator, instead, became easily distracted at times, letting his mind and eyes wander to much more pleasant views and thoughts, leaving Gar and Kanrel, at times, to figure out things for themselves.

    They could, of course, take Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s pearl and give it to Gar instead, but Gar insisted that this would be the best way to translate their respective languages to each other.

    The process was annoying. It had been a long time since Kanrel had had to learn a new language, and sometimes his frustration was easily noticed by Gar, who seemed to have the patience of a saint. But this was no wonder, since he was a teacher, after all. How often did Gar have to deal with the frustration of his students, and sometimes even their parents, when the student didn¡¯t understand something or had difficulties with either personal things or just their studies in general?

    One must learn patience, and even though Kanrel thought that he was someone who had considerable patience, he now slowly began to realize that this was false. The issue wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t have patience; it was that he didn¡¯t have much patience with himself. When he failed or made a mistake, he couldn¡¯t help but be cruel to himself and critique each step that led to his own failure. This was beneficial, in a way, but at the same time, it was something that made him so burdened with his own mistakes and regrets.

    He¡¯d analyze the mistakes he made on the way, but his analysis was often flawed. Not that it was incorrect, at least in the sense of seeing the things that went wrong, but he¡¯d easily ignore the things that went well. Hence the crushing feeling that would overwhelm him at times. This was one of the thought patterns that he had learned throughout the years. It was something he ought to alter instead of getting rid of entirely, for its benefits were obvious.

    At the same time, they continued the lectures at the auditorium, with increasingly excited students asking more and more questions about the world above, as well as Kanrel asking them questions about the things Gar read to them.

    Then, they reached a topic that many of the students were anticipating the most: magic.

    It wasn¡¯t a topic nor a skill that was equal within the Atheian society. And among the students, there wouldn¡¯t be many, whose talents at magic would be good enough to ever dream of reaching the same heights as some of the novices¡ªthe disciples of the Universal Truth¡ªat the Sanctuary.

    This newfound excitement was something that he could understand, for he had been the same before the Ritual. The idea of magic was alluring; it was something not many understood and was even more feared among the general population. In the Atheian society, magic was the norm. It was, in fact, revered. During the old empire, magical ability and status were connected and intertwined, as the more powerful in combat and so forth were considered to be better than those who could barely produce a flame to start a fire.

    Atheian magic had a peak to it. A ceiling one could not grow through. Every Atheian would reach that ceiling one day or another. For some, that ceiling was that of a one-story building, and for others, it was a tower, like the Spire, that reached the heavens, until heaven itself, or the cave, became the ceiling through which they could not pierce through. And when they reached that ceiling, they¡¯d only have the wish to go through it. To seek the excitement of power flowing through their veins, but then having to deal with the inability to breakthrough. Cold. The world becomes so cold for an addict who is unable to get their next hit of whichever substance they might need to feel elevated and superior.

    It was akin to human magic, but the gift from the angels was lesser in power, giving the side effect of emptiness from the moment a priest wakes up from the Ritual. But, in theory, there was no ceiling. At least, not that anyone knew of one. The human understanding of magic was different when compared to the Atheians and the Sharan, for it was not something that was innate. And only the very basics of its theory were given to them by the angels. Instead, humanity was left with this power alone, to figure it out for themselves, and through a thousand years of development, the Priesthood had grown more knowledgeable, and the average priest was more powerful than those that came before them, but even then, the progress wasn¡¯t as great as one would think or hope.

    So in a way, there seemed to be a ceiling, or at least a step in a staircase, that humanity, in its understanding of magic, was yet to take or breakthrough.

    Before, Kanrel had hoped to be the one to figure out the secrets of magic itself. And even now, within he had this sense of duty that still remained, even after losing much of the faith that he had. Even after becoming so cynical of the Angels and their gift. Even after realizing that it was in fact a curse and not a gift.

    When Gar began reading a book about the very basics of magic, he soon accepted the fact that there wasn¡¯t that big of a difference between the three magic systems. It was a game of knowledge. If you knew that something existed, then you could use it to your advantage. If you realize that there is heat all around and you have sight of the area where this heat exists, then you can alter it.

    You can change the temperature of that area, and through it, you can achieve a flame if you know what fire needs to survive. If you¡¯re presented with a rock and know more or less what a rock is and what its attributes are, then you can alter those as well.

    These were all the same, and really, the only differences that Kanrel could notice were the same ones that he had realized long before: the price of these powers and the fact that the Atheian magic was innate to them.

    Kanrel accepted this, and again he was left to wonder if, at the Sanctuary, he¡¯d find the answers that he sought. To all the questions that he might have, from the veil and the shadows to even magic. But to gain entrance there seemed unlikely.

    The questions Kanrel had for the students were simple this time: what he wanted to understand was the visualization process of the students and if they had a common, well-understood way of practicing magic. And if there were outliers when it came to technique, as well as if there were those who had a similar technique to what he used.

    But, based on their answers, most used a similar way of visualization, and when the students asked in return what methods Kanrel used, he chose to lie and gave an explanation that had been given to him when he was still a student at the Academy of the Heavenly: ¡°When lifting an object, for example, a chair,¡± he said and pointed at the chair on which Y¡¯Kraun sat, rather cozily, ¡°I imagine a pair of hands that lift them, basically a normal process that one might use while lifting any object they so desire to lift.¡± He performed a simple code, one he had used many times by now, not one really using visualization as the Atheians understood it, but instead numbers and letters, a true code, as he thought it to be; and so, the chair began to levitate, with Y¡¯Kraun still sitting on it.

    Y¡¯Kraun and the chair reached a few meters up, the Atheain didn¡¯t seem amused, and the gaze he gave Kanrel served as a warning left discarded, Kanrel then performed another code, one to keep Y¡¯Kraun stationary and safe, as he then jolted the chair across the auditorium, so that the students might observe the Atheian, who had lost his ability to move, the expression of extreme displeasure as they demanded Kanrel to let him down.

    ¡°As you can see, human magic isn¡¯t that different from yours; it can be as intricate as Atheian magic, and one can do many things with it,¡± he explained and then turned the chair and Y¡¯Kraun upside down. ¡°And as you can see, I¡¯ve performed another command, which then keeps our beloved translator safe while I play around.¡± But these words were left untranslated as Y¡¯Kraun chose to instead barrage Kanrel with curses and multiple threats of what he would do to him if he didn¡¯t let him back down.

    Despite Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s distress, the students seemed to be impressed and rather amused by Kanrel¡¯s antics, as well as Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s threats and curses, and even Gar held a grin on his face as he observed the situation. After a minute or so, Kanrel finally let down his disgruntled friend and released the code that held him in place.

    Y¡¯Kraun got promptly up, his grin wide, and his blue eyes gleamed with righteous vengeance. He did something¡ªa motion with his left hand, perhaps just for the theatrics¡ªand Kanrel could feel how he was forced on his head to float above the ground.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°As you can see, the Atheian magic isn¡¯t that different from yours; it can be as intricate as is human magic, and one can do many things with it,¡± Y¡¯Kraun began to explain, and slowly, Kanrel could see the world around him begin to spin¡ªno, the bastard was going to take his revenge and make Kanrel spin in place, to experience what Y¡¯Kraun had experienced just now. ¡°And as you can see, I¡¯ve performed another command, which then makes our beloved guest, the Darshi, spin, just so that he might experience multiple things.¡±

    ¡°For example, vertigo, something, I am sure, that most proud students have experienced at least once or twice after visiting many of the bars and clubs nestled in our City of Lost Light." The Atheian continued, all the while Kanrel screamed at him to stop, his voice becoming something one could barely understand.

    The auditorium was filled with amused laughter as the students intently listened to Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s explanation, as well as witnessing the form of revenge he had picked.

    Then, Y¡¯Kraun made the spinning stop, and all Kanrel could see was the world stay in that motion. The world spun and felt like he spun with it.

    ¡°And hopefully,¡± Y¡¯Kraun said and gently placed Kanrel back on the floor, ¡°through this experience, he might feel as well as learn something he doesn¡¯t seem to have a sense of; at least I could possibly attest that he has no sense at all, but what I am mostly referring to is his lack of manners.¡±

    ¡°He might learn some.¡±

    Kanrel tried to get up, but the ground called for his return as he fell back down, babbling about things that made no sense, then he emptied his stomach on the ground.

    Y¡¯Kraun stared at Kanrel, then he cleared his throat. ¡°This was another thing I had hoped that he might experience; it is also something that many students should be familiar with... To my understanding, it is something that usually happens after a night of bar hopping, possibly during the next morning.¡±

    ¡°Nausea it is called, and the action our beloved Darshi just made is called ¡®vomiting''¡ªI am certain that this, too, is familiar to all." Y¡¯Kraun kept lecturing, ¡°Now we might only hope that he might experience the thing, which then is often the outcome of such an experience.¡± Y¡¯Kraun seemed to ponder for a moment, as if not recalling what he was supposed to say next, then he faked clarity, ¡°I do believe they call it ''regret.¡¯¡± Y¡¯Kraun then returned his gaze back to the audience and lamented, ¡°I do hope that he might feel lots of it.¡± The Atheian finished his speech and sat down as promptly as he had stood up in the first place.

    The students seemed to enjoy both the lecture as well as the showcase of both, the magic of Darshi and the Atheian magic, even when Y¡¯Kraun was by no means an Atheian with considerable talent.

    The rest of the day, Kanrel was indeed regretful. He knew that he made a terrible mistake, a lapse in judgment, for he should¡¯ve spun Y¡¯Kraun around more and released the code that held him in place; then again, he would¡¯ve had to cover Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes with another code.

    The rest of the week, they spend in the study of magic, deepening Kanrel¡¯s understanding of how the Atheians saw it, as well as Kanrel¡¯s perception of it, making things clearer than they had been before. His understanding and knowledge of Atheians and their culture grew considerably, and the tutoring from Gar helped him, although it was fairly slow, learn the very basics of the Atheian language. These five weeks felt like the most productive time that he had had in such a long time. Even if much of the things that he had wanted to learn remained a mystery to him, even if he was by no means any closer to home. Even then, he couldn¡¯t claim that the five weeks spent with Gar and the students were wasted.

    Gar was slowly growing into a friend that he could trust, and Y¡¯Kraun had become even closer to him than before. The students, although he couldn¡¯t really name most of them, weren¡¯t too afraid to approach him even after the end of their lectures. Their curiosity and the willingness to let that curiosity take control and ask the most outlandish and even uncomfortable questions made it possible for there to be honest conversations between them. Even if Y¡¯Kraun was the one that would always have to be the one to translate Kanrel¡¯s words back to them, sometimes clearly showcasing embarrassment because of the things he sometimes heard as well as had to then repeat. This changed Kanrel¡¯s perception of Y¡¯Kraun ever so slightly, for it became clear that the ex-serf was a lot more innocent regarding many things than what Kanrel had at first expected. Or maybe it was the fact that Y¡¯Kraun was a lot more aware of the gender of those to whom they spoke. Was the Atheian, in fact, shy around the opposite sex? But then again, weren¡¯t his often awkward exchanges with U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui more than adequate proof of this?

    Kanrel was certain that if he hadn¡¯t taken the Ritual, then he¡¯d find Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s company quite amusing, and possibly even fun or funny. This thought brought him to a stop, as he made notes of their last day at the Grand Library and its auditorium. It had been such a long time since he had wondered about such a thing. But the fact that he could recognize this assumption that he had, this fleeting thought, made him realize that he in fact was appreciative of Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s company. The Atheian he once considered to be an alien creature, who at times felt cold and distant from him, had become someone he could consider to be a friend.

    Kanrel made note of even this, writing the following on the final pages of his almost full notebook:

    ¡°Whilst I drowned, my head underwater, I had thrust my hand upward, in hopes of a savior, but there was none to pull me out, and I kept drowning; I kept sinking beneath the waves, losing hope, and at last uttering my final prayers, accepting defeat and death that would set me free.

    Then, a sudden burst of light opened a door toward which I had tried to run; visions of an apple tree becoming complete in this shattered mind, a hand grabbed mine, and pulled me up, up from the waves, up from the depths of the sea, up from the darkness that had tried to swallow me, up, on my feet again.

    I¡¯ve come to understand that one should lean on those around you. Even if it makes you feel like a bother, even if it makes you feel so guilty and sick. Accept the hand that reaches toward you; accept that there are those who might want to help you, even when you believe there to be no one.

    Accept the hand of your friend, your family, or that of a stranger, even if you¡¯re afraid to fully grasp it. Even if you¡¯ve tried before and failed. Even if you just want the pain to end. Even if torment might still remain. Accept that hand and live, not for yourself but for the one who had tried to save you.

    Live so as not to disregard their bravery and their genuine attempts to help you. Live, for death is so very cold, and the death of a friend might hurt the one who had tried to help, even when you yourself believe that there is no such thing as hope.

    Live, for death will come either way to wash away the pain.¡±

    Kanrel sat there reflecting on this sudden burst of emotion that he had laid upon the final pages of his notebook. These words that he had pointed at himself and the debt that he felt toward Y''Kraun had now become a pillar, of sorts, that of a bridge suspended above the dark waves that wanted to swallow him and that which remained of him.

    That singular pillar wasn¡¯t alone. There were others as well. They were people, and they were beliefs. They were promises that he felt that he ought to keep. Dreams that were so important to any man. Those pillars of that bridge were, in part, built from the list of impossibilities that he had written down some months ago. And now he realized that there were other parts of that bridge as well; some of the pillars were indeed people that he missed and that he loved. He didn¡¯t know if all of those people he longed to see once more were alive or if they were long dead by now. But that didn¡¯t matter; it was a bridge he¡¯d cross when needed to. For now, he had to hold that spark of hope close to his chest and let it guide him through the darkness.

    He didn¡¯t close the notebook, instead leaving it open so that the ink might dry. He got up and paced around the room, directing his thoughts to other things, those that were as important as the pillars on that imaginary bridge. Things that would make that bridge stronger and would tend to the pillars that kept the waves from swallowing him.

    Kanrel pondered what he ought to do next. What might be his next destination? He came to a halt, his eyes again meeting his own shadow on that smooth wall. He could begin forming plans for his own expedition into the veil. But he disregarded this plan for now. Kanrel needed to be able to produce light capable of pushing the shadows of the veil away from him so that he might navigate it safely.

    Kanrel then remembered something. During the lectures about magic, Kanrel had asked how to create magical devices, such as the lamps that lit this very room. But he had been pointed toward two places... The City of Creation and the Sanctuary.

    One of these was a place he didn¡¯t wish to return to. The idea of reuniting with A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra wasn¡¯t a pleasant thought; it felt like something he¡¯d only do if there was no other way of learning about magical devices...

    But the idea of entering the Sanctuary seemed nigh impossible. How could he, a mere human, enter a place meant for only the most talented practitioners of magic?

    Kanrel continued pacing around the room. He knew that the Sanctuary was something he¡¯d have to enter no matter what. He knew that in their secret archives, he¡¯d be able to find the answers to all the questions that were held within. The answers he sought must¡¯ve been within there.

    Magic¡­ He stopped again and looked at the ceiling. Kanrel blinked a couple of times. What if there was no ceiling? What if, at last, with his own gaze he¡¯d be able to pierce through it; what if he¡¯d be able to change it... What if he¡¯d be the one to take the step and breakthrough the meager human understanding of magic? To perfect it. To become more powerful than even the greatest Atheian magicians? Or even the Sharan? He had to find the metaphysical ceiling of his own magical abilities; he had become so lazy with them and so afraid of the curse that he had accepted.

    For how else could a mere human enter the abode of all magic within the land of shadows below? How else could an alien creature enter the Sanctuary and find out the secrets of the Universal Truth?

    Kanrel returned to his notebooks, opening a new one; he baptized his pen in ink and began to write another plan he hoped to will into reality. He would write down everything he knew about magic, and not only the human version of it, but the Atheian and the Sharan versions as well. The similarities and differences between them. Everything he knew. He would perfect his own magic. He would perfect the coding language, which had been neglected for a long time. He would practice every day. He would breakthrough the ceiling above him, which did or did not exist, for he and no one else before him knew the true limitations of the curse given to humanity by the Angels¡­

 Chapter Ninety-Six: Imprisonment in the Cave

    A week went by, during which Kanrel made plans with Y¡¯Kraun and Gar regarding what he wanted to do moving forward, as well as what he would need in, possibly, the coming years. He told them of his plans, for the first time sharing with anyone how he truly saw magic, fully believing that he had finally found people that he could trust with all of his heart. And when he spoke and told everything, he felt as if a heavy weight was shed from his shoulders as if his shadow had become less desperate. The memory of Yirn, for this moment, and the many moments that came after, wasn¡¯t something first and foremost in his mind when he thought about trust.

    Kanrel wouldn¡¯t let his cynicism control him just for this one time. And now it was for him to find out if his trust was misplaced or not whether these two Atheians were actually his friends or just two creatures more that were out to get him.

    For the longest time, he had wanted to trust. And for the longest time, he had been unable to trust those that he met. It takes a considerable amount of bravery to trust someone, even more so when you¡¯ve been burned before. But burns heal, or so they say.

    Kanrel listed things that he needed: a safe place where he would be allowed to practice magic without any interference¡ªaway from the many curious eyes that would be interested in his antics; the magic of the Darshi, as well as the research that he was about to conduct. With the help of Y¡¯Kraun, a serf that once served in the mines as well as traversed through the tunnels, where he had found Kanrel, they found a cave that Kanrel could use, and with funds granted to him by Gar, they furnished the small cave that they had found; they made it into a facility that would give Kanrel the privacy that he needed. For years to come, it would serve as his home and as the center of his research. They furnished it with that in mind, as well as with the possibility of Gar and Y¡¯Kraun visiting him, bringing him supplies to further his research.

    And the other things that he needed were just that: supplies, lots of supplies... He needed pens and ink; books and paper; even crystals and lanterns that would serve two purposes, some as a means to light his little cave as well as its entrance; and the other crystals and lanterns so that he could study them further. Perhaps he could, by himself, figure out the lanterns and the complicated magic they had used to make them; it was just that his knowledge of magical devices was far too little.

    Gar was surprisingly wealthy, but it was no wonder; the man was a professor, one that had served as such for over a decade. So far, Gar had lived a frugal life, mentioning that this ¡°fund¡± that he had given to Kanrel was more wealth spent than he had spent in the last ten years in total. He didn¡¯t seem to mind this; instead, he asked Kanrel to keep him up-to-date with his research. The two would meet up almost daily, accompanied by Y¡¯Kraun as their translator, until Kanrel would reach a sufficient amount of fluency in the Atheian language.

    His little cave, which Y¡¯Kraun dubbed ¡°Man Cave,¡± was a well-hidden cave about a kilometer away from the city itself. According to Y¡¯Kraun, it wasn¡¯t fully a natural cave; thus, it must¡¯ve been a small vein of ore or possibly crystal that had been mined empty, possibly hundreds of years ago. Y¡¯Kraun picked this mine because of its location; it was near a stalagmite forest, and the road to the west was located so that one wouldn¡¯t easily see what happened near the cave. The only downside according to Y¡¯Kraun was its proximity to the veil, but he figured that it was either way something that Kanrel wouldn¡¯t mind; he just would have to be mindful of Atheian Lantern-Bearers, who would replace the flickering crystals at the edge of the veil, usually once a month.

    The insides of the cave had been completely transformed since the first time Kanrel had visited it. At first, it had been bare, with some residue of past activities left behind, namely rusted handles of left-behind tools. This was surprising since Kanrel had figured that the Atheians would¡¯ve instead used magic to mine, but since mining was usually done by serfs, there must¡¯ve been many serfs whose magical ability was far too little for such tasks.

    Now, the little cave was more like a little home. The entrance was covered with gray, silken fabric, as constructing a door for the irregularly shaped cave entrance seemed like a hassle and far too much effort for something that would be abandoned when Kanrel was done with his research. A considerable amount of effort was instead placed into enforcing the cave so that it would not burrow or end up collapsing on top of them since there were many modifications that they wanted to do to the walls of the cave and the lesser modifications that they performed on its ceiling. Now, there were shelves engraved on the walls, most of them filled with supplies that Kanrel might need, mainly books and paper. Into the solid rock floor, containers were carved with lids formed from that very same stone, so that he might, if needed, hide more important things; to make these locations more hidden, multiple carpets were brought to cover them.

    A fireplace was engraved from the stone and airways, and a chimney so that smoke wouldn¡¯t fill up the cave. Most of the engraving was done by Y¡¯Kraun and Gar, who were more accustomed to such work. Their magic, especially Gar¡¯s, was very effective at this work. Kanrel was mostly left to wonder how they actually did all this engraving.

    But when he really thought about it, it became quite easy. One just had to change the properties of the stone that they worked. What if the part that they wanted to remove was made to be soft and just something that they could easily dig out with a simple tool? At times, they would also burn the stone until it would melt. And the more Kanrel thought about it, there seemed to be numerous ways one could achieve the wanted effect. One just needed knowledge and a bit of imagination. If there were problems, then there must be solutions to said problems.

    Gar was also gracious enough to engrave Kanrel a place where he could sleep, a location not too far away from the fireplace; he also provided him with the needed bedding so that the human wouldn¡¯t have to sleep on the hard stone floor.

    It only took a week. It was as if the two Atheians had done something like this before, but this wasn''t case. Y¡¯Kraun only had some experience with mining and digging, and Gar with creating shelves whenever he needed more of them to store his private collection of rare books, as well as to store his personal studies and research that was recently mostly about the human language; he dreamed of creating an Atheian-Darshi lexicon, a grand dictionary so that he might be able to teach other Atheians the language. Why? Because this, too, was knowledge that had some value to it. And with him creating such a lexicon, he¡¯d be remembered forever as the Atheian, who had managed to learn a completely alien language¡ªsomething that had never been done before, or so he suspected.

    After that week, for the first time since gods know when, Kanrel was left truly alone. Y¡¯Kraun and Gar had bid him farewell after helping Kanrel carry his things to his new abode. They promised to visit him in a day or two to check on him as well as to resume Gar¡¯s and Kanrel¡¯s studies in their respected languages. One could imagine Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s disappointment, for they would no longer have their frequent rendezvous at U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui¡¯s restaurant, but then again, this would give him the chance to visit the place alone, or with just Gar as his company... Would the flowers arrange themselves? Would Y¡¯Kraun manage to give bloom to his garden of a singular rose and finally woo the Atheian woman? Kanrel wondered such questions as he sat examining his notes.

    He let out a long sigh and braced himself. So it would begin. He opened the notebook, where he had last time written his plans. What he sought to do wasn¡¯t as simple as it seemed. For what he intended to do was to cast away the chains that held his neck and ankles; to no longer let the shadows on the walls be his reality; to disregard not only the faux sun that was above them but also the possibly tampered and knowingly false knowledge that he had learned thus far. There had been many teachers in his life; many great beings that had offered him their wisdom; many philosophies, beliefs, and duties that he had believed in and lived by. It was time to cast away these "sign bearers" and instead once more find a way to embrace the goodness of the sun that surely awaited him afar above. There¡¯d be reason; he¡¯d free himself, for he had known of a better life...

    Even though he was considerably stronger, more capable, and far more knowledgeable about the nature of magic itself, it all still remained a somewhat hazy collection of unfinished lines of insight, knowledge that remained raw and unrefined. His attempts to tame this force and to truly understand it had, so far, been minimal¡ªfar lesser in perfection than what he wanted them to be. In fact, they were far from perfect.

    And now it was time to perfect what he already knew: the process of coding.

    Visualization was indeed key; instead of "fire,¡± he now thought of it as ¡°F¡± while coding and performing magic, but he still had to think of the location and see where he wanted to place the fire that he wanted to manifest, as well as the shape of it. This took time, and he wondered if it would be more practical and efficient if he didn¡¯t have to even think of the shape anymore and instead only the location?

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    But how would he, exactly, manage something like that? It seemed impossible, in a way. It was almost, as if, producing and using a code with your eyes closed, was it not? What he wanted to achieve was, for example, a long wall of fire that was, let''s say, ten meters long, five meters tall, and just a meter in width, all while looking at one location... and not moving his eyes along the area where he wanted to give birth to this wall of magical fire...

    He tapped his fingers against the stone table. Creating such a wall of fire with the way he coded was already difficult in itself, mainly because of all the information that he needed to process within his mind and with his own eyes at the same time. Of course, with this, he was already accustomed to, so it wasn¡¯t impossible, but creating such a code¡ªno, a whole line of codes¡ªwas time-consuming and something that did still make him feel sick, and that feeling of sickness could be a considerable distraction during combat. It might thwart him from creating a defensive code after it. It might make him lose focus on another code that he had already implemented. For it was difficult to keep too many codes on at the same time; this too was something that he wanted to work on and figure out. Either he would have to become more tolerant of having multiple codes on at the same time or transcend past the need to create multiple codes in the first place.

    He stopped tapping the table for a moment and looked at his books.

    What if one could execute a whole book of codes with a singular command? As if reading a whole book with just a glance, would such a thing be possible? It was unlikely, but if he was able to reach point A, then surely he could reach point Z one day... Point A was just very far away from point Z. A distance of twenty-four steps that he would have to navigate one by one until he would reach this wild idea, that might as well be impossible. But perhaps in pure theory, such could be possible.

    Words and letters; lines and numbers¡ªthat is what it all was. The world was constructed as such. Or rather, one could perceive it as such. Thus, he got to work and began to wonder what number or letters could best fit the concept of a shape, or rather, many different shapes.

    Kanrel began to draw on an empty piece of paper. What are the properties of a given shape¡ªthe characteristics of one? A square has four sides of equal length, four right angles, and two sets of parallel sides. What he first drew was just that¡ªa square. A simple shape, one not too far away from the shape of a wall that he so wanted to create, just not long enough, but he decided to start with something ¡°smaller,¡± something that would probably take fewer lines of code than what he wanted to create.

    What he first thought of was mathematics; it too was a language and one that he could use to his benefit, although his abilities at mathematics weren¡¯t as great as they once used to be, which even in his youth weren¡¯t exceptional but instead just passing. He simply estimated that each side of the square was about four centimeters. It wasn¡¯t quite perfect since he hadn¡¯t used a ruler to draw it, but it would work. Thus, he marked the square as 4^2 (four squared by two).

    Kanrel, again, tapped the table and made another marking: F4^2 which would from now equate to ¡°Fire in the shape of a square that has sides that are four centimeters in length.¡± But this didn¡¯t new line of code didn¡¯t take into account the potency of the flame¡ªhow warm or powerful it would be. Of course, F in itself meant just a small fire, one the size of a candle in its potency, but what he wanted was more control. If he were to create a wall of fire, it ought to be powerful and able to burn through armor as well as flesh.

    But he thought of a simple fix for this issue: the potency of a given element, be it fire or water, would be from now on indicated by the letter ¡°P¡± plus a number, so for example, ¡°P5.¡± This then meant that he would have to, in a way, relearn the way he did coding since for the longest time he had imagined that ¡°F5¡± would equate to a fire the size of a lit candle with, basically, the potency to burn through metal.

    But the following code: F4^2 P5 just made more sense to him. He reasoned that the countless times that he would end up vomiting just because of a minor change to how he visualized magic and thought about magic was worth it; besides, burning the vomit was by now practice in itself, for he had done so since the third or fourth day of practicing magic. It was part of the process for all priests, and when one stopped vomiting after casting a new code, it meant that one had reached a level of "fluency,¡± or rather "tolerance,¡± which meant that they had mastered the code they were practicing.

    Kanrel sighed. Even if it was almost a tradition, even if it was part of the process, even if it was practice itself. It remained disgusting and, at times, rather painful. He got up from his stone chair, grabbed a notebook and pen, and went outside. He entered the stalagmite forest and looked around, making sure that there would be none to see his attempts.

    He braced himself and formed the very first code of his research¡ªhis rediscovery of magic, awaiting the visceral reaction that would soon follow. Imprinted in his mind was the new line of code that he had just written down; he selected an arbitrary location on the stone floor of the stalagmite forest; carefully he constructed that code in his mind whilst trying to not think too much about the shape. He released the code and instantly felt the familiar feeling of disgust; his stomach convulsed, and moments later, the ground before him was covered with the familiar substance that could mean only one thing.

    Sure, there were no flames at the location that he had picked. But the reaction meant that his code had potential. It meant that he would try again and again. Even if he had to vomit everything that he had within; even if his throat would burn and hurt as if he had a sore throat. He would practice until he could see the flames produced by his code; he would practice until he would see the shape that he wanted to produce. He would practice even if it would take a hundred days or more to succeed. This was the very first step; this was step A, and there were twenty-four steps ahead that he had to take to reach that faraway dream¡ªthat concept that most definitely had no basis in reality... Along the way, whilst climbing those steps, he might find one that he couldn¡¯t reach; he might find the ceiling that he was unaware of, but even then taking the many steps was worth it. Because then, there would be at least one human who was aware of the existence of that ceiling. It had to be worth it. It must be so.

    Many hours later, and so many tries later, his throat was indeed sore. And the stench around him was unbearable; the smell of vomit was putrid. But that much he ought to bear. He had used his normal way of coding to get rid of the vomit on the ground between each try. But after each try, his old way of coding began to feel more and more unnatural. But even then, there were no flames that he could see. There was no shape of the square that he could recognize, yet as he stopped for the day, the time spent didn¡¯t feel like a waste. Today wasn¡¯t a failure, even though he had failed to bring forth the code that he had devised.

    In his weakened state, he almost crawled back to his cave with his notebook and pen in hand, which now had many new-filled pages of text and observations that he had made while trying out his new code. He placed them on the table and soon collapsed on his bed; from there he could see the shadows on the wall. He slightly raised his hand, and the shadow on the wall followed; it too raised its hand.

    ¡°A hand,¡± he mumbled and let his hand fall down, and the shadow on the wall followed his action. Perhaps there would be a day when he would again reach the sun, and his reality wouldn¡¯t be that of a prisoner locked beneath the ground, in a grand cave with other prisoners, many of whom had to wonder what the stars or the trees looked like; did birds truly fly, and was the sky really that blue? Was the world surrounded by water, and was the rain really so cold? Or would he remain here, the shadows of things that he still remembered slowly becoming more distorted and blurred, just copies of a reality one could perceive with one''s own senses? Would he one day believe that none of the things that were above could be true? The things beneath the sun, would they remain true in their form or not?

    He closed his eyes, his mind drifting away; into a world of numbers and letters; into a world where he wasn¡¯t a prisoner, but a butterfly that was free as it flew beneath the glistening warmth of the sun, going from flower to flower; so free was the butterfly with gilded wings, colored by not only the sun but by the grace of nature itself.

 Chapter Ninety-Seven: Shapes of Fire and the Steps Toward Mastery

    He failed, so he tried again, and when he inevitably failed once more, he would try again and again until he succeeded or understood that whatever he was trying to do was never meant to succeed in the first place. But even if such an understanding would come, he would then sit down and come up with another plan, all this just so that he could try again and fail.

    Failure was just another step toward mastery; it was a chance to try again; it was a chance to observe what you had done, to see what was the reason why you had failed, and then to alter or tweak that which had caused the failure in the first place. Failure was part of progress. Seldom was there an invention or a process that was without faults when first tested.

    It was annoying and often disheartening. It was monotonous and even painful to do the same thing over and over again while knowing all too well that most of the tries that he would do that day, and possibly during the days that would follow, were most likely to be just more failed attempts in a long list of them.

    Sweat dribbled down his face as he looked at what he had tried to bring forth the last three days. A small square of fire that blackened the rocky surface it was summoned upon. This was the moment he was supposed to feel victorious, a moment where he should find respite. He had succeeded, right? He should be pleased and happy about the great thing that he has done. But it wasn¡¯t enough. This square was just a test; a puny little thing. Besides, what he needed to succeed in creating the wall of fire, would need to be much higher. The shape of a square wasn¡¯t really enough; what he needed was a rectangular cuboid or another similar shape that wasn¡¯t too far away from the desired wall shape that he was looking for.

    Success was also just another step toward mastery. Because now, he had to either revise his plans so that he could fail again. He had succeeded in taking step A, and it had happened much quicker than he had anticipated, but now came step B: make the square bigger, using the same code that he had used before, this time just altering it slightly. If the previous square was about the size of a leaf, then what he wanted to achieve next was a square the size of a shed. It was likely that he would first have to create something smaller and build up tolerance until he would actually be able to create something so large. But he had time, and he had plenty of it.

    Thus, Kanrel found rest; instead, he got back to work. He made some quick notes about his success and returned to his cave, where he opened another notebook and began devising yet another code, this one about twice as large as the previous one, and in preparation for the days to come, he created codes all the way up to the code that would create the shed-sized square. Then he simply got back to it.

    This new routine was something that he hadn¡¯t done in such a long time. The last time had been his time at the village, just outside his then home, the living quarters attached to the temple. He couldn¡¯t count the time spent as Ignar as his time, even if it had affected him so greatly, and when parts of Ignar had become parts of Kanrel as well. He tried to keep these two people as two separate entities. The actions of Ignar weren¡¯t his own, but he couldn¡¯t claim that he wouldn¡¯t have done the same if he had been the one in those very circumstances. But one could see that he had done the same. He couldn¡¯t tell if he had lived as Ignar, who was Kanrel. He couldn¡¯t tell if the actions that Ignar committed in the ¡°vision¡± that he had seen were actions that he had done without the influence of Ignar¡¯s desires and fears.

    Still, this body remained, at times, weird to him. The time that felt like multiple decades that he had spent as Ignar was more than the years that he had lived as Kanrel. Or at least this is how he perceived it. His memories had changed, or at least there were now new ones, memories that weren¡¯t his but instead Ignar¡¯s, but they felt like he himself had lived through those moments; that the regret caused by them was his own regret. The memories of two had become one. This was a great pain as much as it was a blessing that now helped him as he sought to better his understanding of magic.

    It took a week to build up his tolerance to be able to produce the desired large square. During that week, Y¡¯Kraun and Gar had visited him a few times; with them, they brought more supplies, namely food, so that the priest suffering from magic-induced bulimia wouldn¡¯t die out of hunger or needlessly lose too much weight. By then, it was clear that he wouldn¡¯t be able to practice codes until nightfall; instead, he ought to eat then and rest well, lest he soon find himself the malnourished man whom Y¡¯Kraun had found some months ago.

    Gar and Y¡¯Kraun were there the day Kanrel succeeded in creating the large square of fire. They observed with shock and awe the swift progress that the human was able to make; before, both of them might¡¯ve believed that Kanrel wouldn¡¯t be able to use such magic. Perhaps they had seen that the human magic would be lesser than their own. But now, with keen eyes, they began to understand that this was not the case.

    It was like a carpet of fire gently placed upon the stone floor near the stalagmite forest. The flames weren¡¯t great; they didn¡¯t reach many meters up high; instead, they were just a few centimeters in height, but the flames were purposefully powerful, hot enough to cause almost instant burns on anyone who went too close. The reason for this decision was simple; it was like a training weight; this way, creating less powerful codes would be easier, or so he believed.

    The next step would be creating a cube. Before coming up with a code for that, he tested placing multiple large fire squares on top of each other to see how many of them he¡¯d be able to keep up at the same time before he lost control of the first one or before he¡¯d end up vomiting once again. He managed to place three on top of each other, and then the expected visceral reaction happened. Tomorrow would be an unpleasant day.

    And so the days went by. This too was a monotone existence, just more useful in Kanrel¡¯s eyes than the days he spent telling the Atheians tales of the world above whilst in fear that they might one day decide that he was no longer interesting to listen to. He would much rather spend years in this cave than in that constant fear of possible death. At least here, things happened on his own terms. He was in this cave, doing the things he did, out of his own volition; even if he wasn¡¯t in the Land of Shadows Below out of that same volition, that could be blamed only on himself and the voice that had enticed him to enter into that dark mirror, that substance from where there was only one way out.

    For now, he had a goal¡ªwell, not just a goal, but multiple goals. The wall of fire was just one of them; a goal that was a step toward another goal; but even the goal that followed, the mastery of magic itself, was just a step toward a more important goal, which was the Sanctuary, and then, there was the ultimate goal: Home. To find a way home. If there still was a home, he had to reach it. He had to find his way back.

    Kanrel wasn¡¯t sure just how many steps, or goals, there were between this and the final one. Even the wish of reverting what the Ritual had done to him was secondary. He would live like this, without any form of pleasure or the bliss of love and life itself, if it meant that he might return to that home. To reunite with his mother and the many friends that he had, who surely awaited his return and wondered if he was alive or not.

    He wondered if they thought him to be dead. If they mourned for him and felt pain because of this loss. He hoped that if they thought him to be dead, they wouldn¡¯t be too sad. He hoped that his mother would find solace in her faith, but it was unlikely, for she was like him but much more. She was the Herald, after all.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    With all these worries and goals in mind, he continued this monotone existence. Weeks went by, which soon turned into months. He took steady steps toward his ultimate goal, although they seemed minuscule in the grand scheme of things. After arduous trials and tribulations, he managed to fully execute the code to create a cube of fire. A magnificent sight of flames. A vision where one could lose themselves as they stared into the flames, as they hungrily sought to burn and devour anything and everything that might come into contact with them. But a cube wasn¡¯t enough, so soon enough he managed to create a wall of fire. He could imagine it being used on a battlefield, where two armies met in ruthless combat, with most surely having the desire to flee and the wish to return home to their beloved ones. Then, that wall of fire would emerge. It would split armies in two, burning hundreds alive, leaving their charred corpses behind; leaving them in a state from which none would be able to recognize them¡­ Family members now left forever unable to bury the ones they cared for, leaving behind a wound that might never heal.

    Had Kalma done something like that? Had the fall of his empire, the calamities that he had used been something like this wall of fire? But more grand? More devastating¡­ more brilliant. A supreme showcase of magic, true mastery that none had achieved before or after. Something so terrible that one could only be in awe as the flames would engulf, possibly thousands, leaving behind a sea of death. Bodies of the Sharan, and the memory of a choir of death that had filled the air before their demise¡­ They, too, had died for no reason¡­

    Well¡­ in the eyes of Kalma, there was a reason; in his eyes, the Sharan who had perished were nothing more than lives that he could use to build his grand temple; to achieve a second apotheosis, be it for himself or for Ignar or for another trusted follower. Only a sadistic mind could think of something like that; a mind drunk with power that they had accumulated.

    There might¡¯ve been a time when his quest for power could be considered just. But had he not already had his revenge? At least that is what the early history of the Sharan Empire suggested. At the gates of Urul, had he not killed Kahsro¡¯On and their Kernen, an army that had almost hunted the Sharan into extinction. Had he not used that moment and the blood of his enemies as the moment of his apotheosis? Had he not become a god so powerful that no Sharan dared to go against him since?

    The thought was sickening. But it made Kanrel wonder if that was the reason why the Angels had blocked the human priest¡¯s ability to feel desire and even pleasure so that the powers they were then granted wouldn¡¯t entice them into becoming monsters that would kill in their pursuit of more of it. It made sense. He would¡¯ve done the same. But he wouldn¡¯t want to be at the receiving end of such a blessing.

    After achieving his wall of fire, he did multiple experiments with his new line of code. He replaced the fire with water, but that only caused a mess as the water would just splash all around, keeping its shape for only a moment, so with water in mind, he altered this code slightly, mixing a heavy wind so that the wall of water would keep its shape.

    Air was an interesting element to play around with. Technically, he could further alter the code, creating a cube of continuous wind that would move an object within it, either almost randomly or through a desired route as if it were a pipe. Such a code would be incredibly complicated, but probably something that would be useful at some point in time.

    A cube of ice was easy to create, but he wondered if using such a code would ever be useful. A square of ice placed on the ground would almost always be more useful, at least in combat. And with ice, there was another shape that would be more important: spikes and cones.

    The creation of these shapes with his altered way of coding wasn¡¯t difficult at all, but creating multiple small cones at the same time proved, at first, difficult. And after that, using another code to push them forward so that they might accelerate and cause some damage on top of that was even more difficult. So what he needed to practice next was the sequence of codes, which was basically having multiple codes that would begin activation one after another until the desired effect was achieved. It wasn¡¯t anything that he hadn¡¯t used and learned before, but that was with his old ways of coding.

    After all, to enter these godforsaken lands in the first place, he had barraged the dark mirror until its reflection had shattered, breaking the child that was within it but keeping intact the cat, Deft, it had kept in its arms. That barrage had been hundreds of ice spikes, but back then most of them hadn¡¯t been created with a singular code but instead many; it took time to prepare such a code; he had to see each and every single one of them. But what he wanted to now achieve was creating the same amount and sending them toward their target, all this with just the one code.

    And such a sequence he managed to create after another month of testing. First, the code would create the cones, about a hundred of them spaced evenly, followed with another step of the sequence activating right after the cones formed, a wind that would push the cones forth until they shattered against the target they hit or pierced through flesh and even armor¡­

    Another code that really had only one purpose: combat.

    He didn¡¯t really want to use it like that, but it was possible that he would have to one day. If he wanted to survive, he needed to be able to protect himself, even if it meant creating codes that would obliterate tens or even hundreds of people in the blink of an eye. Kanrel had to prepare for such situations. And prepare he did, and besides, this too was good practice for what he wanted to achieve.

    Meanwhile, his studies with Gar progressed enormously, and they began to practice without Kanrel using the pearl. The Atheian language felt so foreign all of a sudden to use, as did the human language for Gar, as there were many sounds that the Atheian language no longer used. Y¡¯Kraun saw this as an opportunity to sometimes let Gar visit Kanrel alone, as he would instead visit another location. Apparently, the once lowly serf had found himself a princess, as he had confessed his feelings to the waitress, who had then accepted these feelings, to everyone''s surprise.

    This made Kanrel wonder if perhaps Y¡¯Kraun was considered handsome by Atheian standards, but when he asked Gar, he received only laughter as a response. All in all, life went seemingly well. Even if that life remained in an endless cycle of doing the same things day after day, he¡¯d wake up, eat, review his notes from the day before, make corrections, and produce new codes; he¡¯d then go outside and practice for hours, return to the cave, make more notes, eat, sleep, then repeat¡­ And every three or so days, either Gar or both Gar and Y¡¯Kraun would visit him; during such days, he would focus on studying the Atheian language and listening to Y¡¯Kraun as he would constantly overshare things about his beloved U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui.

    One night, he woke up from a sound he did not expect to hear for many days to come; it had been just yesterday when his two friends had visited him, so the sound of movement at the entrance to his cave shouldn¡¯t be a thing. It shouldn¡¯t happen. His eyes burst open, and he lit the rest of the crystals in the dimly lit cave, examining the interior of it. But he saw no one there. Not a soul nor a reason as to why he had heard sounds.

    His mind was on alert as his heartbeat quickened. Kanrel got up from his bed and, with a crystal in hand, approached the entrance, fully moving the slightly parted curtains to see what there might be outside. But he saw no cause for the sound. He braced himself and stepped outside, at the same time he prepared codes that he had practiced weeks before. The moment anyone dared to jump on him or attack him, a barrage of ice would strike them down, and another would, just in case, shield Kanrel from any harm that might make its way.

    But outside, there was no one. There were no signs of anyone. There was nothing out of the ordinary. In the distance, there was no movement; he looked around and turned toward the stalagmite forest, and made his decision to go toward it. It was a bad idea, a terrible place to get ambushed, but at the same time, it was a place that he surely knew better than anyone who ever dreamed of attacking him.

    So he entered the stalagmite forest, but there too were no signs of anyone. Only signs of his own experiments if one knew what to look for, but there really was no one there. He spent a good amount of time walking around but didn¡¯t hear or see anyone. In the end he gave up. The sound must¡¯ve been one that he had heard in a dream. He went back inside and returned to bed and tried to fall back asleep.

    A figure remained still and waited for its target to fall back asleep. It had almost been caught. But the Darshi hadn¡¯t looked above. And when it figured that the Darshi had fallen asleep, it slowly came down from the cave ceiling; it had managed to spend a few good minutes exploring what was inside before the Darshi had returned. Many notebooks with symbols that it could not understand, but also some that made it believe that the Darshi had begun learning their language. It wasn¡¯t much, but its masters would be pleased with the information it had gathered.

    It crept out of the cave, making no sound; it had made a mistake while entering, one that it wouldn¡¯t repeat twice. Soon it disappeared into the stalagmite forest, leaving no signs of it ever being there.

 Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Dance of the Shadow, and the Holiest Form of Light

    There was a story that Kanrel remembered from his childhood, one that Jan had read to him many times. It wasn¡¯t really a happy story, now that Kanrel thought about it, and it was one that he barely understood at such a young age:

    A shadow danced upon the walls of a cave; before it an audience chained; their gazes placed on the shadow, their eyes following its dance, the many forms that it took, the many words of truth it would bless them with.

    But the shadow¡­ felt more curious about the world outside; it too had heard of the things that it showed the many eyes before it.

    It had heard of the wind, and it had heard its whispers. It knew of light, a kind other than that of the brazier placed high above the audience. And it had even seen a bird, not the same ones shown past the brazier but a real one, for every now and then, an innocent bird strayed into their refuge.

    It flew to them and reminded them of something long forgotten.

    ¡°I have learned to see myself as part of the wall upon which I am a projection of the truth others wish to show my audience; I am as if a puppet attached to strings and forced to dance to a tune I find abhorrent.¡±

    ¡°Here, though it is warm, I am without safety. Here, I am supine and will never dance the dance I so yearn to dance. I lack what I yearn for, even when the cave provides what I need.¡±

    ¡°I do not dream of better, nor of anything else. No one has ever left this cave¡­¡±

    So one day, the shadow left the cave, even though it was cold and dark outside. It would no longer dance on the walls of the cave before chained eyes. The warmth was fading, and its touch was so cold. There was no light from the flames, nor the shelter of the walls. Only a vast world, free yet frightening. But outside, it saw so many things; in the vastness of that world, it could be anything.

    So the shadow crept along the path of the sun. Sometimes it was a bird, and sometimes a deer. Once it fell from a tree as an apple, but it also stood proud as a tree, tall and majestic.

    Not on the cave¡¯s walls, but on the free earth. It now had a brazier above it, something that illuminated everything beneath.

    And perhaps, as night fell, there would be no brilliance to the light. But now, the shadow too could find peace from its constant motion.

    It could lie on the ground, grass as its mattress, and study the skies and the thousands of stars.

    Never could it find anything so beautiful and real on the walls of the cave.

    Even if it could never touch those stars, at least those stars truly existed, somewhere out there.

    This should all be shared. This beautiful world with the rest of them. All the shadows of the cave and even its chained eyes. If only they could see this all, their world too would be vibrant and full, as it was when the shadow danced on the cave walls¡­

    So the shadow returned to the cave¡¯s safety and its stale air. Still, the fire burned with its flames through the long days and surely even the nights.

    The shadow showed everything it had learned outside. It showed the freedom of the bird, the life of the apple, and the majesty of the tree. None of these, however, moved the watching eyes.

    It even showed the stars and the moon, but nothing helped. The eyes remained fixed in place, unmoving.

    Why did no one revel in the beauty it had seen? Sadly, it knew the answer.

    It was only a shadow, and a shadow in a cave could never fly like a bird. Never fall like an apple or stand tall like a tree.

    Nor could it ever be a star lighting up the night... It could never truly show or share anything. Its displays were but copies. They were not alive. They were just like this cave and the audience with their chained eyes. Constricted and motionless, subject to the truth fed to them.

    Even when Kanrel couldn¡¯t quite understand it, it was still something that made him wonder. Why was the audience chained? Why wouldn¡¯t they leave the cave? Why were they in a cave in the first place?

    It also made him want to be the Shadow and explore the world outside the cave, even though he himself had never been to a cave at that point in his life. He wanted to fly like a bird, he wanted to fall down like an apple, and he wanted to run like a deer and even stand mightily like a tree. He wanted to lie on the grassy floor of a field and stare at the heavens as the night fell and witness the beauty and wonder of the stars and the moon. The same wonder the Shadow had felt in the story.

    He had, back then, wondered why the Shadow decided to return to the cave. And why, after dancing again before the chained audience, did it not leave the cave again and return to the nature that surely awaited it outside?

    Years had passed since such thoughts, and now he could understand the story, more so than before. He could even answer some of the questions that he had. He now knew that the Shadow returned to the cave to share the truth that it now believed. It wanted to share the freedom that it had felt with those who, in its eyes, had never been free. They knew not of the sun, nor of the stars past it.

    But¡­ such an existence could be so comfortable. For what does a man do with the truth if the truth does not feed him or provide him with shelter? The knowledge of higher things, of more complex matters, places the one who pursues them on a path of never knowing enough, always needing to know more. So why bother, if, in the end, you¡¯ll find yourself hungering for more and more, a deep-seated desire to quench a hunger that will never be sated? And to remain in the dark on matters of the above and the beauty of the sun, at least, places a ceiling above you, and there might as well be nothing above, for that which you can¡¯t see or perceive might as well not exist, and if there is cold, if there truly are storms and rains, if the seasons truly exist, and if the sky is an endless canvas colored with blue and white, with all the colors that you¡¯ve never heard of or seen before, then at least this ceiling, this cave, keeps you safe from that which might make you afraid, from that which might hurt.

    Besides, isn¡¯t it better to be hurt by something that is familiar rather than by something you¡¯ve never known before? If it were only so when it came to people as well.

    If weeks and months go quickly by, then so do years as well. It was the year after the day that Kanrel had estimated to be the day when Kanrel first came in contact with Y¡¯Kraun at the bottom of the chamber, below the abyss, and beside the bones of once-living creatures, perhaps men, perhaps Atheian. Behind him was the engraving of an angel, one that held a sword in its hands, with wings spread and eyes cast down toward the small figures below¡­ And the words engraved below that Angel: ¡°An Ending for Those Below¡­¡±

    It had been a year since, and he had come a long way, but there was an even longer journey ahead. By now, he had figured out just how many and how powerful codes he could use at the same time. There was a limit after all. A ceiling that now loomed above, an imposing reality that made one wonder if this was enough. Would one have to, one way or another, break through that ceiling and reach higher altitudes, in an attempt to reach a higher summit atop the next mountain? It was just that the next mountain was covered with mist and uncertainty, perhaps even more so than the shadows that veiled the lands to the east.

    What he could do now was much greater than what he could do years ago. What he could do now was unimaginable back then. A wall of fire and technically so much more. It was just that his body wouldn¡¯t tolerate too many of them, or too large, or too potent, and no matter how much he tried, his tolerance toward the disgusting feeling wouldn¡¯t get any lesser. When it came to having multiple codes active at the same time, he wasn¡¯t sure if it was his inability to process enough information to create more or if it was the aforementioned lack of tolerance for the feeling that was sure to follow any attempts.

    He wasn¡¯t satisfied. There were so many more steps that he thought he would be able to take. But those steps had become far too steep. And failure, which was always the most likely option, had become the only option. He wouldn¡¯t get more powerful even if he tried the same thing a thousand times and a thousand times more. Only his process would get more efficient, and he would get more used to this new but already familiar way of coding. Even if he were unable to get stronger in that sense, he would at least get more skillful at it. Even still, he saw that final step, which felt so far away now; it was past the mist that veiled the mountain, it was past the unseen ceiling that had appeared between him and the mountain¡­ But alas, there were things that one could achieve and many more things that one could not achieve; this was in the latter category. And he needed to accept this fact, even if letting go of it felt like he had wasted his time.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    In the past months since he had woken up to the sound of movement at the entrance of his cave, Kanrel had shared this information with his friends, just in case, as well as kept his eye out, even more so than before, for anything that was out of the ordinary. But all this effort made him only feel crazier, paranoid even, since there were no other sounds after, no signs of anyone else being around his cave other than him, Y¡¯Kraun, and Gar. He only had this feeling, this anxious feeling that ran up and down his spine, causing shivers to go through him. It was as if someone kept watching him.

    He even began paying more attention to the Lantern-Bearers at the edge of the Veil; they went by once a month, attending to and replacing the crystals that had begun to flicker, lest the shadows run past them to conquer more land. But the Lantern-Bearers just walked by, not giving one look toward the stalagmite forest or the hill where Kanrel¡¯s cave was. They just did their job and moved on. They had no reason to enter the forest or to see what might lie behind the next hill.

    But this extra time spent observing their movements from so far away made him wonder about the lanterns themselves. He had a few extras, so one day he began to study them and the crystals that were attached to them. This was his first chance to really study a magical device¡­ of course, he had had the pleasure of using many, even as Kanrel. A certain bed at a certain hospital came to his mind. Back then, he hadn¡¯t spent much time truly understanding how such a device might work, and perhaps he should have.

    The lantern looked like any lantern would, but instead of a candle or a flame produced by oil, there was a blue crystal filled with engravings, which most definitely had a purpose other than the aesthetic side of things. There were many types of lanterns that were used to light cities and to keep the shadows at bay near the veil, and this was just one of the simpler versions; its purpose was to be one that could be easily transported; thus, a hook-like shape was what served as its handle, as chains kept the crystal attached to the handle. The handle itself was made from a dark substance called R¡¯aui T¡¯u, or ¡°black clay,¡± that when molded and burned with hot enough fire, would keep its shape and get this glossy, smooth surface. Kanrel figured that it was a type of glass that better held its integrity, as even when it was struck, it did not shatter. It was like obsidian, but it wasn¡¯t created the same way, nor was it from the same type of matter. The handle also had engravings, but these ones looked to be mainly for the grip and for aesthetic reasons.

    Kanrel followed the engravings on the crystal with his fingers, feeling them, remembering the day at the Spire when he had closed his eyes and gone multiple floors down, his hand pressed against the wall, feeling the history of the Atheians¡­ feeling the dread of his own existence, as well as having the wish to remove the very tips of his fingers. Now, he didn¡¯t feel like that.

    He activated the crystal, and a bright blue light burst out from it; it was a constant radiance that would push away the shadows of the Veil. A wonderful invention, but it had its downsides. One was able to activate it only if they had a vision of it. If only magic were all-powerful and not so limited. If one could use it without seeing, then the Atheians would be safe; by then, they might¡¯ve already explored the caves to the east; perhaps, by now, they would¡¯ve found the stairs down which they had come here; be they in ruins or less so.

    Kanrel didn¡¯t quite understand how these crystals worked. Nor had he before wondered about them too much. But what he knew was that they appeared in these very caves in a state where they remained lit, all this without the need of magic to activate it, unless they were somehow fueled by the very earth around them to which they were connected. And when they were removed from the rock around them, their light would dwindle until they became dormant, and only with magic could they be activated again. It just had to be some form of magic, a flame or even ice pointed at it, and then it would be lit again, and it would remain active until magic was used at it again. It was quite interesting how the very same thing could activate and deactivate it. One would think that you¡¯d have to keep your magic pointed at it actively, and when that code or magic was released, only then would it deactivate, but no.

    In its dormant state, the crystals had ¡°fuel¡± stored in them, and with this fuel, they could remain lit for up to three months. This depended on the size of the crystal, at least usually. There were cases where smaller crystals with larger reserves were found. And it was supposed that depended on how ¡°rich¡± the area was where they were found. With hundreds of years of development, the lanterns were created, and the crystals were made into magical devices that could last much longer than the estimated month that they usually lasted. There were also models of lanterns that could output their fuel quicker; thus, they were brighter but lasted for less than ten days when kept activated.

    The engravings seemed like random lines and shapes, but when he compared two different lanterns with the same purpose, they had the same exact engravings, and different models had different engravings. He wondered if he just carved into a random crystal the same lines, would it work in a similar way as any lantern?

    But this wasn¡¯t the thing that he wanted to test for now. Karell had something else in his mind. He wanted to know if the fuel in a given crystal could be dispersed instantly, which then would confirm if the crystals had magic within or not.

    The Atheians, even though their understanding of magic was highly developed, weren¡¯t nearly as adept at it as the Sharan during the Empire of the Sharan, and even less so than in the times of N¡¯Sharan.

    The most important thing that Kanrel had learned as Ignar was not just how powerful they were, that even the weakest of Sharan far surpassed the most powerful priest, but instead the concept of nullifying magic.

    Which was conceptually interesting to him. The fact that someone would think of it seemed so simple, yet abstract, in a way. It wasn¡¯t much different from changing the attribute of stone to make it light instead of heavy or soft instead of hard. Instead, one would make the thing they saw into nothing.

    For this to work, one had to be aware of the magic they wished to nullify. Of course, nullifying a fireball was much different than nullifying the ¡°fuel¡± within the crystal that was on the table before him. Technically, he was aware that there might be magic within it. He just didn¡¯t know if there truly was any. So, it wasn¡¯t certain that nullifying magic would even work.

    He tried anyway.

    Technically, no one really knew what magic was. No one knew if it had its own shape; they only knew the shapes that magic could create. And most were aware of its attributes and limitations. He could nullify a fireball flung at him because he knew what shape the magic had now taken, as well as what its attributes were.

    Within the crystal, if there was magic, he didn¡¯t know what its shape was. He didn¡¯t truly know what its attributes were. Yet, on the dormant crystal, he tried a makeshift code, one that entailed all the things that he knew that magic could do, from the shapes and forms that it could take to its attributes, as well as what he wanted to happen to said magic¡­ simply everything he knew, and the code that he created became the longest that he had so far devised.

    He looked at it, then began visualizing what he wanted to do, and at last released his code onto the dormant crystal. Instantly he felt sick; the world spun around him for a moment, and his vision became blurred, but he didn¡¯t vomit. It was a strange reaction. One he hadn¡¯t ever had since he had begun learning magic.

    Kanrel sat there for a few minutes and waited for the sickening feeling to go past, as well as the spinning to stop. And soon enough he regained his vision in full; the feeling of disgust mostly went away, leaving behind only what was usual for a priest and apparently usual to the lands of shadows below. He then tried activating the crystal, wondering if he had succeeded.

    The crystal lit up, displaying its blue radiance. Kanrel let out a long sigh. He had failed. He stared at the light and its blue glory. It surely was a beautiful sight and a beautiful color. It wasn¡¯t as lovely as the sun and its warm light, but at least it gave guidance to those who had no sun to guide them. It was magical, but less so than the very existence of the sun.

    He tapped the surface of the table; soon he furrowed his brows. Could this be magic? The very light he now saw¡­ Could this be the physical state of magic? Well, it might not be, but at least it was something that could be perceived with your eyes. He stopped tapping the table and began writing another code. Making entirely new code, something that would mean the very thing that he now saw. The blue light, which might as well be the holiest form of light, although not as sweet or gentle as the grace of the sun.

    He chose a letter for it, a simple M; this letter now might as well entail all the things that magic could do: what were its attributes, what was its ¡°physical¡± form, but the light wasn¡¯t really physical, was it? It was something else, but this was all that he had to work with. And when he was done, he simply released this new code, and as he did so, the world went black; all thought was gone.

    A creature sat on its throne, looking down at him; it smiled, its teeth were sharp edges, like small knives in the mouth of that beast. The world around was a haze; it bubbled, and it smoldered; it twisted, and it elongated; there was no sound, just a constant, sharp, and very loud beep. The creature mouthed something, its smile widening afterward. Then it dismissively waved its hand, and the wavering suddenly stopped, the sound dissipated, and darkness consumed all. Abyss¡­ It was the abyss¡­

    Kanrel opened his eyes; the world kept spinning, and his head hurt. A sharp pain pulsated in his temples as if someone were constantly hitting his brain or the sides of his head. He felt this immense disgust as if he had just been defiled by something. As if someone had entered his mind and ravaged it. He sat there for a moment, then used a quick code to create water, which he drank as if he had been suffering from thirst for days.

    After a while, he regained his composure. He didn¡¯t quite understand what had happened. But he remembered the dream that he had had. Kalma on his throne¡­ Was it a memory? Something etched into his mind from his time as Ignar¡­ It was no wonder that Ignar had been enchanted by the god-like Sharan. And it was no wonder. Kalma had an aura one could not deny. His existence demanded respect.

    Kanrel made some quick notes about his experiment, concluding that it, too, had been a failure. But he stopped writing suddenly and looked at the crystal on which he had used the code. It lay there, dormant, devoid of all light. It had been lit before, had it not been?

    Kanrel tried to activate the crystal, but no light would form. Empty. It was empty. Devoid of all light. Devoid of magic. Kanrel just stared at it, stunned. Unable to believe what he had just now achieved.

    He had become the first human, nay, possibly the first creature, to make such a breakthrough. The blue light that was ¡°produced¡± by these crystals was, in fact, magic. Finally, there was something that could be seen as magic. One could see magic. It was the greatest breakthrough anyone had possibly ever made. Yet¡­ He felt nothing. He was just surprised. And nothing else. Now, he wished to know if he could produce it with a code. Kanrel was all ready to move on to the next thing.

    He continued writing, crossing over the section where he had concluded the experiment to be a failure. He finally had further direction where he wanted to take his research.

 Chapter Ninety-Nine: Be Not Afraid

    Kanrel had found light anew. A discovery most scholars dream of their whole lives; one that is never reached nor realized; a dream soon lost as time withers and erodes the mind and body of the man, who hath only one passion¡ªjust this one, true love.

    He observed the light that he had created with his new code. A blue light that he perceived to be what magic looked like to the naked eye. Something you could not touch, yet you could feel it, like the gentle rays of the morning sun upon the skin of your face.

    This light gave a feeling. It made his skin crawl. It forced him to shiver as its rays touched him. It made him fear the discovery that he had found. It made him fear love itself, for what else had he loved since the dawn of his life as much as he had loved learning?

    This was disgust. This was the thing that made him feel worthless. This was the light that made him into nothing. This was the force that governed all else, for surely there could be nothing stronger in nature than magic itself¡­ Had it always felt so wrong? Had it always made men become monsters? Why did the abyss meet the eyes of men and make them do terrible things? Was this thing to be blamed for such evils of the world¡ªthe evils of Kalma and those that came before and after him¡ªor was evil simply in the nature of a man¡ªno, in the nature of all life?

    Had it once been pure? For Kanrel had memories as Ignar, and to Ignar, the feeling had been that of bliss. For the Sharan, magic had yet to become what it was for humans. And for the Atheians it was something else; it was a cause of addiction, one that would leave them with a sense of hunger, a hope that they might go past their innate talents, that they might experience as they had felt it before.

    It was alluring. Suppose one looked for too long into its hue. It became like the light of a candle lit for the rendezvous of two long-apart lovers as they once more found solace from the arms of each other¡­ but only to awake the next morrow, the candle long lost its flame, the lovers no longer in the warmth of their shared embrace, but in the midst of their own regrets, with questions filling their minds¡­ ¡®If he loves me so, why will he only have me for just this one night and not all the nights that are to follow?¡¯ The room is cold; it is empty; the light no longer allures. Kanrel shivered; to him, this light seemed not so different from the shadows that populated the Veil¡­

    Kanrel let his code run out and left the cave. There were so many things he needed to do today: new experiments as well as a meeting with Gar, for he would visit him today. What Kanrel now sought to do involved tests ever closer to the Veil, for he had a question that needed an answer: Would this light, too, push away the darkness? Would it keep away the voices that sought to conquer the mind of the man who entered their abode? Would it keep him safe? Would it guide him through the darkest of nights?

    Past the stalagmite forest, a few hundred meters northward, the lanterns awaited, keeping at bay the smoldering darkness. Kanrel walked toward it with only a few things in hand: a lantern of his own and a singular notebook, filled with observations about his new findings, but more so empty pages yearning to keep on its surface a newfound truth, or at least one perceived as such.

    He stopped at the edge of it. His skin crawled, and his mind flashed visions of a violent rush of darkness, submerging him deep below it; a wave that covered all that had been lit. It wavered, it quivered... it smoldered... Then came the voices, so loud and quiet; the loss of breath; Kanrel on his knees, awaiting the moment of death as his eyes were soon forced open; a new light split the darkness through all the pain that struck him¡­ He could see. He could see the darkness. He could see what they wanted him to see¡­

    Fire. Dark flames covered the earth; there was no light. Wailing of death; corpses hung from the air as the flames engulfed them. They showed him the fire, the blood that spoiled the earth, untouched by that which would, through corruption, purify all; it crawled along the surface of the earth as if flowing uphill toward the originator of this hell. A whisper etched into his mind, a low wail that turned into a scream: pain, suffering, torment. I wish it could all end. I wish death would claim us. I wish for only death. Please. Why must we suffer?

    But god gave no mercy; the flames grew only greater in height; a toll of blood paid full in price.

    ¡°Be not afraid, for from the ashes of an empire a new one will arise; from the blood of the martyrs, a wine shall be bled.¡±

    ¡°From hell, a new heaven; from death, a new life.¡±

    Be not afraid¡­

    Kanrel blinked at these memories, these visions that he could now at last remember. If only he had seen more; if only Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had let him see it all. If only a prolonged touch from the Veil weren¡¯t a certain death¡­

    He lit the lantern in his hand and let shivers run through him. He was afraid. It was the most sensible state of mind given the situation, for all men fear that which they do not know. Be it a dark forest during the darkest month of the year; be it another man he had no prior contact with; be it a strange mushroom or a berry that might as well seal your fate with a poison far too sweet for the filthy maw that had devoured it.

    All men fear. All men must fear, for all men are fragile; their lives as faint as those of flowers upon a field of many. Beautiful and colorful, a wondrous existence not any lesser than the brightness of the sun. We fear everything, even our own shadow.

    He swallowed this sense of terror; his heart, which had been beating at a steady pace, was ready to run away.

    ¡°Be not afraid¡­¡± He muttered to himself and spat the residue of fear from within; he pushed forward into that darkness, and as he walked forth, the shadows, they feared the touch of the holiest of lights; the shadows parted and hugged the edges of the light, a perfect globe that began to form around him.

    He stopped after just a few steps; if he now looked behind himself, he¡¯d see the line of lanterns and their light, the wall behind which he¡¯d run if all else failed. But he couldn¡¯t look back; he couldn¡¯t avert his eyes from the eyes that must¡¯ve been there. They must¡¯ve seen him. Kanrel knew what they wished; he almost could hear their whispers again, the softness of their screams, the pain of their last moments. Would they ever forget?

    Kanrel stared ahead a moment longer; he couldn¡¯t stop shivering. The fear that he spat out still remained. One cannot lie to himself and claim to not be afraid when one so certainly is. But even then, a man ought to be brave, even when said bravery would inevitably lead to foolishness, for how else is one supposed to cope with all the things that one is so afraid of?

    He formed the code, the manifestation of magic; light, which one could claim to be holy but equally claim to be evil itself. He released it, and in the air just before him, blue sparkles rapidly emerged and then merged into one, and soon it flashed like that of a newborn star with so much light and life to give. He couldn¡¯t stand the sight of it, even less so than the light produced by the lanterns. This light was more pure; more corrupt. It was more potent¡­

    The smoldering darkness was pushed in an instant further back, as if more afraid than before, as if this very light could perish the shadows of the Veil, as if this light could bring an end to the memory they held¡­ They do not wish to be forgotten¡­

    Surely this moment was meant for awe? Surely he had achieved something great; something so unimaginable that no mind had perceived such a possibility before this moment.

    It didn¡¯t matter.

    He pushed the light forth; he jolted it into the awaiting darkness like one would cast a fireball at his own enemies: it pierced through it, a sudden tunnel forming in its way as it made deeper and deeper into the Veil, the shadows receding away, averting the touch of it; their imagined eyes closed, but their choir of many voices becoming a wailing of a flayed slave, a poor creature whose tears wet the ground beneath, a creature so afraid of the next strike, of the pain that would follow, and even of the pain of healing. Why must we brutalize our brethren in such ways?

    The light dissipated as it disappeared deep into that tunnel of its own creation. The veil remained as such for a moment. Kanrel could witness the scar that he had made. The pain that he had created. In this moment he felt no less a monster than the moments that he had killed. In this moment he knew that the shadows were sentient. Not like most men are. But as a collective memory that could feel again the torment it had once gone through before. The light that he had cast toward it and had then scarred it. All he had done was open an old scar, one that had not healed, one that would never heal.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    What he now had within was not fear but regret. An old familiar bitter claw that laid its sharp nails of shame onto him and left long streaks of red within. Before him, the tunnel began to merge again, the shadow recollecting itself, recoiling into a singularity of dull edges and sharp shapes: smoldering darkness. Kanrel looked into it, and it looked into him. He had found success, yet it was regretful that he had. Even if through this he could find his way back home. He sighed and turned to leave¡­

    A light flickered.

    Kanrel turned toward the wall of lanterns; fear had returned. But the lights there were even; they were whole and without imperfections. He would be safe there. Shivers ran through him again. He began taking hasty steps toward them; he didn¡¯t wish to spend another moment so close to the veil. There were notes he needed to take, thoughts that ought to be recorded.

    But the light flickered again, breaking his new cycle of thoughts. He looked down at the source of the light that he carried with him, just to see it perish right before him; just to feel the rush of shadows coming from behind, he performed a code; he needed to use the light that only tore old scars open. He needed to live; he needed to survive.

    The light burst before him; it became whole and pushed away the darkness that had almost taken him with it, that had almost paid the fool for the pain that he had caused it¡­ But it had already touched him¡­ just for a moment, and what filled him was a sight, a vision; thoughts of another creature that had once lived so long ago¡­ He kept walking forth, past the wall of lanterns that would keep him safe, and collapsed.

    As the meadows withered, I stood silent and bore witness. When the fields burst into bloom, I waited. And now, as it dies, I search for a new meaning.

    There was no life left to love. The valley was now filled with the dead, and I wished to be part of it. I wished to be among them.

    When the first flower bloomed, I was already waiting for its death. They all wither in the end, and so I bore witness. I spoke not a word¡ªfor we all die. And when they were but carcasses, fallen wretches, it would be time to find a new meadow. Time for the same cycle to begin anew.

    Bless them, the sinners. Their time is short, their world small, nothing more than another meadow. Their bodies are fragile, like the flowers of the field. Surely they too deserve peace, even if in the end, they bring about their own destruction. Even as they drain the meadow¡¯s soil dry, leaving behind a barren earth, as they are left under the mercy of the sun.

    Death is but a step for them. Something that leads toward eternity. It is not a conscious step for them; for them, it is a step that, while perhaps sorrowful, is also joyous. Their pain is over, their thirst for life quenched.

    And as my tears nourish the next meadow, I see a flower bloom. There is only one, but soon there will be two. When these two flowers meet, the beginning of the end will commence. When these two flowers meet, everything that could ever matter will finally come to pass.

    With the first flower¡¯s bloom, death had already begun. With the second flower¡¯s bloom, life would continue, if only for a moment longer.

    The garden is withering, the one I watch and guard from the shadows.

    He awoke. Not next to the lanterns that kept the Veil at bay; not in the shadows devoured and flayed by them; not upon a field, one where flowers bloomed; but in his little cave on the bed that he had made his own; with eyes familiar, ocean blue, looking down on him, in them a question one might ask a fool¡­

    ¡°Are you looking to die?¡± Gar asked; the tone of his voice was dry, and he seemed far from happy.

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°I succeeded.¡± He muttered. As he tried to get up, his body felt weak, and the world seemed far too bright for what it was worth.

    Gar scoffed, ¡°Yet here you are¡­¡± He shook his head but soon smirked, ¡°I suppose you already heard the news then?¡± He asked.

    Kanrel managed to sit up and blink his eyes in confusion. ¡°Heard what?¡±

    Gar¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Our good friend Y¡¯Kraun is getting married¡­ So fair enough if you did try to perish a little earlier than one usually would; I¡¯d also do almost anything to skip such a jolly occasion.¡±

    Kanrel remained still and processed what he heard. ¡°Married?¡± He muttered, ¡°That makes no sense. How?¡±

    Gar rolled his eyes. ¡°Beats me. He probably used a love spell or something.¡±

    ¡°No, no, I mean, didn¡¯t he just confess his love to her?¡±

    ¡°Kanrel, that was months ago¡ªkeep up!¡± Gar pulled Kanrel from the bed. ¡°I take you know nothing of our so-called ¡®wedding traditions?¡¯¡±

    Kanrel shook his head.

    ¡°Well, then you¡¯ll love it. Nothing beats standing in line¡ªand sometimes sitting¡ªwhile you wait for your turn at the Forum, just so that you can watch your friend ask for a certificate to stamp¡­¡±

    ¡°Then wait in another line with said certificate in hand to get it stamped again by a different clerk, no less. Then you¡¯ll wait a week or so for the good news. A marriage, so beautiful¡­¡±

    ¡°I, for one, can¡¯t think of anything more romantic than the bureaucratic process of applying for marriage and then awaiting in great anticipation if your request might be denied or granted.¡± Gar explained, ¡°And what we can do for them is wait in line with them; a marriage needs witnesses, now does it not?¡± Gar forced Kanrel up from his bed; he let his gaze go up and down the rather messy clothes and unkempt hair, not to mention the beard that had conquered his face.

    ¡°This won¡¯t do.¡± Gar muttered, ¡°You look like a hermit that has lived in a cave for years!¡± He chuckled, ¡°Worry not; when this date of sitting in lines comes, we will buy you some new robes¡­ But when it comes to all the ¡®fur¡¯ or ¡®hair,¡¯ as you call it, you¡¯re on your own¡­¡±

    ¡°Try to at least look presentable, for I did manage, after much correspondence, to get an appointment with the council. They are eager to hear of your wishes to enter the Sanctuary¡­¡±

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°It is as if I¡¯ve played the part all too well¡­ But very well, I¡¯ve not seen Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s ¡®wife-to-be¡¯ for quite some time; I wonder if I¡¯ll be able to converse with her without the need of a translator.¡± He muttered.

    Gar smiled, ¡°I am sure she¡¯ll love to finally hear the truth about her future husband; the bastard has gotten far too confident¡­¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°He glows¡­ It¡­ bothers me¡­ To see him so happy.¡±

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°Are you jealous?¡±

    Gar grinned, ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡°Then get married; instead of being jealous, become the target of someone else''s jealousy.¡±

    The Atheian let out a bright laugh. ¡°But Kanrel, the only one to be left jealous of me, would be you.¡±

    Kanrel blinked his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry; I had no idea you had no other friends¡­¡±

    Gar sighed, ¡°I¡¯ve no time for new friends, nor for lovers that could be; no time for could-have¡¯s or would-have¡¯s; hypothetical marriages and so forth¡­ I, for one, have dedicated myself to pen and paper, the pursuit of knowledge, which is my truest love.¡±

    Kanrel was left staring at him for a while. ¡°Normally I would agree, but I would rather not share the warm embrace of my lover with another soul, less so with someone as weird as you. I do not wish to know what you do with your pens and papers.¡±

    The Atheian was left silent for a moment, then a slight chuckle escaped his lips, ¡°One of these days we ought to duel; I, too, am a jealous lover. But I¡¯m not afraid.¡± He said and again let his eyes observe Kanrel and his outlook, ¡°Since my competition looks like this, I suppose that knowledge will remain in the loving arms of yours truly.¡±

    They continued their banter for a few moments longer before Gar bid Kanrel farewell, promising that the next time they saw each other, they¡¯d either duel or go to a wedding together. The rest of the day, Kanrel spent with a pen in hand, writing down the earlier observations that he had made, further advancing his plans, but with new questions in mind.

    Did he really need to visit the Sanctuary now? Did he not have all that he needed to enter the Veil and traverse as far east as one could go? Could he risk such a journey so early on? He felt doubtful. For he did not know for how long he could hold on to that perverse light; for how long would it push away the darkness and show him passage? He still believed that he needed more time. More information before taking the reckless step of entering the Veil and getting lost in its horrors and uncertainties. He¡¯d still enter the Sanctuary and find out what they knew; he ought to, lest he never find his way back home.

    Hours went by, and soon Kanrel fell asleep, not on his bed but instead against his table in the midst of the many notebooks that lay on it; pen still in hand, the last word written nothing more than a scribble not even he could understand the next morrow. Tonight, he was a butterfly that flew from flower to flower, awaiting the moment of death, that somber moment when the flowers would wilt and wither away, leaving behind a grave for the memory of life. The golden sun setting as the butterfly fluttered its wings when life still existed¡­ Darkness then burst from below, piercing the earth and the heavens alike, veiling the sun and its golden rays, as the butterfly was left in the cold, and the field with its flowers frozen in pain, in death.

    Kanrel¡¯s eyes burst open, and he heard hurried steps that soon turned into the sound of running. He got up from his table, with pen still in hand, and prepared deadly codes that he could fling at his enemy. He stepped outside the cave and looked around, soon seeing a figure running away to the stalagmite forest; the figure wore a cape, the only thing that really caught his eye¡­

    The cape was as gray as were the stone floors, walls, and ceilings of the Atheian lands, but embroidered on it was a symbol he hadn¡¯t seen before. A chained eye, opened wide, with a red iris as if during the sunrise. Kanrel contemplated releasing a code to take out this perceived enemy but decided against it.

    What good would it do? What if he accidentally ended up killing this unknown figure? How would he explain this to the council or even to Gar and Y¡¯Kraun? Would he be perceived as a murderer afterward? The figure was so far by now that Kanrel was uncertain if he would be able to catch him without causing considerable damage to them; besides, he didn¡¯t know how skillful this figure was at the use of magic; he could soon find himself spread upon the stone floor. A victim of what one could claim to be self-defense.

    He let his code dwindle and stared as the figure disappeared from his sight. In his mind, he kept repeating the symbol that he had seen, and soon enough he ran back in and drew the symbol as well as he could. In the end, he was left staring at it. He was left wondering, what does a chained eye with a red iris mean?

 Chapter 100, Part One: An Atheian Wedding

    He was certain that he would¡¯ve preferred to have a duel instead. Of course, there¡¯d be no enjoyment found in this or that, but surely anything would beat standing in a line as lengthy as this one. Why would so many people choose this specific day to get married? Was there something special about a date as such? No, there really wasn¡¯t. One could imagine that they just happened to be unlucky. As if the universe was against them, specifically Kanrel, who just wanted to be done with it; to congratulate his friend for the beginning of this process and good luck for the good news that there might be in a few days. Then he¡¯d be on his way, going up the steps to the higher floors of the Forum until he¡¯d reach the chamber where the council would await him and give him their verdict.

    There was so much that Kanrel could levy, he felt, to gain access to the Sanctuary. Be it his breakthrough in magical ability and coding, or, if necessary, his findings into what magic truly was, the corrupt light that could push away even the shadows of the Veil.

    Instead, he stood in line, not too far away from Y¡¯Kraun, who seemed ecstatic, right beside Gar, who seemed even more bored than Kanrel was. And each time Y¡¯Kraun would throw them a glance, Gar and Kanrel would both form the brightest smile on their faces, as if they were as ecstatic about the situation as their friend.

    It wasn¡¯t that they weren¡¯t. It was just that there were so many better things to do than, well, this.

    But at least this gave Kanrel time to observe the things and the people that were around him: the many Atheians who were on their own business, be it applying for marriage, or perhaps for a permit to open up a new shop in town, or just verification on some other possibly useless thing that needed all this bureaucracy to be allowed, let alone work in the minds of the Atheians. It was curious how the culture between one place and another within the same society could be so different.

    The City of Creation didn¡¯t work in such a way, even though it did receive its mandate from the Council of Many Faces and the Forum at large. There, ordinary citizens didn¡¯t have to go through so many steps to do what they wanted; it wasn¡¯t because the City of Creation was more effective in its bureaucratic structure; there were just fewer things to go through in a smaller city. The Forum handled not only the things that came from the City of Last Light but also all the cities, villages, and other settlements beyond it. All things needed to be verified, and through the limited authority that the other cities had, they could handle things that weren¡¯t so ¡°important¡± or ¡°sensitive¡± to the system at large.

    And now, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder how it went with the issue of the ¡°unfair treatment of law-abiding prostitutes in government-regulated brothels.¡± Did the owners receive the tax cuts they so wished to be implemented, and if so, did the workers of said brothels receive more compensation for the work that they did? Or did the tax cuts just fatten the bellies of those who owned and managed the brothels?

    The system remained dull, yet one couldn¡¯t help but wonder what kind of secrets one could find in the archives of such an immense structure, the center of all bureaucratic endeavors in this society. Everything from local politics and the identities of simple law-abiding individuals to the management of greater things, like churches, temples, libraries, and banks, and the richest and the most powerful members of society. Kanrel imagined that there would be information about all of this and much, much more somewhere within this building; perhaps buried deep beneath it, collected somewhere it all would remain safe and untouched by eyes that could use it for their own benefit. After all, such information was only for the eyes of the council and those who worked for them.

    This begged an important question to be asked: How did they hold all this control, all this power? Why did the many factions of society agree to this system that had a knife to their throats at all times? For this to be allowed, there had to be some great benefit that these factions enjoyed within society as well as from the council¡­ and this question, too, would be answered by reports within the records of this great library, all surely spoiled by corruption and the misdeeds of those who most benefited from the fruits it provided¡­

    One could imagine an orchard not far from a village, its trees bountiful with fruit. Workers with filthy hands gather the harvest into baskets and haul them with great effort to the village; they lay the fruit before a marbled house surrounded by huts of dirt; they watch with hungry eyes as their leader emerges to inspect the bounty of their labor.

    A servant steps forth with a basin of water. With practiced hands, they wash a handful of fruit, soon presenting one that now glistens in the evening sun. The master accepts it with a smile, biting into its tender flesh. The juice bursts forth, sweet and rich, staining a mouth far filthier than the hands that picked it, granting him the luxury to live in indulgence until the end of his days.

    Such was a way to look at it. His curious eyes touched the faces of those around him, again wondering their reasons to be here, but his curiosity was disturbed by Gar¡¯s question: ¡°Is it much different from how your people do it?¡±

    Kanrel almost winced because of the unexpected question; his gaze found the Atheian, who studied his face; in those ocean-blue eyes, there was wonder but a certain naivety. Gar had never known of something else. He had not seen a world different from his own; he had never met people of a different race. So it was for all Atheians. They knew only of better and worse in the context of their own society and the history of their people. Of course, Kanrel couldn¡¯t claim that what he had seen was truly better or worse; he was just certain that it was somehow different even if the effect was at times the same.

    ¡°Governance? Marriage? Standing in line?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Gar chuckled, ¡°Well, marriage, of course, but with so many options given, I¡¯d love to hear the difference in all of them.¡± He suggested.

    Kanrel pondered for a while and soon snorted, ¡°I will have to be quite honest with you; I¡¯ve never been married, and I¡¯ve only ever attended a few weddings¡­¡±

    ¡°Thus, in that regard, I can only give you things that I¡¯ve read about or heard from others.¡±

    ¡°Marriage is often seen as a deal with two families. This is how it was for most of the people that I knew; after all, I came from considerable wealth. Some of my friends had to worry about arranged marriages to spouses they would not see before the day of the wedding.¡± He remembered Yviev, who had been betrothed to the murdered Jeso, whom they had found in Yviev¡¯s room; the image of him suspended in the air with all of his limbs pierced by long stakes; there had been no blood, instead, those damn red rose petals that covered the ground. An old memory, so vividly painted itself within his mind. For a moment he closed his eyes and soon shook that memory away, continuing his explanation: ¡°And for the less fortunate, there too remains this sense of it being a deal of sorts. A story of succession and how wealth is inherited. Yet all, aristocrat and plebeian alike hold dreams of marriage of love.¡±

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    ¡°The ceremony itself depends on where one lives; in the south, where I¡¯m from, it is a religious festivity, where a priest is needed as witness for the vows of the two. In the north, where I was stationed for a few years, weddings often had greater festivities¡­ Multiple couples might get married the same day, blessed by a priest if one happened to be there, and if not, then such a blessing was prayed for.¡± Kanrel explained, remembering one such occasion he had managed to pass through whilst traveling toward Jersten. That time he didn¡¯t bless the couples that were to be wed, something that he felt like he perhaps should¡¯ve done; maybe a blessing is needed for a wedding. Marriage does seem quite difficult after all.

    Gar listened intently. ¡°Interesting.¡± He then smiled, ¡°One could say that your weddings and ours aren¡¯t that different; what we seek instead of a blessing from a priest is a blessing from the state. And do look around; many people are getting married at the same time. Suppose the surroundings are a tad different.¡± He said with a grin.

    ¡°But, I do assume that standing in line isn¡¯t so different¡­ But what about governance? Is it so different, really? You have your kings and your heralds, your nobles and such; your cities and villages have mayors unless they are ruled by the aforementioned nobles directly¡­¡±

    ¡°To my ears, it isn¡¯t that different; in fact, it might as well be the same, just with a king instead of a council on top.¡±

    Kanrel furrowed his brows as he thought about it more deeply; it really wasn¡¯t different at all. ¡°Perhaps it is the illusion that we have of freedom.¡±

    ¡°For us, a farmer has no need to look for a permit for whatever he might want to do; he just has to buy or rent the land he wishes to toil, and this he pays back once a harvest, with the fruits of his labor; he pays first the lord who rules his village or owns his lands, and the lord then pays the crown or the church, depending on whichever group happens to own a given piece of land¡­¡±

    ¡°In practice, it isn¡¯t different at all. Only that one fraction of it is different. A farmer barely ever has to traverse to a larger city to fill a formula so that he might apply for a permit to do a given thing. He just needs to pay his taxes on time. And if he has gripes or issues with bandits and such, he might present his case before his immediate lordship, from whom he will most often or not receive help.¡± Kanrel explained but then stopped for a while; he snorted once again, ¡°But now that I try to explain the imagined differences between our two systems, the less I find of them, and I continue to wonder if one is better than the other, or if both are just the same and through spending time here have I understood the issues of the world from where I came from.¡±

    Kanrel sighed, ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ve been too hasty and rather foolish with the judgment that I have held within.¡± His tone was apologetic.

    Gar scoffed, ¡°Well, it does sound familiar, after all.¡± He sighed in turn, ¡°I just had hoped that there might be something better than this.¡± He muttered and let his gaze wander around this floor of the Forum.

    Just why did it have to be so slow? The line crawled forth at the pace and grace of an eel. No, an eel was surely much more graceful than this, for one can¡¯t help but overhear conversation one might not need to nor wish to hear¡­ One couple, who stood awkwardly apart from each other, sought marriage because they got caught doing "the business" by their parents, and now, those parents demanded that such disgrace be rectified by an untimely marriage. Oh, so many things one has to do for the honor of one¡¯s own family.

    Then there was a male prostitute and his customer, who had become his fianc¨¦e, an older woman, perhaps somewhat lonely, possibly getting exploited by the youthful Atheian, who lovingly held her hand in his own¡­ It was somehow sweet, even if Kanrel had his doubts about their intentions.

    And then there were Y¡¯Kraun and U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui, the next two in line, holding hands with smiles that brightened their gray faces. In their eyes, there was something that even Kanrel could recognize, a feeling that he had never felt himself, at least not to this degree. Just days before, he had accused Gar of being jealous of Y¡¯Kraun, but now he couldn¡¯t help but be jealous as well.

    They had picked each other, despite being so very different yet the same. They had picked each other, not because they needed to settle things of inheritance, not because of a mistake they had committed, not because of lust or inherent loneliness. They weren¡¯t here to exploit each other, at least in the sense that one thinks of exploitation. They were here to exploit each other in the most evil yet beautiful way that one could exploit another: through love.

    They were here to stop the tyranny of love, or at least try to do so. Through shelter found in each other, they picked each other, confined in each other, they confessed their weakness and the tyranny that was there to ravage their minds. Perhaps this love would be accepted; perhaps it would be rightful. And one could only hope that for the sake of these two, one will never lose the other, lest the pieces of a once-beating heart be found bled through the eyes of the one that had lost their center. Let neither of these hearts grow regretful and too afraid to love anew.

    And when they at last got their turn, they together placed a simple piece of paper upon the counter, which a clerk hastily read through, smiled without it reaching his eyes, and stamped it, telling them that they may go now and await the good news. A brief congratulations, a lover''s kiss, and just like that, an Atheian wedding was complete.

    Somehow it remained somewhat beautiful, even amidst its banality. There was no first dance, no vows between two lovers, no blessings from a priest, nor cheers from the crowd; the bride didn¡¯t even have a dress or a bouquet of flowers. It was simple. It was boring. But none of that mattered, as long as there was love between the two.

    Even here love may exist. Even in this coldness of the Atheian society, love thrived in a way that Kanrel could only observe, a distant truth he couldn¡¯t quite touch. Kanrel wished that he could smile for them, giving them a smile that wasn¡¯t as constructed as the clerk¡¯s cold smile. He just didn¡¯t know how to; such a lie he was unable to form.

    Soon enough he was again pulled away from his thoughts as the next thing awaited him and his attention; Gar and Y¡¯Kraun led him through the floors, where they might seek the audience of the Council of Many Faces. U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui was left behind, still on her face a smile that could only be described as happy. To be so lucky to have found love and to be in love. Perhaps, he too, would one day discover the ability to once more experience love as could any man who hadn¡¯t gone through with the Ritual.

 Chapter 100, Part Two: The Receptionist

    It had been years since Kanrel had first arrived at the City of Last Light, yet he still remembered what he had seen while taking these very steps to reach the very final floor of this building. The sixth floor, and a larger room, where behind an elaborate stone desk sat a familiar, imposing-looking figure. The one, Kanrel simply knew as ¡°the Receptionist.¡±

    Their eyes scanned papers laid on the desk, and with gracious movements of their hand, they made careful markings on some of them. And, as Kanrel and the two Atheians, as his company, walked into the room, they lifted their gaze from the papers and met the three figures that approached them.

    Kanrel met the eyes of this creature, their gaze locked for a moment, and the anxieties he had about this moment rose to the surface; his heart raced, and he had to avert his gaze. At that moment, just for that moment, he felt like Ignar had felt before Kalma. So insignificant, so small. Who was this creature? Kanrel was certain that it wasn¡¯t the space, for it seemed comfortable, with its chairs and shelves, the large engravings on the walls, the couches that seemed well cushioned¡­ yet the atmosphere remained as such: unsettling and uncomfortable.

    The Receptionist let their gaze wander from face to face, and still, no visible reaction did they give; only that of the same dismissiveness that they seemingly always had had. For a short while, they lowered their gaze back to the table, and with a few quick yet graceful strokes of their pen, ink met paper. They lifted their gaze once more, but instead of dismissing them, instead of pointing them at the chairs to which Kanrel was already ready to walk, they spoke: ¡°Do not avert your eyes, Kanrel; do not fear, for fear lowers one¡¯s status in the eyes of greater beings.¡± Their voice was flat, and Kanrel was unsure if the creature tried to give him earnest tips or if it was mocking him.

    ¡°Your company fears more than you do. So you must raise your head and have the grace to at least act as if you weren¡¯t afraid. Through this, you might give comfort to your friends.¡± The Receptionist added¡ªthat the lack of emotion in their voice made this feeling that persisted greater; then they got up, and they stood, a tall creature, taller than all of them. So pale they were in the blue light that descended from above; to them, they imposed their might, just how much better they were than the three before them.

    Empty; lifeless. They gave their observations as such, and now they stepped from behind the table and positioned themselves before them; surely they could see how they all shook; surely this made their opinion of them lower than it already was.

    The Receptionist raised a hand as if to strike, as if to put them down as if to train dogs that dared whimper before their master. The hand moved toward him; Kanrel closed his eyes; the pain would soon follow; the pain would lay itself upon him¡­

    But there was no pain. Instead, he could feel a gentle touch on his face, a singular finger placed on his jaw that ran down the mandible until it reached the chin; it felt strange to have someone touch his short beard in such a manner. When Kanrel dared to open his eyes, he looked up and saw, for the first time, an expression on their face: wonder. It was... it was wonder. Their gray eyes quivered ever so slightly, their brows furrowed, and their lips were slightly parted, but no smile or anything like that had conquered their face.

    ¡°Strange.¡± They muttered a toneless observation, ¡°What is the use of this? Why had such an evolution happened?¡± The expression that had been on their face dissipated; it was never there; it wasn¡¯t supposed to be. They took away their finger and stared at it for a moment, then their gaze met Kanrel¡¯s past the finger, and they asked, ¡°Do you now fear less? Do I seem more¡­ normal?¡±

    Kanrel shook his head slightly, not knowing what to say or how to react.

    ¡°A pity.¡± The Receptionist simply said and returned to their seat and sat down again; they seemed to ponder for a moment, then added, ¡°But do heed my words; such observations can often grow a man into something more than what they already are.¡±

    ¡°You are all weak. But you can always pretend to be stronger than you are; perhaps you might fool those who are equal or stronger than you are, but in the end, everything is about grace.¡±

    ¡°Have the grace to pretend to be greater than you actually are. Lest you become nothing more than prey to feed the greedy mouths of those who know to be above you.¡± The Receptionist finished; their tone remained the same, a flat line of zero intonation; everything they said they pronounced as if it were a cold fact, observations that were the absolute truth. Such conviction had that toneless voice.

    They then pointed at the chairs, ¡°You may take a seat; the council will soon hear you.¡± Their gaze returned to the papers on the table, and they grabbed their pen and continued to write; a steady rhythm of pen touching paper filled the air as Kanrel, Gar, and Y¡¯Kraun found the very same chairs where Kanrel had sat the last time they had been there; this time, there were just the three chairs.

    The Receptionist and their presence remained immense. They were imposing. They were so before, but now they were more confusing than anything else. Had the creature, the pale Atheian, who had no emotions, tried to feign having some? Did they, for a moment, pretend to be normal? Or at least tried to?

    Why would such a creature give him tips? Why would it care about Kanrel¡¯s fear? Why would it stand before them and touch him? Was it all part of that pretense? Was it something more, something more vile? Was it all a play, a play of power, to show him just how insignificant he was to these creatures who stood on the very top of the Forum and the governance of the Atheian society?A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    He had the urge to rip apart the tips of his fingers again, a sensation he hadn¡¯t had for a while now. But now, he could control himself, and he didn¡¯t even need to sit on top of his own hands to make sure that he wouldn¡¯t wound them. He didn¡¯t need to hear the Receptionist¡¯s flat voice, nor see their smile without wrinkles, their gray eyes looking at him as they would ask him to not be so nervous¡­

    He had the urge to look away, to not stare at them. He glanced at his friends: Y¡¯Kraun visibly shook; their eyes were wide and far away was the happy man they had been just a few minutes before; far away was that memory of a kiss he had shared with his wife-to-be. And Gar¡­ he was even worse. Gar seemed, sick. He didn¡¯t move. He just seemed unwell, as if he would soon faint. As if, he would puke as Kanrel had done on the very first day he had reached the Forum, right onto the courtyard before the doors into the Forum.

    Kanrel swallowed. Surely it was loud; surely everyone could hear that sound, but none heeded it. Everyone had their own thoughts to worry about, their own actions, their reactions to the fear that had found itself stationary within all of them.

    A sudden snort broke the silence, and the pen stopped in its motion. The Receptionist¡¯s gaze met the cause of this beginning of laughter; their gaze saw Kanrel, who grinned so widely that one could see his teeth. That snort soon turned into audible laughter that filled the reception; it filled the ears of the two of his friends, who too stared at him, in their eyes a fear even greater than before. But Kanrel just laughed; his body trembled from the strength of it. His eyes watered as it soon became painful; he laughed, not because it was funny, nor because he could feel anything to be funny. He laughed because he hadn¡¯t done so in such a long time. This laughter wasn¡¯t true, nor was it false; it wasn¡¯t entirely fake. It was just something that suited the situation. It was absurd. All of this was absurd. It was all that he could do.

    Soon Kanrel was left gathering his breath and drying tears that populated his eyes; he had everyone¡¯s attention, so it was his turn to speak: ¡°You¡¯re right. I should pretend to not be so afraid. Not only for the sake of my friends but also for my own sake.¡±

    ¡°But why must you make it so difficult? Why must you torture us with your silly tricks? Is this your true intention? Is this the job that you are to do? Do you prepare those who are to see the council with tension and fear, a sprinkle of anxiety to make those who approach the throne with a sense of dread? So that they might submit more easily?¡± Kanrel asked; his fear had gripped him from the inside. It had made him do this; he wanted to meet eye to eye with it, to hash it out and either submit to it, to understand it, or to remove it.

    The Receptionist sat in the silence after his words, and soon a smile conquered that face with a certain lack of emotion; no wrinkles did this smile form, nor did it meet their eyes. ¡°So through fear, you have found your grace, a form of dignity¡­ Next time, choose your words more carefully; then, you might seem more sane as you doubt and question the tyranny of our ways.¡± A flat tone. A singular line that traveled between the two abysses, of emotions that perhaps should¡¯ve been there; either anger or amusement, but there was neither. They simply gave another observation, lowered their gaze, and allowed the rhythm of their pen to fill the rest of the silence.

    Kanrel¡¯s heart raced; he flushed, but if he could see his face, he was not. In fact, his face was quite pale. He was afraid, more afraid than before. But at least he felt at peace with this fear. He had something to explain it. Slowly, he found his center. He found his way to become calm, and his face became a mask of it. A lie that surely wasn¡¯t perfectly crafted, but a lie nonetheless. One, that his two friends could now believe. Kanrel could feel Gar¡¯s and Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes on him still; they were still afraid, but less so than before. Even after such a moment of high tension.

    Minutes crawled; he felt again as if he were in one of those lines. Waiting for someone else''s turn, that soon he might have his turn¡­ But now, he could let his eyes wander around the room; at times, he even stood up and walked around; one time he even dared to sit down on one of the couches, and they were as comfortable as they seemed. He took a book from one of the shelves, mainly to see if there were any words within or if it were part of a well-constructed set to impose a certain feeling upon those who waited their turn here, and in part to test his own ability to read the language.

    The book picked up was a book of poems or short prose, which was surprising given where they were; he read a few lines of it:

    And it was already evening when you covered my tears with your palms.

    With hands clasped, you spoke a prayer: forgive this filth; cleanse their sins.

    With your words, we sank into silence; my flowing tears wet your palms.

    It is still evening, and I do not know if I wish to awake; I do not want to close my eyes and step into tomorrow.

    Hold me tighter; take my tears, baptize your soul with them.

    Lies entwine together, they meet in your fingers,

    they are crossed upon my face, a veil over my eyes, feeding on my salt;

    I know you do not love me¡­ Yet I long for you.

    It was out of place; even then, he placed it where he took it from. During the last few minutes of their wait, Kanrel found the courage to approach the Receptionist and their table. He peered at the papers on the table as well as what the Receptionist might be writing and at least confirmed that they truly were working and not playing a part as an actor to create that feeling of fear for those who sought an audience.

    The Receptionist spoke as he did so, ¡°You may pace around the room; you may read the books that decorate its shelves; you may sit on the couches and the chairs; you may even lie down on the floor if you wish, but you may not look at these papers, as the people they are about might not wish their private information to be read by someone who has nothing to do with it.¡± Even then there was no anger in their voice, but the warning was well understood.

    ¡°Forgive me; I let my own curiosity blindside me.¡± Kanrel promptly apologized.

    ¡°You are forgiven, for as long as you do not repeat the same mistake.¡± They replied and lifted their gaze from the papers; their eyes found Kanrel¡¯s, and they locked those gazes together for a few moments, those gray eyes that reminded him of Kalma¡¯s eyes. One couldn¡¯t meet them for too long, and Kanrel had to look away. He understood the threat far too well, and instead of lingering in front of them for even a moment longer, he went to the chairs and sat in the middle, right beside Gar and Y¡¯Kraun, who had kept following him with their own gazes, perhaps more anxious than before because of his antics. Perhaps at times even amused or inspired by his foolishness. But they said nothing as he sat down.

    Silence ensued as they continued waiting; only the sounds of pen and paper could be heard.

 Chapter 100, Part Three: An Old Friend and the Verdict of the Council

    A few more minutes go by in this agonizing silence. Then, the sounds of writing stopped. The doors into the chamber opened and a figure walked out. One Kanrel hadn¡¯t seen since the last time he had visited the Forum. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, their face solemn with a hint of annoyance found hidden behind that veil of solemnness, as if he had just heard news, he wasn¡¯t too happy about. He stopped after a few steps as the doors closed behind him, and seeing Kanrel and Y¡¯Kraun, there was not a hint of surprise in his expression at that moment; he just seemed more annoyed. He scoffed loudly and walked in front of the reception desk.

    And as he turned away from Kanrel and the rest, Kanrel could see what he wore on his back. A cloak. One as gray as the stone floors of the Atheian lands; one that was embroidered with a symbol that he had now seen once before: A chained eye, wide open, its iris as red as the sunrise could be.

    He almost exclaimed in recognition but held his tongue; so many questions forced into his head, so many things that he had to ask, but he held his tongue and instead listened to the words soon exchanged between the captain and the Receptionist. He would have his chance to ask his questions later.

    ¡°I see that your new mission is to your liking.¡± The Receptionist observed; they clearly knew what had gone on inside, perhaps long before Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had stepped inside.

    The captain scoffed again, ¡°From babysitting one fool to another, it feels that my talents are left unappreciated.¡± He noted.

    ¡°It is not the work that defines the value of your talents; it is how much you get paid.¡± The Receptionist pointed and from beneath their desk brought out a small container. ¡°And it would seem that your talents are valued more than most others.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n accepted the chest with a lopsided smile. ¡°If only one could pair that with words of appreciation, I just might fall in love with them.¡±

    ¡°Is your loyalty so easily bought with vain compliments?¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed and replied before turning away from the desk, ¡°Of course not, but pair that with gold and I¡¯ll be eternally theirs¡­¡± And as he turned around, he again met Kanrel¡¯s gaze, one that apparently he could read quite easily, so he took a few steps forth and stopped in front of them.

    He smiled, ¡°I see that you aren¡¯t as blind as I thought you to be.¡±

    Kanrel blinked, ¡°Well, one can¡¯t so easily miss a symbol as recognizable as yours¡­ Now tell me, captain, were you the one who bothered me during my self-imposed exile into that cave?¡± He soon asked.

    ¡°Well, of course¡­ It is my job, after all, to keep an eye on people of interest. I did so with your previous host, A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra, and a few before him; now it just happened to be your turn. This time from further away, but I imagine that there will be no hard feelings between us. It is just business, after all.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n spoke; his tone wasn¡¯t gleeful, and he didn¡¯t seem overly pleased with himself nor the work that he had to do; he just simply explained the situation, although his attempts at apologizing weren¡¯t the most earnest; rather, it seemed like a menial task they had to do, as much as was the surveillance he had done.

    Kanrel sighed; he had no argument against it. He was in their lands, an alien creature who might or might not be a problem. A mere Darshi in the world of the Atheians; one that could be an issue if not observed and kept from causing unnecessary disturbance.

    ¡°Fine, but there is just one question that I have¡­¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n raised his brows, ¡°Ask away; I might answer, depending on the question, of course.¡±

    ¡°What does the symbol on your cloak mean?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Another lopsided smile found its way onto Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s lips, ¡°A symbol for people like me, and nothing more¡­¡± He said and then turned his attention to Y¡¯Kraun, ¡°Congratulations on your wedding. I think that you and your dear U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui make a grand couple¡ªyou¡¯re certain to hear good news in just a few days; the council is pleased¡­¡± His smile became whole and soon vanished, he nodded at Gar and said, ¡°Professor,¡± and walked away, leaving the trio more baffled than anything else.

    ¡°A friend of yours?¡± Gar asked; he was perhaps the most confused out of the three.

    ¡°Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n is his name. I am sure you¡¯ve heard of him.¡± Y¡¯Kraun said; his throat must¡¯ve felt dry as he soon cleared it.

    Gar¡¯s eyes went wide. The man had never met the ill-famed Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n before. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard stories of him, but said stories seldom give accurate depictions of what such a person might truly look like¡­ or how they truly are¡­¡± Gar said, on his face was an expression of curiosity, he then smiled and added, ¡°He seems much nicer than what I heard.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun and Gar continued talking about the captain, and Y¡¯Kraun shared that this had been perhaps the first time that Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had been so ¡°nice to them.¡± Which surprised Gar.

    Kanrel was instead stuck in his own thoughts, not paying much attention to their conversation.

    A lie. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had lied to him. Not very convincingly, but he had done so either way. The truth, whatever it may be, about the symbol and its true meaning was left a mystery. Of course, there was a possibility that Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had spoken the truth and intentionally announced it in a way that made Kanrel doubt him, but this, somehow, felt unlikely. It was more so a lie with certain intent as well as a message: ¡°I know what you want to know, yet you won¡¯t hear what you wish to learn from me so easily.¡± It was also possible that he wasn¡¯t allowed to tell the whole truth, instead, only a cryptic half-truth.

    ¡°You may enter.¡± His line of thought was brought to an abrupt stop by the Receptionist, whose gaze studied Kanrel¡¯s facial expressions, perhaps seeing the curiosity and even the annoyance within.

    Kanrel and the two Atheians got up and walked forth to the doors that then opened before them. As he was to take a step past the threshold, the Receptionist added, ¡°Answers you shall receive, perhaps not today, but surely before your death, all that you desire you shall know.¡± The Receptionist returned their gaze back onto the papers, and with their pen, they wrote something down, and Kanrel stepped past the threshold, even though he wished to ask them what they meant with their words¡­

    They entered a round room, where lights descended from above and five figures stood in a semi-circle; they wore the same dark robes that covered their bodies, a hood that covered their heads, and masks with long bird-like beaks; the masks had no eyes or any other significant features.

    The doors slammed shut behind them, and a hum wavered around the circular room; it bounced from wall to wall, ricocheting continuously and without stopping, until he, again, could feel how his ears got blocked, and else sound became more muffled than it had been before.

    Then a bell rang; a new hum, yet the same one that he had heard just a few years back; it overshadowed the previous one. It was deeper and more intense; it was slow and lasted for minutes before silence took over. His ears opened up, but still, the sound of the bell rang deep within his head. He could now focus; he felt less anxious. He felt at peace, for the storm that had rumbled outside this room had since gone; it was as if it had never been in the first place.

    Was this the reason as to why they struck the bell as such? Then why was there all that fear and anxiety-mongering outside? What was the purpose of these two things?

    "When knowledge is sought by the young, it is the duty of elders to share their wisdom and guide them onto the right path." A voice with a familiar, metallic distortion pronounced. One of the five had said as such.

    ¡°Yet you yourself have knowledge that you do not wish to share, is it not so, Kanrel Iduldian?¡± A second voice asked.

    "We have heard of your... experiments. The whispers in the shadows carry secrets, and we listen more intently than most." A third voice added.

    "We know what you seek and where it lies, but we question whether we should guide you¡ªguidance that may lead you to ruin." A fourth voice pondered.

    ¡°¡­ Or should we deny you that which you desire the most?¡± A fifth voice asked.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°So tell us, Kanrel Iduldian, is it life that you see at the end of your desires, or is it death, as there is for so many of us?¡± The first then asked after a moment''s silence, and now, the questions asked lingered in the air and echoed in the round room.

    At that moment, Kanrel made a decision. He fell to his knees, as would any Atheian do in such a situation; he placed his head on the floor of the circular room and spoke, "New knowledge in the wrong hands can lead to irreversible mistakes. What I¡¯ve discovered could be used for great harm, which is why I cannot share it so freely."

    ¡°And what I see at the end of this road is not just one or the other; what I see is both, for one cannot be without the other. In the end, there might be self-destruction, but at least it would be out of my own willingness, and it, too, could become something valuable in the eyes of the world. Perhaps as nothing more than proof of my own foolishness¡­¡± Kanrel said and kept his head against the floor; only when asked would he arise.

    The second voice chuckled, ¡°It seems that you¡¯ve long ago decided upon the path that you might go down.¡±

    ¡°We could deny you this.¡± The third voice added, ¡°But what value would further imprisonment placed upon you give us?¡± The fourth continued.

    ¡°What can you give us?¡± The fifth asked.

    A bell was struck, and a higher-pitched sound echoed in the room; it gave another wave of clarity, or so it seemed.

    "A new theory of magic," Kanrel said once the echo faded.

    The first voice scoffed, "You claim to possess knowledge beyond our own?¡±

    ¡°You intrigue us, Darshi, and now you must convince us.¡± The second voice spoke in turn, its metallic distortion unable to conceal the smile the person behind the mask must have had.

    Kanrel swallowed. How much would be enough? Was the language he created¡ªthe concept of coding¡ªenough? Or would he have to give everything?

    ¡°If I may?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Rise, Kanrel Iduldian, and show us this new theory of magic you claim to have.¡± The third voice urged.

    So he got up and again saw the five figures standing before him; they were so tall that he would surely feel it in his neck the next day. ¡°Visualization is key to how your people use magic. And I believe that I have created a system that allows more efficiency when perfected by its user. Let me demonstrate.¡± Kanrel spoke; he then formed a code, one that he thought of on the spot, and soon letters and numbers formed from the fire before them: F4^2 P2.

    "These symbols¡ªletters and numbers¡ªmay seem meaningless on paper, but in my mind, they hold new meaning."

    ¡°And this new meaning is simple: the first letter stands for fire, the numbers that follow it are the shape I want this fire to be in, in this case, a small square, and the second letter and number that then follow it are how powerful I wish the flames to be,¡± Kanrel explained.

    "With this, I no longer need to imagine flames or their shapes. By using this prepared code, I can summon the desired form and intensity of any magical element." He continued, then used said code a couple of times, and in quick succession, multiple small squares of fire spawned into the room, some on the ground, some in the air, but all not too close to the five council members lest they be alarmed and decide to remove him from this life.

    ¡°Surely an unorthodox way of doing things, but curious, indeed.¡± The fourth voice said¡ªthey didn¡¯t seem too impressed.

    ¡°We suppose that there is some usefulness to it, but this is to be seen¡­¡± The fifth voice added.

    ¡°But we cannot say that this is enough in trade for the knowledge that you so wish to learn¡­¡± The fifth began, but the second voice stopped the first, ¡°This is plenty; this is more than enough.¡±

    Silence ensued.

    A bell was then struck, one tone higher than the previous. Its sound echoed in the circular room, breaking the silence that had been there before it, and when it stopped, the third spoke, ¡°We¡¯ve reached a conclusion, one not fully agreed upon by all the members of the council, but with a majority vote, we will now give our verdict¡­¡±

    "Your ''new theory of magic'' strikes us as a novelty. While it may prove useful in certain situations, we have refined our system over thousands of years. It is unlikely we have not tried¡ªand dismissed¡ªsimilar methods." The fourth voice continued.

    ¡°But even then, we¡¯ve decided that you may gain entrance into the sanctuary, where a trade of information will commence. For this theory of yours, you shall receive what you wish to learn, but you must then vow that you hear within shall remain a secret to all other ears¡­ Lest you lose your life.¡± The fifth finished, and another bell rang in the circular room.

    And when the bell sound stopped, they were just dismissed. Gar and Y¡¯Kraun weren¡¯t addressed, and not a single command did they receive from the Council of Many Faces.

    Kanrel stepped outside, back into the reception area, where the Receptionist awaited them, standing right before them, in their hands a piece of paper. The Receptionist looked at Kanrel and only Kanrel, ¡°From one cave to another, I wonder where you shall find the light that gives you a truth to your liking¡­¡± They said.

    ¡°But alas, I fear that we might not see each other for many years to come¡­ But let me read your commands¡­¡± The Receptionist said and then read from the piece of paper, ¡°The Darshi, Kanrel Iduldian, is to spend a year within the Sanctuary under constant surveillance; there he will be allowed to read whichever tome he wishes, but in trade, he will recite his theory of magic to an appointed guide, who then will write it all down and test it with your help. He will not be permitted to leave until we are satisfied.¡±

    Kanrel stared blankly at the voice of mixed news. How can something be good and so bad at the same time? He would get what he most wanted, but in trade, he would give years of his life. Again. It tasted bitter in his mouth; it felt bitter within his mind. Years he had wasted to get here, and more years he will waste at his first destination¡­

    His legs almost gave way, but he managed to stay up. He accepted the piece of paper from the Receptionist and read it through a few times; there were some symbols and words that he couldn¡¯t quite understand, but he got the gist of it. He let out a long sigh as he almost cursed under his breath, ¡°Shit.¡±

    The Receptionist smiled, ¡°Now, now, dear Kanrel, such words need not be uttered, as these terms are only to be accepted and lived through; only then will you survive and become a greater man.¡±

    ¡°I will await you; soon you will find your way back to me.¡± They promised and returned to their seat and many reports and arcs of paper that covered the whole table.

    Kanrel took it as another dismissal, and he walked out of the reception area of the last floor with Y¡¯Kraun and Gar right behind him.

    ¡°Well, that went a lot better than I thought it would.¡± Gar muttered, ¡°I thought that I¡¯d lose my life just then¡­ Also, I¡¯ve never felt so thoroughly ignored by so many people. It is as if¡­ we were nothing before them¡­ As if¡­ they only had their eyes on you.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun shivered, ¡°I am more used to such treatment but never to such a degree.¡± He said, ¡°But I must say, a year seems a bit harsh¡­¡±

    Gar scoffed, ¡°I¡¯m sure it goes by fast, to be surrounded by the knowledge that most desire and only a select few ever get the chance to study¡­ Honestly, I am more jealous now than I was at your wedding.¡±

    ¡°You were jealous? Of me?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked; the amusement in his voice was crystal clear.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have mentioned it.¡± Kanrel at last spoke, ¡°He will never let this moment go. He will become more and more gleeful in the next year; never give him the joy; spite him as much as you can.¡± He advised, trying his best to hide away not only disappointment but also the fear that persisted, that arrived and seated itself within him. For there was something he had realized after hearing the ¡°commands.¡±

    Just how many years would it take before he could reach home? If, by the end of that year, he will have spent three years in these lands of shadows below, then how many years would it take to find the practically mythical stairway that might be somewhere in the east, if he would even survive the journey to the east?

 Chapter 101: Where We Are All Equal

    Secrecy shrouds the Sanctuary''s history. From the outside, one truth stands unchallenged: whatever happens within its walls is not meant for the rest of the world to know. In fact, perhaps it is better not to know.

    Knowledge, as much as it is power, can be dangerous, as often it is better not to know what you need not know.

    Still, the imagination of outsiders inevitably stirs. They theorize about what transpires beyond the walls, piecing together ideas from the only visible clues: towering barriers and a grand building without windows. Every inch of its surface is etched with intricate engravings, their meaning a puzzle. They do not recount legends or histories easily understood. These markings feel purposeful, yet their intent is enigmatic¡ªperhaps a reflection of the Universal Truth¡¯s guarded culture or their affinity for mysticism. Perhaps, one could speculate, the engravings are pure abstraction: an artful obfuscation that holds no literal meaning, yet compels one to wonder.

    And yet, even if their meaning is undecipherable, intent must exist. Human hands rarely create without purpose, even if that purpose is buried in the subconscious. The universe may move without rhyme or reason, but humans seldom act without some guiding will.

    The structure itself is unassuming in its height, barely rising above the walls that enclose it. A curious choice. Wouldn¡¯t a towering spire better suit an institution claiming superiority in knowledge? Such a monument could loom above the city as a declaration of dominance, an undeniable symbol of hierarchy. Instead, the Sanctuary hides in plain sight. Its walls serve as a physical and symbolic veil, shielding what lies within from prying eyes. Even the engravings, mesmerizing as they are, seem designed to distract¡ªa riddle to absorb attention, diverting the mind from the possibility of greater puzzles concealed inside.

    Or perhaps it is simply that¡ªa book with an alluring cover, forbidden to open. One can only wonder if the contents live up to the mystery of the exterior¡ªor if the intrigue is nothing more than a fa?ade designed to captivate the curious while guarding nothing of substance.

    Such things Kanrel wondered as he stood before the gates. Waiting for someone, anyone, to open them and let him inside. This was all the guidance that he had been given: ¡°Get your notes and things that you might need and wait at the entrance; they will open them for you, and your guide will do the rest.¡±

    Not many people walked past here. It was as if they tried to avert being so close to it. Was it fear that made them look past the Sanctuary? A simple fear of the unknown. There were the walls that surrounded it, and none knew what happened inside.

    It was an empty, wide street that worked as a great carpet for the entrance. It was clean; it was silent. When Kanrel looked to either side, at the intersections of the road, he could see people going by, living their lives, not giving a thought to what had passed or who might stand where he now stood. Their lack of curiosity felt strange. Isn¡¯t that which causes fear in us often the one thing that makes us the most curious? What might there be in a vast forest? Will wolves come to find me at the end of the day? Will they hunt me? Will they feast upon my corpse? Or, is there peace in that forest? Could it be that one could observe their own mind and leave behind that which they so fear? The forest became less scary; the wolves were never there, and I lost my fear.

    A sound cracked the silence and cut it in half as the solid stone doors opened before him. A blue hue blinded him for a moment, and a figure veiled in darkness stood before him. The light dissipated; it lost its potency, and the figure now had a face: a gloomy expression of someone who was forced to do an errand they¡¯d rather not partake in.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n was, by all means, unhappy, and he felt his right to express it to the world with a simple scoff and the words that followed, ¡±And I had hoped you wouldn¡¯t show up.¡±

    Kanrel opened his mouth to give a reply, but the Atheian raised his hand to stop him. ¡±Get in. Spare me the clever remarks¡ªI¡¯ve no patience for them. And would rather not waste my time on such things¡ªthings that could make me less likely to help you find that which you desire to learn.¡± Thick contempt laced his voice.

    Kanrel didn¡¯t know why such a reaction, but he could guess. The poor Atheian might have to spend the whole year within the Sanctuary in the company of a hairy monkey he wasn¡¯t too fond of.

    So he stepped inside, past Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, and the door that had come apart became whole again, solid stone covered with engravings. And what he found on the other side was a section before the Sanctuary itself. The stone floor was covered with lines and shapes that connected with the engravings on this side of the walls as well as the building before them. There was no ¡¯logic¡¯ to it or pattern, at least not one that Kanrel could find so easily; perhaps the randomness¡ªthe chaos of it¡ªwas the pattern. But that was only the second thing that he saw.

    There were globes that levitated above the ground. A dark substance. Smooth and perfect. It had no reflection; it had no shadow¡­ It was black, dark¡ªan absence, a void that seemed to devour the space it occupied. It was the lack of something.

    He stared at it, and he could not look away. It felt lonely; it felt like a great mist that inhabited his mind at times; it was cold, it was empty, it was¡­ horrible. It was the death of a loved one. It was the death of a dream he had once had.

    Yet another scoff broke this moment, these feelings that surged and tried to conquer his mind: ¡±We all see something within it, and always it is certainly different. It isn¡¯t that it is its purpose; it isn¡¯t meant to show us anything grand or mysterious; it only shows us what we have within.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n explained.

    ¡±I wonder what you saw, Darshi, if anything at all..." He then muttered and grabbed Kanrel¡¯s arm and pulled him with him toward the second set of doors, and even then Kanrel could not look away, for he felt a wound within that had not fully healed, one from so long ago that now hurt the same way it had hurt back then. They entered, and at last, the globe of lack of something was blocked from his view. The walls of the building now veil the visions of the outside; the globes were just a warning; the forest was getting darker, and now, Kanrel was certain that the forest was one filled with wolves.

    ¡±Why must I drag you as well? Can¡¯t you find direction on your own? Have you always been so lost?¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n complained as they went deeper in and their steps echoed as they walked through a dark entrance to a larger hall that felt to exist for the leisurely side of things. The smell of food filled the air. There were tables in the middle of this hall, and many Atheians sat around them; they ate, and some seemed to read as they ate; some were immersed in deep conversations, and others in the creation of intricate magical devices, be they ¡¯simple¡¯ spells or actual magical devices the likes of which Kanrel had never seen before.

    Some raised their gazes from whatever they were doing and saw Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n and the human he dragged along. Their gazes filled with both curiosity and absolute disregard, at times within the eyes of the same person. How could one be so conflicted between these two emotions simultaneously?

    They walked into the middle of this hall, where Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n raised his voice and declared, ¡±Behold! A man!¡± The hums of conversations stopped and now even the rest of those immersed in their own doings found their gazes pointed at Kanrel, whose arm Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had lifted.

    Deep within such a forest, there are two kinds of wolves: those that are in your head, the ones that devour your mind and bring forth fear that you cannot control, and then the ones that now surround them and peer at him with their hungry eyes, filled with curiosity and disregard for his humanity.

    But a silence, one filled¡ªnot with shock or confusion¡ªwith a question soon asked by one of the many Atheians present, one who sat at a table, a tray of food before them, ¡±Really now?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A snort followed, ¡±If this is a man, I can only be disappointed.¡± They shook their head and got up. They walked before Kanrel and let their eyes examine the human before them.

    ¡±Curious decision, to bring something so peculiar yet useless to a place so sacred.¡± They spoke, and as they did, it sounded like they were thinking out loud and nothing more, just stating thoughts as they entered their mind, ¡±Here, we are all equal; the one place in our society where there are no serfs or nobles, no poor or rich, no old nor young; we do not even discriminate based on one¡¯s health. After all, here, we are all just Atheian¡­" As they spoke, they brought their hand to Kanrel¡¯s chin and gently tilted his head from left to right, in the end returning it where it was before.

    Their hand fell down. ¡±It isn¡¯t so any longer.¡±

    ¡±You don¡¯t belong here, Darshi. Here, you are as if a deviant, a nonbeliever amongst the pure, a predator to knowledge none should ever give you or entertain the idea of giving you. You are dangerous, even if you hold on to your facade of purity.¡± They spoke and chuckled, ¡±I wonder, will you corrupt us with your lust for knowledge, or will we, in the end, devour you before you devour us?¡±

    A wry smile garnished the face of the Atheian, their gray skin glistened beneath the blue light that descended from above. ¡±What did you see, Darshi? What did you see when faced with nothing?¡±

    A question Kanrel wasn¡¯t allowed to answer, as the figure before them offered their hand to him, ¡±I heard that even your people know the benefits of a proper greeting paired with an introduction¡­¡±

    ¡±Allow me to do just that.¡±

    ¡±Here, where we are supposedly equals, I shall give you no titles, only a simple name¡­¡±

    ¡±You shall call me Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t.¡± They announced and awaited for the human to grab their hand, which Kanrel did, even when cold sweat ran down his back, followed by shivers that went up his spine. Their hands touched; theirs so warm, Kanre¡¯s so cold.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s wry smile sharpened as an edge entered their pale blue eyes. Their hands soon separated, and Kanrel was unable to say for certain if the Atheian he had just shook hands with had said even a single truth. Even their name felt like a lie, as what it meant when translated was ¡¯what truth?¡¯

    Kanrel lay down on his new bed, finally in a room that would have most felt like home to him. It was almost exactly like his room at the Academy of the Heavenly. Small, uncomfortable, with an even more uncomfortable bed; a small table with a shelf above it, and a ceiling that, no matter how long he stared at it, refused to become apart, to fracture and change, to be something else than what it already was.

    Inside, there were no engravings to garnish the walls; rather, everything seemed so dull. This wasn¡¯t a place to appreciate the complexities of architecture or art, at least when it came to the usual things one could call art. Here, the only art was the arcane, as they called it. The weaving of complex magical mechanisms, be they, what Kanrel would call codes, and they ¡¯sequences of actions made with magic¡¯ or a device that, with the turning of cogs and wheels, meant to apparently show the time, as it were¡ªall with magic.

    Time. Indeed, time. It had barely been the first day, and they had run around the Sanctuary, sometimes leading and sometimes being dragged by Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who would give, at times, long-winded explanations of the things that were around them and, at other times, laconic and sparse words of other things. He would go into great detail about a thing that had happened near or in the library during his ¡±studies¡± but would give little detail about the library itself. And when Kanrel had tried to ask questions about, for example, the library, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n would instead go into further detail about the funny thing that happened years or decades ago.

    This tour had ended in this very room; the captain had led him in and closed the door behind him, not saying another word, not bidding a good night, nor giving any word of what they might do tomorrow, or when, or where. Nothing, just nothing.

    So far, the Sanctuary had given him only one definite answer: he did not belong here. He was an invader, a demon who was a threat to the sanctity of their recluse. Someone, who better leave sooner rather than later. For if he did not, the wolves would surely devour him first.

    Perhaps he should¡¯ve never sought entrance. Perhaps, he should¡¯ve just entered the veil with the limited information that he now had. This or that. He was certain that he would regret both.

    He closed his eyes, as the ceiling remained the same; it would not change; it would remain dull and cold, just a place where one would lose their sight, a place on which one would paint their own emotions, doubts, and worries, and if one were lucky, their dreams and hopes. Most aren¡¯t so lucky.

    And what he saw on that ceiling, wasn¡¯t just its dullness, but what he saw within the nothing; the dark globe. Cold, empty and so very lonely. Why must dreams die?

    Ash traversed the streets of an empty city; great towers ruined and brought to rubble, walls once high and mighty now just a memory of safety. A labor of love disgraced and left at the mercy of erosion; a proclaimed freedom left to rot.

    He stood alone on such a street and looked ahead. Remembering what once had been. He had built this city; he had made it great. He had given freedom to all men and life to those who were destined to die. A merciful god, who had led his people to a haven, where they all might live in bliss and peace; no longer would wars and the ills of gods dictate their lives, for they were free to live and die as they pleased.

    Yet, it was all in ruins. Empty. Dead. A graveyard of hope. Of freedom and salvation.

    He shook his head in shame. What had they done? What had we done? Aren¡¯t we not to blame?

    The golden sun laid its warm rays upon his skin of scales. A golden butterfly flew past him, so free and beautiful, to flutter without a thought of fear or an understanding of who you are; there are no doubts. It was free as it flew. It was free, as it died.

    The butterfly scorched by flames fell to the ground and became one with the rubble.

    He had done so to so many of them. Not butterflies such as the one that now lay on the cobbles of the street, but his people, them too he had scorched; them too, he had murdered.

    So lonely was the corpse of the butterfly, but the ash took it with it, and the wind carried away the dead.

    ¡±Ash, just ash¡ªour words and those we were supposed to lead and protect¡­¡± He looked at him, and our eyes met as he asked, ¡±I wonder when given all the choices a man could make, would you choose goodness or the comfort and ignorance of blissful evil?¡± The wind grew greater, a howl that pierced the ears with its sound, and ash covered everything that one could see¡­

    A violent cough that felt like it would rip either his throat or lungs apart woke him up. His room was filled with a terrible smell, and his vision was made hazy by what seemed like smoke. Kanrel looked for the cause of this smoke, the cause of his discomfort. Was it fire? Was the whole damn place aflame?

    He frantically looked around his little room and soon found the cause of all of this. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n sat not too far away from him, with a pipe in his hand; they inhaled deeply and blew smoke at Kanrel¡¯s face. The smell was disgusting, thick and foul, a musty smell.

    ¡±Took you long enough.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n said after a while, ¡±It feels like I¡¯ve been sitting here for hours. There really isn¡¯t anything more boring than looking at you, you see.¡±

    ¡±And I think I know this better than most. You are quite dull. And I don¡¯t just mean your monkey brain under that hairy monkey scalp of yours.¡±

    ¡±It is just that¡­ You must be quite average for a human, look-wise, I mean. You aren¡¯t ugly enough to be interesting because of it, nor are you a considerable beauty, not even in an exotic sense. Instead, you are as dull as your personality¡­ Like the taste of room temperature water.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n explained and took another long hit from his pipe; he blew the smoke at Kanrel, which caused another fit of coughs.

    ¡±Get up, will you? Or shall I insult you the rest of the day? We can do that as well; I have much to say, you see, but it would instill within me great boredom, as I know for a fact that you¡¯re far too afraid to utter even a singular response.¡± The Atheian sighed, ¡±Dull, indeed.¡±

    Kanrel got up and sat on the edge of the bed; he closely peered at the Atheian. ¡±I never expected this from you,¡± he said.

    ¡±This?¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n asked.

    Kanrel produced a smirk. ¡±This level of enthusiasm. There has never been anyone, not Darshi or Atheian, who has awaited me to awake, just to spend the day with me.¡±

    ¡±If I could feel touched, I am certain that I would be. I wonder¡­ would I feel loved?¡± He asked and got up from the bed, promptly leaving his little chamber, where an Atheian sat coughing his lungs out.

 Chapter 102: A Garden Overrun

    For one moment, you think that you¡¯re the shadow that had left the cave and reached the glory of the sun, but then you realize that you have only gone from one cave to another. Truth still remains elusive; something you cannot quite grasp; something left in the shadows that lie past the presumed truth of the lights.

    The others seldom made contact with him. Instead, they would avert any forms of communication. When questioned, they would ignore them. When confronted, they would simply walk away, although they might stare a bit longer than usual, holding on their faces expressions of contempt, even curiosity, and some an apologetic look. Not all wished to ignore a source of apparent curiosity; not all felt outright hatred or mistrust toward the Darshi. But either way, there seemed to be a rule in place: Only Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n was to communicate with Kanrel. And even he only did it because he was ordered to¡­

    In the cave, there was inherent isolation, but one that held a sense of solitude where one could find comfort or at least one didn¡¯t feel like an outsider. How is it that a man can be lonely when surrounded by others, but not when isolated from them? How can social and emotional isolation feel so much colder than physical isolation? Had he truly changed so much from that young boy that he had been, who cared not for the closeness of friends or acquaintances? Had he grown into a man who now yearned for the touch of others, to hold conversations with people who shared his interests, who were willing to meet him eye-to-eye and relate to him on a human level? Or had he always yearned for such a thing but been unable to realize such a desire back then?

    Desires¡­ Something priests should never have, yet it was clear that all priests had them; all men had them. There wasn¡¯t a singular man in existence who didn¡¯t wish for something, be it in pursuit of materialistic desires, emotional or intellectual.

    But priests, they were supposed to deny them. Yet these thoughts, these desires in constant repetition, would swirl around in their heads. Reminding them of what they had lost. How they, too, once could relish love and enjoy even the simpler things in life, like a nice cup of tea on a spring day, whilst looking out a window as the first flowers pushed themselves from beneath the snow and the frozen ground that trapped nature and its colors for far too long.

    But instead, he was here. Another cave. One where the light had shone, where the desire for true knowledge could be sated. A cave that would, in the end, give only more questions that one would want answers for.

    So far, he had garnered a list of things he wanted to learn more about: the Walls and their purpose; the creation and history of magical devices; other expeditions and information of the veil and past the veil, as well as theories about the veil itself; other relevant information, mostly regarding magic and the theory of it as seen from the Atheian perspective; and, lastly, the symbol that he had seen, the chained, red eye.

    Initially, he had such a list, but now it only grew in size as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n showed around the Sanctuary: the Globes of Darkness, a new thing he wanted to learn more about; what was their purpose? Then, there was a tunnel the captain showed him¡­ Deep below the ground, there was a tunnel, and that tunnel went on and on. Each part of it was well-lit until one reached the end of that tunnel, where there was a sudden wall of darkness. Two Atheians stood there as if to guard that darkness; they held in their hands two crystals, one lit and the other not; they would take turns keeping their crystal lit, and every hour or so, a third Atheian would enter the tunnel and take the place of one of the two that stood there. And that Atheian would stand there on guard for the next two hours until someone came to release and replace them.

    It seemed to serve no purpose. Why not just wall that section off? Why risk the possibility of the Veil entering the Sanctuary any further than it possibly already had?

    And then, there was the third newer point of interest¡­ Something that he remembered on his fourth day in the Sanctuary: one of the members of the Council of Many Faces seemed to hold some form of curiosity toward Kanrel¡¯s theory of magic¡­ This made him wonder one simple question: Would this particular council member show themselves here? Hidden in plain sight, as just another scholarly Atheian submerged in their studies of the arcane.

    On the fifth day of his stay, he was finally allowed to enter the library and read whichever books he wished to read. Thus, he began with the first point of interest on his little list: the Walls.

    With a rather bored Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n along with him, he walked around the cramped library; shelves upon shelves of books, parchment, vellum, scrolls, and tablets filled with engravings, all at his disposal with only two problems in sight. Where would we begin? And, would a year be enough?

    Without much guidance, he walked between the shelves, picking up a book, reading a page or two, and then placing it back from where he had taken it from. There was this particular smell in the air. Not one of the old books that he was used to. One of the smells that created the complicated texture that had mixed up together in this cramped space must have been the smell of old leather, caused by the vellum. A light gray substance, like the vellum one could find within the many libraries of the Priesthood; of course, this vellum was most likely made from Atheian skin. But what else could they use as paper before finding whatever they use now to create it? Stone is far too heavy, after all.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n let out a long sigh and pushed past Kanrel, ¡±I even have to find for you what you¡¯re looking for.¡± He mumbled as he went by and reached a shelf not too far away; from there he picked up an old book, one made from the aforementioned gray vellum. He carefully opened it and eyed the text before shutting it and giving it to Kanrel.

    Kanrel looked at the book and accepted it. ¡±Walls?¡± he asked.

    ¡±Walls.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n replied and then guided Kanrel deeper into the library, where they could find an opening, an area populated with a table and four chairs. On one of the chairs, an Atheian sat; their eyes were closed, and they seemed to be sleeping. They were clearly an older Atheian, and they somewhat resembled Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n; but then again, to Kanrel, most of them looked far too similar to tell apart.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n forced Kanrel to sit down and pulled himself a chair as well so that they could read the same book. ¡±I¡¯ll explain the symbols that you don¡¯t recognize.¡± He explained, urging Kanrel to begin reading.

    Kanrel placed the book on the table and opened it; the pages felt somewhat fragile, so he remained careful as he turned the page and read along the symbols that once had been alien to him:

    ¡±It is said that despair can give sight to those who are lost. It may offer whispers that it claims to be the truth.

    The Empress heard such whispers as she traversed with the rest of us, from the stairway down which we were forced to where our new sun shone brightly above us. We all heard whispers. We were so hungry.

    The whispers, she told me, gave her a vision of something that is to come; of a great destruction that will, again, force us to live differently from how we wish to live. She foresaw an innumerable amount of deaths in our future; she foresaw that only the construction of the Walls could save us, at least most of us.

    Her despair gave her a truth no man can deny: we did not deserve this fate, thus we must do everything to avoid the repetition of it. Have we not gone through enough of the undeserved punishments forced upon us by greater beings, who so clearly lack benevolence?

    What kind of gods force their divine punishment onto the herd that they have gathered?

    It is seen as insanity to build something that makes no sense. It is insanity to try to make others believe that you are sane as you do it. It is insanity to have the rest, the willing and the unwilling, join you in the building of what could only be considered insanity.

    The Walls rose high, yet this form of insanity helped us atone for the sins of our past; not those committed above the ground, but those committed within the darkness of these caves. We were once so hungry.

    A monument to our crimes; one built to protect us from what we had done. This work has set us free. The pain of construction numbs the mind; thus there are no thoughts, and you begin to forget the unjust crimes that you had done. I can no longer taste them. I want to forget their taste.

    What she truly saw, if anything at all, we will never know. But even then, the Empress had made us build this monument of insanity, laced with magic most would not understand¡­ All that is to be known is this: it will save us when we most need to be saved.¡±

    Kanrel paused. He wondered if the destruction that the Empress had foreseen was the arrival of the shadows or if there was something else, something more to come. Something that the Angels had foreseen as well¡­ He continued reading for a while; it was mostly things that he already knew¡ªmore things about the construction of the Walls, as well as the Empress and how she became one with the walls; the fear in her eyes, as she became solid stone, one doomed to peer at the east and to await the destruction that she must¡¯ve foreseen. The next section loosely focused on the engravings that cover the Walls:

    ¡±I am but a mere individual, and even though I dabble in the arcane and partook in forming the complex engravings that garnish the walls from the bottom to the top, even I know only a little of what the construct does as a whole. And I am certain that there are just a few individuals that do¡­ The Empress being among them, she, after all, was a great patron of the art of magic during the old empire, and some even claim that she was there to form the once-secret society we know now as the Universal Truth, a collection of mages who¡¯ve vowed to give their lives for the good future of all Atheians; it is no wonder then that an egalitarian culture dominates their ranks.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    The Empress seemed to believe that all men, perhaps, aren¡¯t created equal but have an equal possibility to do or become something or someone great. One just needs a chance to become who they are, perhaps, destined to become¡ªif one believes in destiny, that is.

    The engraving that we used, to the surprise of all of us, is not of an Atheian language, nor is it a Sharan language either; instead, we used a language of those who we thought not to have one. The Kurikulai, a species of somewhat sentient beings that we fought many times, are a rather barbaric bunch, but apparently, their society is much more complex than what most of us knew to be.

    It is not easy for an Atheian to accept that we weren¡¯t the first to be here; that there were great civilizations long before our time, with complicated concepts like writing, reading, and even architecture. After all, the very concept of magical devices is borrowed from them, although nowadays we mostly use our own language, which apparently borrows a great deal from the Kurikulai. But it is clear that the written form of the language looks more like the fake writing of a child and nothing more. A seemingly random, but obviously rhythmic formation of symbols that only a trained eye can recognize¡­

    Before the end times of the Old Empire, we had only a little contact with the beasts of the south. And we, wrongly, assumed them to be animals with the intelligence of lions or that of hyenas. They aren¡¯t individualistic, but even more herd-like in their ways than what we, the Atheains, or even the Darshi are.

    But even then, there was some push for more expeditions to the south, all of which were blocked by those higher in the hierarchy at the time. Now, with this new information, which might or might not have some validity and truth to it, one begs to ask a question: What did they try to hide from us?¡±

    Kanrel stopped reading again. He looked at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who seemed immersed in the text.

    ¡±What on earth is a ¡¯Kurikulai¡¯?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n didn¡¯t reply at first; instead, he kept reading. After a while, he met Kanrel¡¯s gaze, who had kept staring at him while waiting for an answer, ¡±If I recall correctly, it is something that your kind has dealt with as well¡­ I think you called them ¡¯Wild-something.¡¯¡± He replied at last, ¡±Also, I know that Atheian beauty is something you cannot quite comprehend, but I would appreciate it if you didn¡¯t stare at me so intently¡­ It feels quite awkward to focus on something when someone stares at me so blatantly¡­¡± He added.

    Kanrel nodded, ¡±We call them Wildkin¡­ I had no idea they had a language; our perception of them is similar to that presented in the text. In our eyes, they know only to devour; nothing else.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed, ¡±Then, even now, no one really knows anything about them. Makes one wonder if the Sharan have contact with them, or if they too ignore them as nothing else than just animals.¡±

    Kanrel turned to the next page. ¡±It wouldn¡¯t be that surprising to me. What I¡¯ve learned of the Sharan is this: They are as foolish as us, and the only way in which they differ is how powerful they have become.¡±

    He read further ahead, but the book seemed to have nothing else of importance to offer. One just got a better understanding of the writer, how they saw the world; the regrets that they seemed to have, as well as their opinions about many different things, such as politics and the philosophy of the arcane. To them, it seemed that magic is inherently beautiful. A form of art Atheians try their best to understand, like poetry, through it one can express so much, and not just its more practical and destructive properties. ¡±Imagine a garden; for future generations, a garden is a place where one can plant flowers of many different colors; to put it as simply as one can, a garden is something that is beautiful to the eye. But I see it as something more than just a thing of beauty. A garden is something that takes a considerable effort to keep alive and in order.

    We often see nature as something chaotic, and we Atheians are creatures who hold order in great importance. A garden is a piece of nature; thus chaos, mixed with the Atheian ability to control it. Magic is as such; magic is nature, and the arcane is like a garden, an Atheian art to practice control with nature itself. It too can be a thing of beauty; just one as complicated as is nature itself.¡±

    The later parts of the book delved into such thoughts until it reached a point of yearning. A point of need past which the writer never seemed to get. Often mentioning things like ¡±thirst¡± and ¡±emptiness¡± as they reached their peak in their abilities. Soon, the arcane became like a garden overrun by nature and neglect. Its flowers were now unable to give the writer the joy they had once felt.

    At last, Kanrel closed the book; they had spent hours in the library, sitting and reading at that table, with another Atheian sitting across from them, sleeping.

    ¡±You could¡¯ve picked a more interesting book an hour or two ago¡­¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n complained as Kanrel seemed to ponder what he had just read.

    Kanrel opened his mouth to answer, but someone else spoke first: ¡±You still disregard the sentimental side of things?¡± The voice was of a person who had just awoken from a deep slumber, and perhaps because of this, they cleared their throat and repeated what they had just said.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed, ¡±What is the use of such things? Sure, it might offer comfort, but what does anyone do with comfort if it isn¡¯t something tangible?¡±

    The Atheian across from them chuckled, ¡±So you would prefer a hug¡ªis what you¡¯re trying to say.¡±

    ¡±Yes. That is exactly what I am trying to say.¡±

    ¡±Very sentimental of you.¡± The Atheian pointed and soon stretched their limbs, after which they finally noticed Kanrel, ¡±Curious.¡± They muttered, ¡±You can read. Do you speak our language as well?¡±

    ¡±Don¡¯t answer. I will just assume that you do. We aren¡¯t supposed to converse either way; I¡¯ll get into trouble if our mutual friend here,¡± they said and looked at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, ¡±decides to report me to the others.¡± They let out a long sigh and stared at Kanrel for a while. ¡±I¡¯d love to converse with you and go over gardens and such; perhaps you might explain to me why one needs flowers and why they have many colors¡­ but alas, apparently, we aren¡¯t supposed to.¡±

    ¡±I personally see no harm in it; even if you might be a deviant among the pure; even if you might devour us; I¡¯d still like to know what a flower is¡­¡± They lamented and got up from their chair, ¡±Perhaps another time; years from now, in a place that keeps its word and remains equal.¡± They said, bidding Kanrel farewell.

    Kanrel looked as the tall Atheian disappeared behind the shelves that surrounded them; they had seemed old, much older than any Atheian he had met so far.

    ¡±Who was he?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed, ¡±My grandfather.¡±

    Kanrel looked at him with surprise. ¡±You never told me you had a family. Also, no wonder he seemed somewhat familiar; even his personality is similar to yours.¡±

    ¡±Of course not. Was I supposed to? Also, why the hell would I ever tell you about my family?¡±

    Kanrel sighed, ¡±Well if you did, you might actually become as ¡¯interesting¡¯ as you claim yourself to be.¡±

    ¡±Whatever.¡±

    The dreams that he saw became more frequent as the days went by. Repeatedly, he would see similar things. A city in ruin, its streets covered with ash, and an angel who walked there, lamenting the mistakes they had made.

    At other times, he would see a globe and a creature at the center of it. Their limbs were chained to the globe around them, their eyes closed, yet within Kanrel could hear their call.

    In another dream, he was immersed in the shadows; how they swelled around him; how they whispered and screamed at him. Demanding that he would be the one to remember the injustice that they had gone through. In their voices, there remained blame, not only for those who were the cause of their death but also for the living.

    Some dreams would repeat themselves, like the dream he had of being one with the Walls. And each time he woke up from that dream, he would wonder if those who had become one with the Walls of the City of Last Light still lived, even when they had become stone, even when they had become a part of what was claimed to be needed to save the Atheians from a great destruction that is bound to happen.

    It became clear, as days went by. There would be no rest for him here. The dreams would get worse. They would become more frequent, and for what reason? Why exactly? It was the Voice he had conversed with who taunted him; he was sure of it. Who else could it be? But who that Voice truly was, he could only guess. All he knew was that they were someone connected to even the fall of Kalma and the fall of N¡¯Sharan; thus, they could only be one of the Nine Magi, and perhaps, they were Ignar Orcun, but which of the Angels was he then?

    He also began explaining and teaching Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n how his ¡¯theory of magic and coding¡¯ worked, but his appointed guide didn¡¯t seem that interested in the whole topic, although he did take detailed notes and tried each and everything that Kanrel taught him. The captain did his duty, even when he seemed terribly bored whilst doing said duty.

    In the first two months, he focused on finding things about the Walls and their history, and the language they had used in its engravings. He found a great deal of interesting things, most of which served no purpose to him. The language used remained a mystery, as there seemed to be no book to offer him an explanation on how it worked, what it meant, or anything else related to that; there were only mentions of what language it was, and that those who had done the engravings knew only what their own section was supposed to mean, yet, for a reason or another, even in their personal diaries, they refused to share what their section of the Walls meant¡­

    So, soon enough, he moved to the next thing on his list, one that had now become somewhat related to the Walls and their history: magical devices, how they work, and how they are made. Perhaps, through this, he would finally learn what was the dagger-looking medallion that Yirn had used to become an eldritch monstrosity.

    At the end of one such day, he sat down at his meager table, one that was now covered with notebooks he had brought with him, new and old alike, all either full or in the process of becoming full. In times like these, he felt like one of those notebooks. Used and spent. Filled to the brim with new information, most of it certainly useless, but either way, something that probably had some inherent value to it. By now, he wrote not out of necessity or gain but habit. Of course, he could place his thoughts on a piece of paper, and it would help him process said thoughts, be they emotions or just concepts that he struggled with or had to connect to something else so that they might become whole.

    It would help to have someone who would bounce these thoughts around with him. Just someone, anyone, who he could trust with everything that happened in his head; not only the complicated emotions but also the just-learned information. But he was stuck here. Alone with his regrets, one of them being the very act of coming here. He certainly needed to come here and to learn all of that he had read so far, but did it all have to be so¡­ so¡­ lonely?

    If only he were a true hermit, might he survive this that he supposed to be loneliness? He missed the frequent visits of Y¡¯Kraun and Gar. What was the use of all this new knowledge, all this that now filled his head, if it left him feeling emptier than he had been months before? Was what he received in return worth the cost of it?

    Wasn¡¯t knowledge in itself enough of a prize? Hadn¡¯t he always valued it above everything else? What of his duty to knowledge, the very thing that was represented on the Iduldian coat of arms?

    He scoffed at his own thoughts, at himself. It was obvious that such musings were of no use; such questions were those he already knew the answers to: he had changed; everything had changed. He hadn¡¯t been that boy for years now. And he had lost the ability to earnestly appreciate such things on an emotional level. All he could do was argue in his mind that he did, in fact, appreciate such things, but never could he ever again feel it to be so. There would always be just that lack of something. A thirst.

    He chuckled without a bit of humor. He had become like the author of the book he had read some months back. His garden, too, had become overrun; he no longer could appreciate the flowers that grew in it.

 Chapter 103: A Tunnel at the Edge of Darkness

    ¡±Where are we going now?¡± Kanrel asked as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n led him down the corridor, soon taking an abrupt turn to the left. It was a corridor they had once visited before, but that was months back when the captain showed him around the Sanctuary.

    ¡±To do what we all have to do¡­ Which is ridiculous if you ask me. We have better things to do. You doing your reading and learning and whatnot, and me herding you around like the serf that you are.¡± He mumbled back, and they went down a staircase, and by now, Kanrel could guess what he had meant.

    The tunnel went on and on with lanterns placed on either side in equal intervals. There wasn¡¯t even a singular spot of darkness; not a shadow that cast itself upon its walls; there¡¯d be one only right beneath them, for even above them, there were blue crystals. When they had first come down here, they hadn¡¯t gone till the end, only until they could see the two Atheians that stood guard at the end of it, at the edge of darkness. Now, they went beyond that point, toward the awaiting Atheian whom they would release from their turn in the tunnel.

    The one they would release seemed rather tired. Their expression told it all. He had stood there for two hours by now; the lantern in their hand remained well-lit, but there seemed to be no light in their eyes as if all of this had been a form of suffering¡ªor just very boring. Kanrel didn¡¯t recognize them, but the pained Atheian seemed rather thankful as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n took their place.

    But then there was the other Atheian, who seemed rather amused by the situation. And they were someone Kanrel knew to be aware of and even be wary of.

    ¡±It is as I hoped it would be.¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t said and smiled as their previous company departed, ¡±It is so¡­ difficult to find a place where we might converse in earnest, without guile or blatant lies, which we use to withhold a mask, a wanted understanding of ourselves.¡±

    ¡±Here, there isn¡¯t a need to be polite; here, at the edge of darkness, a simple shove might end a life.¡± They spoke and shifted their gaze from Kanrel to the almost solid darkness that was just a meter or so away.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n snorted, ¡±You dare speak to him in such a manner when he is in my company?¡±

    ¡±I never knew you to be so¡­ foolish.¡± He added.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s smile widened. ¡±Times have changed; one man¡¯s foolishness has become another¡¯s bravery¡­ You should know this by now, old friend.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n rolled his eyes. ¡±Indeed, times have changed; you seem to no longer know your place.¡±

    ¡±But I will forgive you¡ªjust this once, though.¡± He said and peered at the veil, ¡±But if or when push comes to shove, we both know how that would end." Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n then locked his gaze with Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t and asked, ¡±Have you ever touched it? Have you ever¡­ felt it? Here, you may only hear the whispers, but at least they reside at the edges of your hearing; but for others, they are at the edge of one¡¯s mind¡­¡±

    ¡±Friend, or whatever you claim to be or once was, say what you wish to say, but remember, the Darshi is part of my mission, and I always complete a given mission with utmost perfection¡­¡±

    ¡±I don¡¯t make mistakes unless I can rectify them in an instant.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n finished and observed as Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s smile perished.

    ¡±Very well.¡± They replied, then moved their gaze to Kanrel, ¡±Tell me, what is it that you claim as your goal here? Speak.¡±

    Kanrel had peered at the veil throughout their exchange, but now, finally, he managed to pull his gaze from the abyss; finally, he found that he had a reason to look at something else.

    ¡±A way back home, simple.¡± Kanrel replied, the honesty leaving a bitter taste. He could have lied, of course¡ªeasily¡ªbut what point was there in deception when the truth already felt so heavy?

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t shook their head. ¡±Then why are you reading about the walls? Why do you take an interest in the devices that we know how to make? Do you plan to steal our technology and use it to your advantage when you finally, if ever, reach that home of yours?¡± They asked.

    Kanrel blinked. ¡±I just find it interesting. I am a scholar, after all. Such things are what someone like me would most desire. It might not be useful to me in any way; it is not like I could easily replicate any of the things that I have seen here.¡± He explained.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t raised their brow, ¡±Perhaps it is so, but you should know as a ¡¯scholar¡¯ what such knowledge could mean. And it doesn¡¯t matter if you can¡¯t replicate something easily, as your statement in itself would mean that you plan to at least try¡­¡±

    ¡±Darshi, you should spend your time here quietly; lock yourself in your room and do not enter our library, not even once, not even in passing..."

    "Your kind has no place here.¡± They said through gritted teeth. Their eyes had flared by now; a fire burned within, one of complicated hatred toward him. One that Kanrel was unable to grasp or fully understand. To them, he should be nothing more than a roach, one so powerless that it should never be able to endanger or cause fear in such a creature. Of course, he did not belong here. He didn¡¯t even want to be here.

    ¡±Why are you afraid?¡± Kanrel asked, without really thinking if he should ask such a question or not.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s eyes widened, the fire in their eyes perished, and they looked away; their gaze locked with the abyss as they stood there in silence for a moment. It was as if they tried to find something within that darkness; their eyes scanned it so wildly, then their gaze focused on something, perhaps a decision they had finally managed to make; their brows quivered as they turned back to Kanrel, then they asked, at last, ¡±And what have you seen within the globes?¡±

    ¡±What do you mean?¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t scoffed, ¡±If you tell me what you saw in them, then I shall share with you what I saw¡­¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n snorted, ¡±That is ridiculous. You know that the globes give you no perception of the future; what they show you are hardly real in any way; they are only as real as your own fears and desires¡­¡±

    ¡±Really? Then am I wrong to let this fear dictate these actions of mine when said fears could so easily come true? It is what I saw long before its arrival¡­ I saw it with my own two eyes; I saw how it destroyed our sanctuary and brought our kind to the brink of destruction once more¡­¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t spat out their words; their face had become a mask of fear and anger.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed, ¡±And I saw only poverty and slavery. Yet here I am, rich and free.¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t grinned, ¡±And did you not take every action you could to become free, to become rich? Was it not your fear and desires that made you the man you are today?¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had no reply; he just stared at his ¡¯old friend.¡¯

    Kanrel was left stuck with this thought: Was it fear and desire that had made him the man he was now? Had fear shaped the path he now walked? What about Yirn? Was his desire to destroy what he saw as unjust the reason behind his actions?

    A chill ran down Kanrel¡¯s spine, and in silence, they spent the rest of their time together in the tunnel until Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t got released by another Atheian less than an hour later.

    But before Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t left, he spoke, ¡±Darshi, I am sure that we will converse again¡­ And I do beseech you to take heed of my words¡­ Do not become what I fear you might already be.¡± Their voice was gentle, and they even faked a smile. ¡±I don¡¯t hate you; I only hate what you might cause.¡±

    When they departed, Kanrel felt that he could finally breathe. He could finally think through the conversation they had had. In silence near the edge of darkness, he let his mind empty itself upon that abyss.

    As a priest, he was prone to belief, even in things like prophecy, when a rational mind would always tell him that such things would and should never be possible. In his youth, it had been because of pure belief, but now, he found Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s words to be more than eerie; even when it would be unlikely, the possibility of what they saw could still happen; perhaps just not quite how they saw it.

    During the time spent within the visions that the Voice gave him, everything had become so confused and difficult to fully grasp. Had the Angel of Time truly seen all that could happen? Were things predetermined to a point where one could say which possibility was most likely?

    Would he, or another Darshi, become the ending from and for below?

    Weeks went by in repetition, much of the time spent looking for a specific book instead of reading, as there were thousands upon thousands of books within the library. And not even Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n as his guide could they find the correct ones as quickly as Kanrel wished. At least this lack of reading gave time for Kanrel to further teach his rather bored guide most of the theory of magic he had devised.

    Within the silence of the library, one can find many interesting¡ªoften old, sometimes quite new in the grand scheme of things¡ªtopics of interest to pursue, be it someone¡¯s short stint of study into the benefits of abstaining from the very use of magic, mostly as a form of meditation, to combat the constant desire that one might have for the use of it; to perhaps prolong one¡¯s ability to enjoy it, these studies, sadly, were found to be useless, as the author failed to find a way to push further an Atheian''s threshold for magic in general. This would mean that no matter what, one would always reach their ceiling in ability; one would always be left empty and unable to reach a greater pinnacle of magic.

    There were, of course, books of magical devices, which did help Kanrel grasp how they worked much better than just looking at one and trying to figure out how they worked through that. People seemed to invent many things, most such things quite useless, in his opinion, because who would ever need a machine that creates ice? Sure, he saw its usefulness in the preservation of some things, like meat and so forth, but when such a device was quite clearly JUST for the creation of ice, then what was the use? Just small cubes that the inventor of said device would place in their drink to make it ¡±nice and cold¡± because it just ¡±tastes better like this.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Such a device would, again, use the seemingly meaningless scribble of engravings and crystals to empower a box, usually made from stone, to create a space within the box that would at all times be cold enough to freeze water¡ªnot instantly, of course, but in a few hours or so. Through this, they also found that many different liquids have different freezing temperatures, but to the disappointment of the inventor, such a finding had already been found way back in the times of the Old Empire. But at least he could now, always, drink his water extra cold.

    The engravings on the walls of the city are, indeed, very different from those that are used in everyday magical devices, such as lanterns. Thus, how they work and what they do can be easily understood if one just learns this different language they use, one that has its origins in what the Kurikulai used. But if one learned the Atheains used, they still wouldn¡¯t be able to understand the engravings on the walls. The two systems, although similar, weren¡¯t exchangeable.

    It took a while to find a book that better explained how things worked, and basically, it was much simpler than what Kanrel had at first thought. The engravings were, quite simply, just a command of what a given magical device ought to do¡ªlike a code. And the crystal was there as a way to activate said code so that the device might work. This made Kanrel wonder if the use of engravings really mattered. Couldn¡¯t he just use one of the many human languages instead of the Atheian system and then attach a crystal to it?

    It also made sense why many of the members of the council weren¡¯t so eager to learn of Kanrel¡¯s theory of magic¡­ They already used it, in a way. But only for these magical devices, and he didn¡¯t even know just how similar these two systems were in practice. Even then it felt quite disappointing. Kanrel had all but invented something someone else long before him had invented. Such was the cruelest realization of many inventors and scientists long before him; he wouldn¡¯t be the first to find nor the last to find out that his discovery was naught more than a rediscovery.

    At least, in this case, it was used for something else. He kept making notes about magical devices and how they worked, and when he would get out, he would test if he could use his own language instead of the Atheian one when creating a lantern, for example.

    But what interested him the most were magical devices from the Old Empire. But sadly, there wasn¡¯t as much written about them, as most of it was just memories of those who had lived there, as not many of such devices were brought with them. Only some necklaces and rings, a few of which were carefully described in a book Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n found for him:

    ¡±A ruby necklace, owned by a wealthy crystal miner; engravings placed onto the ruby itself, using the general system of engraving, instills warmth to the body when empowered.

    A golden ring, owned by an established family of scholars, has engravings placed on the inner part of the ring, using a general system of engraving, shrouding the user with complicated placements of light and shadow, forming an illusion of invisibility, which doesn¡¯t work when in movement.

    A small, black dagger, owned by a landlord whose family owned a large estate during the times of the Old Empire; engravings placed within the key itself, using a general system of engraving, force a short-lived transformation, about a minute or two, when stabbed to, usually the arm of the target; great for when in need of heavy lifting or a few extra hands. Warning: Do not use on other creatures; the effects might be dangerous to the user, and transformation might be a failure as well as permanent.¡±

    Kanrel stopped reading for a while. He sat there for a while as memories emerged and suppressed feelings forced themselves to the top. He reread the passage a few times, again and again. Not quite understanding what he read; not understanding how a device, which Yirn had used in a way it wasn¡¯t supposed to be used, had found itself in the hands of a fool, who then stabbed it at their own heart. Had Yirn seen someone transform in such a way before? Had they too become such an eldritch creature? Did that other person survive? Or were they too subdued by those around them? Was their transformation short-lived or permanent?

    Was it his hatred toward the Priesthood and the Kingdom the reason for all of this? The truth that he had claimed to know was one meant to ¡¯set them all free.¡¯ Yet, all that was found at the end of the things that he had done, all the wrongs he had committed, only led to his own demise. A death so disgraceful none would be able to recognize him as he were. They would only see a mass of gray and black, with twisted arms and a ripped-apart head, cut by the Herald herself.

    A friend he had been. Even in his death, Kanrel had hoped, he had wished, that he might return to him. Even now he missed him. Why did all these feelings have to be so complicated? Why was it so difficult to manage them? Why were they so¡­ muddled? It all hurt. Still, it hurt. Years had gone by, yet the wound still burned. It was bitter, this feeling¡ªthis regret he had. What if he could¡¯ve saved Yirn from himself? What if all that he needed was someone to take hold of his hand and pull him from the depths of hatred onto a shore where he might¡¯ve found understanding, trust, and love?

    Long ago, he had forgiven Yirn, even when he wasn¡¯t really in the place to forgive him. It wasn¡¯t him who had been murdered; it wasn¡¯t him who had lost a child. He had only lost a friend, who had been the cause of much terror and grief. He gritted his teeth and continued reading:

    ¡±A key, owned by the son of a famous locksmith, with engravings placed all around the surface of the key, using a general, although altered, general system of engraving, has the ability to open any and all locks.¡±

    There seemed to be one great difference between the devices created during the Old Empire and those created here: during the Old Empire, they didn¡¯t have nor did they use crystals in the creation of magical devices¡­ How did they activate them then? Was the crystal a great advancement in the creation and efficiency of magical devices or something completely and utterly useless? Again, this is something that he would have to test later on.

    Kanrel kept on reading but could feel someone¡¯s gaze. He lifted his eyes from the pages of the book and soon met Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s gaze.

    ¡±Finally.¡± He muttered, ¡±Took you long enough.¡±

    Kanrel blinked. ¡±What? Is it late already?¡±

    ¡±No. I was just curious.¡±

    ¡±About what?¡±

    ¡±You know¡­¡±

    ¡±Know what?¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n rolled his eyes. ¡±The devices, you monkey. Are you going to try to construct one?¡±

    Kanrel thought for a while. He could lie but chose not to. ¡±Yes. There are, indeed, many things that I would like to try. For example, I wonder if the use of the Atheian system of engraving is needed at all.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n raised their brows. ¡±Could you do it quite ¡¯easily?¡¯¡± he asked.

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡±I doubt it; so far I¡¯ve only dabbled with such things..." He said and then added, "You know, I once managed to completely disable one of your lanterns.¡±

    ¡±How did you manage that?¡±

    ¡±Well, you see. There is this code I created, which basically nullifies magic with which¡ª" Kanrel stopped.

    ¡±Go on.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n demanded, ¡±This is the first time you¡¯re about to tell me something even remotely interesting, so don¡¯t stop; dazzle me.¡±

    Kanrel swallowed. ¡±It nullifies magic with which it comes in contact.¡±

    ¡±Interesting. Show me.¡±

    Kanrel cursed himself. Ever the fool he was. Why would he ever feel so comfortable as to share something he should never share with anyone?

    He gritted his teeth, scanned around the room, and found a lantern that hung from one of the shelves; he used a simple code to levitate it to them. The lantern and its crystal shone quite dimly. He placed it on the table, near his notebook; he opened an empty page on it and began to write. He recreated the code he had used before, one that entailed all the things that he knew that magic could do. The shapes and forms, its attributes, and all the things that magic could achieve. From creation to destruction to everything in between. Another long code, this one even longer than the previous one, and when he was done, he met Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s gaze.

    ¡±Could you promise me something?¡± He asked, in his eyes there was an empty look.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n tilted his head. ¡±Depends.¡±

    Kanrel sighed, ¡±Never share this with anyone, for it might cause harm so great that what Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t saw within the globes could become a reality.¡± He whispered, even when he knew that there wouldn¡¯t be another Atheian close enough to hear his words.

    They stared at each other for a long while. Then, after a minute or so, the Atheian scoffed, ¡±Perhaps it would be better not to know¡­¡± He mused, ¡±But you and I both know¡ªI must know.¡±

    ¡±I can¡¯t make a promise I can¡¯t keep¡­¡± He then said, and a slight smile found itself upon his face as he leaned back on his chair, ¡±But I suppose I could pretend that I never saw anything¡­ You know, I¡¯m good at things like that¡­ Lying, and so forth.¡±

    ¡±So the real question really isn¡¯t if you can trust me or not, nor if I can keep a promise or not¡­¡± His smile faded, and he leaned closer as he asked, ¡±Kanrel, can you trust me?¡±

    Kanrel thought about it for a while, and the answer was no; he couldn¡¯t trust him. He had no reason to trust him. But at least Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n wasn¡¯t likely to want his death; he simply wasn¡¯t interested enough to want his death.

    So he made a decision he would regret. He focused his gaze and his mind on the crystal that shone dimly on the table. He visualized what he wanted to do, knowing all too well what would follow; he released the code. A wave of nausea struck him. The world around him began to spin, the shelves of the library merged together, and everything went black, yet he remained awake; a burst of blue light exploded within that darkness, and whispers swirled from all around, like the collection of a thousand voices emerging into one point, and injected itself directly into his mind: ¡±Death, Ignar, what could I know of death? Aren¡¯t I immortal? So tell me, how are you going to kill a god?¡±

    The whispers and the light became one; the shelves of the library returned, and the world still spun but soon returned to something normal; the crystal lay there before him, dormant, empty, without the dim light it once used to offer.

    Kanrel¡¯s mouth felt so dry as he picked it up; his hands shook as he tried to turn the light back on, but it refused to do so. He gave it to Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who hesitantly accepted it.

    He peered at the crystal and rotated around; he too tried to turn it back on, and as he realized what had happened, he dropped the crystal, and it hit the table, causing a quiet thump as it hit its surface.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s gaze remained pointed at the crystal. ¡±We will not speak of this again. This never happened. I saw nothing.¡± He said and then looked at the notebook where the code was written, ¡±Burn the page; never share it with anyone else. Not for your safety, but for the safety of my people.¡±

    Kanrel did as he was commanded; he ripped the page on which he had written the code, he burned it, and in an instant, it flared and turned into ash.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n got up. ¡±We are done for today. Go get some rest.¡± The Atheian stormed off, and Kanrel was left sitting all alone in the middle of the shelves of the library. His body shook as he had to deal with the aftereffects of using such a code.

    He felt disgusted with himself. He felt bare and hollow. He felt so cold even when it had been so warm moments before. He felt afraid, not because of what he had seen moments ago; he felt fear because that is what he had seen in Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s eyes.

    He got up and, taking support from the objects around him, his legs felt so weak as he navigated through the library, his heart pounding for no apparent reason. Why did he feel so afraid? Had he not spat his fear out? Had he not entered shadows and found that he had control over them? Did he not control his own fear?

    It was clear he knew it by when he had reached his own little room. He opened the door and shut it behind him. All that he had ever done, all that he shall ever do, all of it, everything, was dictated by two things: his desires and his fears. Either of which he argued to be his own morals.

    Was this not what led all men? Was this the nature of a man? Had Yirn been the same? He clearly had the desire to destroy that which had subdued and punished him and the other Nameless throughout history, and he only had this desire because he feared it would all happen again¡ªnot because it would happen, but it very much could. This too was a part of human nature: this cycle of repression. Of anguish that we must place upon those we blame for the general issues of the world.

    If tomorrow I find that I feel like shit and this feeling persists for weeks upon weeks, am I to be blamed for it, or shall I just blame those who are easier to blame? Was this the truth Yirn claimed as his own?

    His legs gave out, and he found himself on the floor. He knew that in this situation he ought not to blame himself or the people around them at the time; he ought to only blame Yirn, but even then he found that he couldn¡¯t claim that there wasn¡¯t some truth in his beliefs. By now, he had seen too much. He had seen in the Sharan a mirror of humanity, and now he could see it in the Atheians as well. They were all the same, even if the species was different. Even then they all did things not out of empathy and care for the people around you but instead out of the aforementioned feelings of fear and desire.

 Chapter 104, Part One: What Must We Forget?

    The shadows twist around; they strike at my throat. I cannot breathe. Perhaps I never could. You look at me with your dead eyes, a self-proclaimed deity, a demon who brought us great folly; you are the angel of my dreams, the savior of my kin. The long-promised death of us all.

    You sit upon your throne and look down on me; as I kneel, I pray for your grace to give us a chance to live another day. You smile, and, descending from above, you place your cold hand upon my head, and you whisper, ¡±No.¡±

    A pressure bursts around my skull as you lift me above the crowds; you force me to look behind and see those who I led here, those who trusted me to save them, those who came with me to ask for forgiveness and salvation from our god.

    My eyes would not close, and I still cannot breathe. Your other hand rose, and so did the eyes of your people. They looked at you, and they still believed in your mercy. They all died before my eyes. Flames burst from the tips of your fingers; the hunger of those divine flames scorched their flesh; they boiled their blood. A pit of nothing is what they became. Not a corpse to build your temple. No flesh to remind us of whom they were. Just that scorched marble below us.

    You did not laugh; you did not smile; you only scoffed and remarked, ¡±You should be pleased that I have blessed you thusly; you should not mourn their death; you should not be horrified but inspired because of this gift I¡¯ve placed upon your people.¡±

    ¡±Death is a blessing, is it not?¡± You asked, ¡±Revere me, and I shall free you from your mortal coil.¡±

    I cried with this horror that filled my heart and begged for death¡­ You anointed my head with flames; they burst around me, and there was only pain. I cursed you with the last moments of coherent thoughts that I had. I only felt pain as I became nothing.

    I cannot breathe.

    Kanrel bolted up from his bed. Sweat ran down his body; he felt as if afire. His head burned with an uncomfortable sensation, a touch all around his head. For a moment, he couldn¡¯t breathe. But soon enough, he found his connection to this reality. He wasn¡¯t a puny Sharan before an almighty god. He was a human, in his little room within the Sanctuary. He was safe. Well, as safe as an outsider could be among those who didn¡¯t wish him to be here. He was a puny human instead.

    He got up from his bed and dressed; it was probably way too early to get up, but he knew there would be no reason to stay in bed either; he wouldn¡¯t be able to fall back asleep, not after what he had seen. Not after this new urge that he felt. These dreams he had, were all connected to the veil. He needed to know more about it; he needed to find a journal, a book, anything to give him an adequate explanation of what there might be. These¡­ memories, should be released. They should not be forgotten, per se, but they should not be there to haunt him each night. It wasn¡¯t Kanrel who had doomed the Sharan to the destiny they found themselves in. It was Ignar, it was Kalma, it was Kalla; it was those who followed Kalla. Only they could be blamed for what happened to them and how it happened.

    It is a noble cause to seek freedom from tyranny; it always is, or it at least ought to be. But one cannot claim that the price is always worth it. The pain and suffering brought upon the Sharan, it wasn¡¯t just. The veil was, as if, a manifestation of injustice. A collective memory of everything that went wrong. A memory of tyranny, and not just the tyranny of the tyrants but the tyranny of those who claimed to have the ability to kill a god.

    Kanrel left his room and walked down the corridor toward the library. There was no one around, only the lanterns that lit his way through the Sanctuary. It wouldn¡¯t be long, he hoped, till he could leave this place. He would¡¯ve much rather spent his days in the company of Gar and Y¡¯Kraun than Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n. He would¡¯ve much rather been stuck within the city doing menial tasks to survive these days of life instead of being in an openly hostile environment. At least, none was there to claim his life. So far. But one could never know. You only needed one individual insane enough to commit such an act. You really can¡¯t ever know if there is someone who would harbor such thoughts toward you and even less so can one predict the possibility of a truly insane person coming after you for no good reason at all.

    Kanrel had read about such people; there were some he read about during his time at the Academy of the Heavenly. People who would target a category of people for seemingly random reasons; murderers who had a ¡±type.¡±

    In Lo¡¯Gran, during the 8th century, there was a murderer who targeted prostitutes, killing 20 or so of them; the murderer was never caught. And another one, who in Er¡¯Eren¡ªa southwestern city on the coast, not that far away from Lo¡¯Gran¡ªkilled five much older men than he was in a short period of time, this one was caught soon after his fifth kill, and when questioned they found that he harbored ill will toward people who reminded him of his father¡ªhis first victim¡ªthat he had strangled to death after the father had hit him during an argument.

    Truly, you could never know who might be capable of premeditated murder, but Kanrel suspected that most had such a capability. One just needed a good enough reason to commit such an act of violence. For Yirn, one of such reasons was torturous bullying at the hands of nobles, who saw him as nothing more than filth. But reasons, even if one could call them ¡±good," would never be enough to justify such an act.

    Kanrel reached the library and walked among its already familiar shelves; they were as crammed as ever, and the smell was an already familiar version of a smell of old books. He let his fingers touch the spines of the hundreds of books as he ambled past them. The section of the library dealt with history, especially in the realm of the arcane. There were books about the great inventions of the Old Empire, as well as new findings made in the City of Last Light. Together they formed a story of ingenuity and perseverance; how a people built themselves to be grand and powerful; how they fell from that grace and were forced to form a punishment most would not survive, and yet, would build another empire that would last many lifetimes. Long enough to have another grand history; a new form of grace.

    One could claim it to be beautiful. How they would not give up. Even when they had nothing, even when they had nowhere to go. But this history, this story of survival, was filled with blood and wrong. To build an empire that lasts a thousand years, millions must die. Is it not the case with every great empire? At least it was so with the Sharan; it was so with the Atheians; and of course, it was so with humans as well. Thus, one could claim it to be disgusting.

    But one shouldn¡¯t look at the doings of those who lived hundreds, even thousands of years before your time, with a sense of absolute dismissal or moral superiority because of the deeds they had done to create and form what they had then. Of course, the actions they made, the wars they fought, and so forth would always be abhorrent, evil even, from the point of view of someone who didn¡¯t live during those times. And they might¡¯ve been so from the point of view of those who lived back then. But one couldn¡¯t claim that, for example, the actions that Kalma had made when fighting against Kashro¡¯On and his Kernen weren¡¯t somewhat justifiable, even when he killed perhaps hundreds of thousands. But without his actions, the history of the Empire of the Sharan would¡¯ve ended there and then, on the day they tried to execute him before a great crowd at the gates of Urul. The Sharan would¡¯ve perished without him.

    These actions still remain evil and disgusting, but even then, perhaps not intentionally, something good came out of it. But on the other hand, another species was wiped out and completely forgotten to history.

    None of it really mattered now. Or they shouldn¡¯t do as much as they did. The veil didn¡¯t exist without a reason. Without a different act of evil that Kalma had committed. Though this act remained unknown to Kanrel, for he had seen only fractions of what had happened. And within him, there was a duality, two of him that wanted two different things; one of those wanted to know more, to see what had happened in all of its horrors and evils; the other didn¡¯t want to see any of it; the other wanted his nights to be without the dreams that haunted him. There are many things one doesn¡¯t need to know; is the annihilation of those who had died so long ago that one couldn¡¯t even guess how long ago it had happened a thing he needed to know? Wouldn¡¯t knowing such a terror pain him more than not knowing?

    He stopped at the end of one of the shelves, his fingers at the spine of a book. He looked at it and picked it up. Finally, he had found what he had been looking for all this time¡­ The book was old; then again, so were all the books around it, and most of those he had read here. Its cover was dark in color, made from a substance they used as a substitute for leather. He opened the book and began to read:

    The following is an account of the only survivor of the second expedition; she did not write these words; instead, this is what she narrated in her dreams, in moments of lucidity and insanity.

    Chained eyes on the walls; they look forth. At the wanderers who have placed themselves before them. At the edges of our domain, the eyes meet those who wish to enter, who wish to see what lies beyond our understanding. They wish to know; they wish to learn; they wish to find their way back home. They are all so afraid.

    A light guides them, and the eyes stay back. Only in whispers and dreams might they share that which is the truth. From countless deaths to crimes unpunished to once-lived families, and the pain of inexistent existence in the form of existence. Bloom; spread; remember. The eyes, they scream a memory long forgotten.

    Slow. They have become so slow. They can feel it but not truly see it; they showed me. They did. A god sits upon an obsidian throne, their maw filled with teeth so sharp and from their hands magic woven. A thousand die and another thousand follow. And a whisper rings within the darkness: ¡±Death is all that god wills.¡± Words, which then are followed by a question, an accusation by the dying: ¡±Who was the fool to believe they could kill a god?¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Chained eyes, now red; they were forced to see that which no one wants. Memories forced down our minds, uprooting what there once was. I cannot remember who I was, but I can remember all those who died that day¡­ The clouds gather, and I¡¯m lost.

    I must reach the end. I must forget who I am so that I can remember what once was.

    They too forgot but soon knew the truth. The eyes, they always tell the truth; the eyes, why couldn¡¯t they see them sooner? Why did they choose to not return with said truth? Their embrace calls for us, and we must join the choir of many voices; we must become eyes chained upon this wall of darkness. I must return home; I must forget who I am; I must remember what once was. I must reach the end.

    It is unknown as to what she truly saw within the veil, but this much is certain: we cannot send another ill-equipped expedition; the loss of life is not worth it if they are unable to return with worthwhile data. These ¡±visions¡± only show that those who are sent beyond our cities will lose their sanity; it only confirms what we already know. Only death awaits those who enter the veil.¡±

    The book went on, mainly about the expedition: how it had failed and how a decision was made to stop all attempts, as the loss of life was, at the time, seen as a waste. There weren¡¯t that many Atheians, not as many as there were now; their population hadn¡¯t yet recovered from the punishment forced upon them by the Sharan.

    Kanrel¡¯s hands shook as he stopped reading and closed the book. He extended his arm to place it back where it belonged, but he hesitated for a moment; his hands shook; it was difficult to not read it through again and again and again to try to find something that he might¡¯ve missed the first time, or the second time, or the third time, but even then, he stopped himself; he had to stop himself... Kanrel placed the book where he had found it. At the end of this section of shelves, at the very end of this part of the library.

    He buried his face in his hands and held it there for some time, processing this newfound anxiety that forced itself upon him. He would have to enter the veil to truly find out. He would have to walk into it, to let it surround him from all corners of existence. He would have to use the manifestation of light to expel the shadows so that he might survive his journey into the abyss. He would have to kill the collective memory of those who only wished to be remembered and not forgotten to the ages¡ªto history.

    Tyrants ought to be remembered for the people they oppressed, yet now he found that he would have to oppress their memories to survive. He did not wish to forget who he was. He did not wish to become either a chained eye, just another soul to feed the formless darkness with all of its edges and smooth surfaces, nor did he wish to come in contact with said eyes.

    Would he, too, perish like those who had fully entered the Veil? Would he lose sanity himself, as had the Atheain who had collected the journal from within the Veil and returned with it, only to re-enter it, only to commit suicide through such an act? Would the shadows enlighten him, or would they come and give him a form of self-destruction that he had once longed for?

    He breathed in deeply and tried to find a center where to anchor himself, lest he let this panic take control of him. For even less so, he did wish to find himself in his little room once more, lying on the bed or the floor, looking at the ceiling and wondering, when or how would he be able to get rid of this feeling that had almost fully conquered him, that had almost taken control of him?

    ¡±It will be right.¡± He whispered to him and massaged his face, feeling the hair of a thick but short beard against the palms of his hands; not an unpleasant sensation. He sighed, and as he was about to open his eyes, someone spoke to him.

    ¡±Is this some sort of a morning ritual, an inherent part of your culture, or are you just tired?¡± The voice asked, a familiar one; and when Kanrel opened his eyes, he recognized the older Atheian, who he now knew to be Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s grandfather.

    Kanrel raised his brows. ¡±No, I just read something unpleasant¡­¡±

    The old Atheian nodded, ¡±I see... What did you read?¡±

    Kanrel glanced at the book to his right, ¡±About the last expedition into the Veil.¡±

    ¡±Ah, that damn thing. Then your reaction is all but warranted.¡± He spoke, his voice deep and raspy; it would perhaps be comforting to listen to if Kanrel could feel such a thing. ¡±It was decades ago when I laid my eyes upon that text¡ªI must¡¯ve been younger than you¡ªand I cannot claim there to be a book within this library or any other library that has left me with such a great impression¡­¡± The old Athenian''s gaze wandered past time itself; perhaps he saw himself as he was all those years ago.

    His gaze returned to where it was, and he stared at Kanrel for a moment longer than was necessary. ¡±You must have many questions about it, like I did.¡± He pointed out.

    Kanrel nodded. ¡±Too many, and the questions themselves aren¡¯t the issue, but the answer that I would receive¡­¡± He complained.

    ¡±Because those answers would give you only more questions, ask¡­¡± The old Atheian said, knowing all too well the frustration the Darshi must¡¯ve gone through many times by now. He pondered for a moment, ¡±Follow me; let us find a seat. I prefer sitting while conversing; my old legs aren¡¯t what they used to be.¡± He muttered and walked off in an almost random direction, and Kanrel followed without a moment''s hesitation.

    Through the narrow corridors created by the bookshelves, they traversed, Kanrel often lost sight of the old Atheian as he would take sudden turns at almost random places, and minutes went by without a word or sight of a singular chair until they reached a familiar location. The very someone where they had first met each other. The old Atheian sat on the same chair where he had sat before and expected Kanrel to do the same, and he did.

    They sat across from each other, and the old eyes of the Atheian peered into Kanrel; perhaps seeing things that most would not, he smiled and said, ¡±You and I are quite similar, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    Kanrel blinked. ¡±I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ Are we?¡±

    The Atheian''s smile widened. ¡±Well, of course we are. We are both scholars through and through. You see¡­ I¡¯ve been paying much attention to you, and I have had the pleasure of reading many reports about you, as well as the things that you shared about the world above.¡±

    ¡±You are an interesting individual, although my grandson would surely claim you to be the most boring figure he has ever had to the displeasure of dealing with.¡±

    ¡±But then again, he isn¡¯t the ¡¯bookish¡¯ type. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n dislikes inaction, and you, Darshi, seem to rarely take any action at all.¡± The old Atheian explained, ¡±And you and I both often wonder if you¡¯ve done the right thing in that regard... Should you take action? Or has your inaction been the correct course all along¡­¡±

    Kanrel raised his brow once more. ¡±Then what do you think? Has my inaction led me into more danger than necessary?¡±

    The old Atheian chuckled, ¡±Is rain warm? Is it red?¡± He asked in return.

    For a moment Kanrel could see in his mind how Lou¡¯Deu¡¯n was smashed against the roof of the room in the Spire; how A¡¯Daur¡¯Kra paced around the room afterward, after blood rained upon them, and justified his actions as if he needed any justifications at all.

    He swallowed. ¡±My suggestion of about the value of a man was incorrect. The value of a single man should always be priceless.¡± Kanrel said, remembering the conversation he had had before the moment of blood.

    ¡±Perhaps¡­¡± The old Atheian replied and sighed in turn, ¡±Well then¡­ Enough about such things. I will allow you to ask any questions that come to your mind, and I will answer them unless I simply cannot for some reason or another.¡±

    Kanrel pondered for a while, ¡±Have there been any other expeditions past the Veil?¡±

    ¡±No.¡± The old Atheian simply answered.

    Kanrel sighed in disappointment but went on to think of the next question, ¡±What is the Chained Eye? I mean the symbol that your grandson sometimes carries.¡±

    The old Atheian smiled, ¡±It is a symbol for people like him¡­ and me...¡± He answered.

    It felt so cold so suddenly. ¡±What do you mean, for people like him and you?¡±

    The Atheian tilted his head to the side; a whimper of a snort escaped their lips. They gestured for Kanrel to lean forward as they leaned forward as well, and as Kanrel came closer, the Atheian whispered, ¡±Some things aren¡¯t for you to know¡­¡±

    Violent shivers surged through his spine and ended at his neck; he couldn¡¯t help but swallow.

    The Atheian leaned back, ¡±Don¡¯t be scared now¡­¡± He scoffed while that same smile still populated his face, but then it perished, and the old Atheian became far too serious. ¡±You may ask one more question¡­¡±

    How could someone who is basically an old man feel so threatening? Kanrel pondered, and it was a question he wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and sought his memory for a more productive question.

    After an uncomfortable silence, Kanrel finally found something that had almost escaped his mind under this pressure: ¡±The Globes of Darkness... What are they?¡±

    The old Atheain smirked, ¡±Something we all want to know... You¡¯re in luck; there are only a handful of people who know what they are and what their meaning is¡­ and it just so happens that I am one of those people¡­¡± He seemed rather pleased with himself as he took an even more leisurely posture on his chair.

    ¡±They are the Veil itself; an extraction of it collected from the tunnel, in a room only a few have ever entered¡­¡± The Atheian explained, inhaling sharply, ¡±Tell me, Kanrel, have you ever¡­ touched¡­ the veil? Have you seen the past? Have you seen their faces? Have you heard their voices? Have you stood before a god who sits upon an obsidian throne, a monster so great and vast in its power that even the greatest Atheian magicians are nothing more than insects before it?¡± The old Atheian¡¯s voice began to tremble, his eyes became wild, and his gaze again saw something from so long ago; then they focused on just one thing: Kanrel and his eyes, where the Atheain could already see the answers to the questions that he had asked.

    ¡±Tell me¡­ Kanrel¡­ Have you ever been so afraid?¡± He whispered a final question that left them both in a deep and unsettling silence. They looked at each other for a long while, seeing in the eyes of each other the truth. They both had seen such things. They both were stuck in the Veil even when it had not consumed them fully¡­ they both¡­ were afraid¡­

    Minutes went by in this silence, one that was only broken by steps that emerged from within the labyrinth of bookshelves. Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n stepped into their field of view and stopped as if he had come in contact with a wall.

    He looked left and right; he studied the faces of his own grandfather and Kanrel, then he shook his head, as if in great disappointment, yet a smile populated his face as he said, ¡±You two are far too alike... If only our Darshi, here, would be gray and hairless, then you two might as well be more related to each other than I am to you, dear grandfather.¡±

    He pulled a chair and sat down, then peered left to right again. ¡±How was your date? Did you two just sit in silence whilst staring at each other? Romantic, if you ask me, although a little strange, but I am not one to criticize such things. The platonic love between a monkey and an Atheian cannot be wrong, just a tad¡­ weird¡­¡±

    The old Atheian scoffed, at last, ¡±Shut your mouth, boy. We two adults were having a very good conversation until you arrived; we were just about to get into the functions of gardens and what on earth is a ¡¯gardener¡­¡¯¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n grinned, ¡±But alas, I am here¡­ Here to take your human pet away and to endlessly walk around this damn library until the end of time, it would seem.¡±

    The old Atheian rolled his eyes. ¡±Then take him away and stop bothering me, lest I have to remind you of your place¡­¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s grin widened. ¡±Maybe next time¡­ It has been far too long since we last had a little duel; I wonder if your mind is still sound enough to keep up with those much younger and less¡­¡± He began to taunt but soon trailed off as he noticed his grandfather''s expression; he got up from his chair, grabbed Kanrel, and pulled him up as well. ¡±We better hurry; after today there might not exist any books for you to read here¡­¡±

    Kanrel threw an apologetic look at the old Atheian as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n led Kanrel by the arm to another section of the library. The old Atheian seemed rather amused by all that had happened, and the fear that had seated itself deep within him seemed to hide itself from the world again.

    But Kanrel had seen it. He had recognized it. He felt it as well¡­ Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had a form of it within him, and so did Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t. The only difference might¡¯ve been the reasons for the fear they held within and masked away from the world.

    ¡±Don¡¯t get lost now; in the end, we all find our way where we belong!¡± The old Atheian yelled after them; his tone was warm, even when just moments ago he had shown such fear within.

 Chapter 104, Part Two: Ourselves or the Tyranny of Our Memories?

    After reading much Atheian history and after having the chance to experience the things he has experienced, both in the visions of great events in Sharan history and in his everyday life among his own people, there is something he noticed and began to further think about: cruelty and what we feel about it.

    People, be they Sharan, Atheian, or human, seem to have very complicated feelings about cruelty¡ªwe all claim to hate it, yet, sometimes it is quite clear that we also love it. There are individuals who enjoy cruelty in its many forms for their own sick reasons, but the average person, if certain requirements are met, accepts cruelty even in its most vile forms.

    We seem to hate cruelty that is directed toward the incorrect people for the incorrect reasons; we hate cruelty that we feel to be unjust.

    And we love cruelty, or find great enjoyment in it if said cruelty is directed toward the correct people for the correct reasons; we love cruelty that we feel to be just.

    Here¡¯s an example: if a group of bandits goes to a village and proceeds to rob, torture, rape, and kill the inhabitants of said village, we, of course, see this vile act they have committed as cruel; it is a form of evil.

    But¡­ if this same group of bandits, after their deeds, is found, captured, and then brought to justice, many, if not most, would be fine if these bandits go through a similar fate.

    You reap what you sow; you get what you deserve. All of these societies, which Kanrel has in some ways been a part of, all agree on this principle: If you do something wrong, vile, or evil, you will get an appropriate punishment; and cruelty often finds itself within the categories of ¡±vile¡± and ¡±evil," but at times cruelty finds itself in the categories of ¡±right,¡± ¡±appropriate,¡± ¡±deserved,¡± and ¡±just.¡±

    It is an interesting thing, something that in some ways Kanrel agreed with, but he also wondered if there could be better options to punish the cruelty of others. Do we have to sink to their level?

    But at the same time, he felt that if he found himself in a situation where he inflicted unjust cruelty upon someone. Then he would deserve an appropriate punishment, even if that punishment happened to be death.

    Perhaps there will be a day when this becomes a reality he will have to face. After all, what Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t had seen within the globes could insist upon itself and become a crime for which Kanrel ought to be judged. But he doubted such a destiny, for even if he thought of himself as a fool, he would do the right thing, right? He believed that he could navigate right and wrong and do that which is good.

    Kanrel placed his pen back onto the table; he had filled another notebook with these thoughts that had begun to haunt him more than ever. For he already feared that he would someday do something evil, something that could never be forgiven. Don¡¯t we all have such a fear? Besides, he didn¡¯t want to become like Ignar, even if he could find pieces of himself within that someone who had done so many terrible things; even if Ignar had become a part of him; even then, he wished that Ignar wouldn¡¯t devour him; for he wished to remain, at least in part, as who he already was, even if that person, who he now was, stood upon the grave of the child that he once was.

    He sighed and looked around. Not much longer would he spend here. According to Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, they had but a week left¡­ He felt bitter about it. He didn¡¯t want to leave quite yet. There were still so many things that he needed to know, that he needed to understand. But perhaps they were all right: There are some things better not to know. So he should just accept that he would never know all that he desires to know.

    At least he¡¯d finally be out of here; at least he could finally find himself in the company of Gar and Y¡¯Kraun again; how he missed his friends. How he wished to share, as much as he could, the things that he had learned and the theories that he had come up with.

    He sighed once more and got up from his chair. Today he would have to do something he preferred not to do. Last night, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had shared with him the news that seemed to annoy him more than it did Kanrel: ¡±We¡¯ll have to spend another few hours in the Tunnel¡­¡± The disappointment and the preemptive boredom could be heard thick in his voice; even if the abyss could be so hypnotizing, and even if the Veil and its shadows whispered and called for them to remember or to enter and become a part of it, it still was a very boring job to do. Just standing there, hours upon hours¡­ Of course, they could converse, but according to Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, that was exactly the thing that made it boring; it really wasn¡¯t the abyss and just standing around; it was, in fact, Kanrel¡¯s dreadful company.

    And soon enough, Kanrel found himself, again, in the company of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who led him down the tunnel, toward the edge of darkness. This would be the last time he would have to do this, so he decided to accept the waste of time that it would be. Besides, he would at least get some ample time to stare at the Veil itself; perhaps one can find something whilst staring into the abyss. Thoughts might, at times, wander from there to place themselves in his mind.

    At the edge of darkness, there were two Atheians whom Kanrel didn¡¯t really know. He had seen them in passing, but he had never exchanged words with them, only gazes. He wondered, what it was that they sought within the Sanctuary. What was their mission as members of the Universal Truth? Did they come here only to study, or did they have some grand inventions they worked on, be they spells or magical devices?

    He would never know. He could ask, but it was unlikely that he would receive an answer, as most of the Atheians here seemed like people who didn¡¯t want to share things they had on their mind, especially with someone who they considered to be an outsider.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n released one of the Atheians, and, again, Kanrel stood next to him against the wall as they stared at either the abyss to the left of them or the Atheian across from them. But whichever way they chose to stare, their gazes would always be pointed inward and never outward; seldom here would people spend time examining the exterior of their worlds when it felt that the interior was so close.

    So many questions arise that one might ask, Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I?

    Surely a hundred questions with no real answers, but nonetheless, they were questions that one would find themselves asking either way; and if not here, then somewhere else, for such questions would always arise, and humans, and perhaps even then Atheians, would, in the end, find themselves wondering and asking these questions and many more. And perhaps such questions are useless; and perhaps asking such questions only means that the one asking them is much more lost than those who, by heart, already know the answers to them. Perhaps these questions are incorrect altogether, as they might be the wrong questions to ask, but what even are the ¡±correct¡± questions to ask? Kanrel had no idea, which is probably why he wondered these questions at this moment.

    He also wondered if he might ever get the chance to enter through this edge of the Veil; could he perhaps find the room where they harvest the Globes of Darkness¡­ And how do they do it, exactly?

    An hour or so went by in patterns of thoughts, of doubts, and in silence that felt comfortable for some reason. There was no need for words between them. There was no need for anything. But one thing was clear: Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n was, indeed, very bored. One could blame the silence of his company for this boredom, but who can blame the company if you yourself aren¡¯t initiating any conversations?

    But soon enough, the silence was broken by the steps that echoed in the tunnel. The replacement for the other Atheian was on its way. Kanrel glanced at the source of this sound, and far away he could see them, and he couldn¡¯t help but grimace. Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t, wearing the same black robes he always wore, strode down the tunnel with an unyielding expression on their face; it was as if walking down here was a pilgrimage of sorts, a holy mission that they ought to partake in.

    Would they then partake in a confession as well? Kanrel wondered but disregarded the thought. He ought not to place his own assumptions on someone else. It wouldn¡¯t be fair, but then again, it was unlikely that Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t would do the same to him.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t approached them; they smiled at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n and turned their gaze toward the other Atheian. ¡±You may go.¡± They remarked, and the other, rather thankful Atheian promptly left without a word of thanks or a goodbye.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t went against the wall across from them; they waited for the steps of the Atheian that had just left to dissipate.

    They then pointed their gaze entirely at Kanrel, practically ignoring the existence of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n. ¡±I heard¡­ whispers¡­ of your¡­ conversation¡­ with the¡­ old man¡­¡± They spoke in a disappointed tone, emphasizing certain words; they seemed to want to stress the disappointment that they felt toward Kanrel.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n scoffed, ¡±From where did you hear such things?¡± He said in a mocking tone.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t glared at the Atheian and grinned slightly. ¡±We talked, and he told me. He told me everything¡­¡± They then returned their gaze to Kanrel and continued, ¡±The things that you asked him, the many inappropriate questions he had to answer¡­ Everything¡­ He told me everything¡­¡±

    The other Atheian snorted, ¡±And is that any of your business, what my grandfather does with our guest?¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t ignored Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n and just continued ranting, ¡±You couldn¡¯t just do what I wished of you?¡± Their voice slightly cracked as anger became so prominent on their face.

    ¡±You couldn¡¯t leave us alone, could you?¡± Their eyes, again, flared with that same mixture of anger and fear that had ingrained itself into Kanrel¡¯s mind.

    And Kanrel had no reply. He had thought that such a conversation would hardly matter. So he just blinked his eyes, with no explanations or excuses to give.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t sighed, and the mixture of fear and anger hid itself behind a mask of contempt. ¡±Why must I take everything into my own hands?¡± They asked and glared at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who, for the first time today, seemed somewhat amused, but a grin crept onto Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s face. ¡±When push comes to shove¡­¡± They muttered, and just like that, without a real warning, Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n fell to the ground, and their eyes rolled over. It was as if they had just passed out, and nothing more.

    Kanrel could hear the sound of his only ¡±friend¡± within the Sanctuary hitting the floor beneath them; he looked down and saw them, their eyes now closed, their chest still rising, ¡±What happened?¡± He asked, with slight panic taking over.

    ¡±It is alright. He will awake in due time¡­ It is just that you and I ought to have a good conversation¡­¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t explained as a small but very potent fireball formed next to them.

    Kanrel looked at the fire and the Atheian; he was obviously in danger, and the conversation and how it would go was quite obvious already, but even then he felt no fear. He had only been worried that Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n wouldn¡¯t be able to recover.

    ¡±Why? Couldn¡¯t we just have this same conversation with him awake?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t scoffed, ¡±There are some things that even he isn¡¯t allowed to know¡­ And you did want answers¡­ And you had many questions that the old man refused to answer, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Kanrel glanced at the fireball. ¡±And you¡¯re willing to answer these questions that I have?¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t grinned, ¡±Well, of course¡­ All you have to do is follow me, and you shall learn all that which you so much wish to learn¡­¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t turned their gaze toward the edge of darkness¡ªthe Veil¡ªthey took another crystal, which they tossed to Kanrel, and without another word, they stepped into the Veil, while holding on to their own crystal¡­ The shadows made way as they walked inside; then they stopped and peered at Kanrel, expecting him to follow.

    The ball of fire still lingered in the air where it had been summoned; Kanrel glanced at it a final time, then turned the crystal that he had received on and followed Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t into the Veil¡­

    <hr>

    On the other side, there was just more of the same¡­ The tunnel continued but in the darkness of the shadows that moved away in what felt like fear as they went deeper and deeper into the Veil.

    Kanrel looked around; the walls of the tunnel were much rougher on this side. They lacked the masonry and precise craftsmanship that the walls did on the other side of the edge. It was, as if, it all had been built in haste, perhaps with sheer magic, as the walls had no bricks in them. They were just solid stone, with no cracks in them. It felt alien to walk down such an empty and unnatural tunnel.

    The tunnel led into a larger room. As much was certain, but the shadows veiled much of the room around them, and only when they reached what Kanrel presumed to be the middle of it could he more carefully examine what was around. Four, what seemed like wells or pools¡­ They were filled to the brim with something, a dark substance, perhaps water, perhaps liquid darkness itself¡­ Now, he felt fear; for the first time, he felt afraid, and it wasn¡¯t because of the threat that Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t could be, but because of this¡­ substance that he could not name.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t had stopped, and they finally turned to Kanrel, who peered into one of the pools of darkness. ¡±Strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± They commented, their voice solemn for now.

    ¡±It is something we cannot quite explain; even its discovery was a sheer mistake¡­¡± They continued, ¡±And somehow, we found out how to refine it. We learned how to make it into something else than what it is¡­¡±

    ¡±What is it?¡± Kanrel asked fear drenching his voice.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t smiled. ¡±It is¡­ oblivion¡­ It is what the globes outside are made out of¡­¡± They explained they seemed to form a spell, and both of the crystals departed from their hands; Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t forced them to remain in the air so that their hands could be free. The two crystals were like two lonesome stars in the void of night, unable to get near to each other, always apart. Separation as their rule-supreme.

    ¡±Do look around, and do ponder the questions that you might want to ask¡­ I will give you an hour, then I must return¡­¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t urged; there was a smile on their face as they did so, one that could be considered more unnerving than even the pools or the Veil that surrounded them.

    The room was the one that Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s grandfather had mentioned¡­

    Kanrel swallowed; he had only a few questions that he wished to ask. ¡±What is the meaning of the Chained Eye?¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s smile widened, ¡±A symbol for those who know the truth¡­ The symbol is¡­ an unofficial symbol of the Universal Truth, as well as the Sanctuary¡­¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Kanrel¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡±Then what is the truth that you claim to know?¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s smile became a wide grin; they spread their arms as they spoke, with glee in their voice, ¡±The Universal Truth? It is here. It is this. It is oblivion; it is¡­ it is¡­ nothingness¡­¡± But their expression changed as they spoke; the grin dissipated; it went absent, and in their eyes, there was this¡­ hollowness¡­ and the radiance of the crystals that brought light into their eyes formed a form of hollow radiance, a form of sadness, of despair¡­

    Their voice was solemn as they continued; their voice teetered in between what seemed like sincere fear and agony. ¡±Kanrel, there will be nothing once we are gone. Nothing.¡±

    ¡±Everything and all will cease to exist at the moment of death, and only a memory of us will remain; it swirls in the collective memory of those who remember you until the day comes when they too die or forget you and who you were¡­¡±

    ¡±We become¡­ nothing.¡± They stopped for a moment, letting their words spread and enchain themselves into Kanrel¡¯s mind.

    ¡±Dreadful, is it not?¡± They asked, and then continued, ¡±And if there is something like this, these shadows that whisper to us about ancient injustices, then that in itself is a failure, for they should be forgotten. They shouldn¡¯t linger as they do. For is there no destiny crueler than this? To be stuck in a limbo of memories that tells the story of your own suffering and the suffering of those you most loved¡­¡±

    ¡±Kanrel, imagine a genocide, or perhaps an end of siege where thousands have died, be it from direct attacks or indirect things caused by the siege and the enemies at your gates; be it disease or hunger¡­¡± Their tone gained some momentum, leaving behind the previous, almost emotionless tone they had.

    ¡±Imagine yourself on the day when the siege is lifted. You are saved, but you¡¯ve lost so many. Imagine yourself walking upon the streets of this city, as if a ghost among other ghosts, looking for your loved ones and your neighbors and all of those you once knew¡­¡±

    They furrowed their hairless brows, sadness present on their gray face, ¡±Now imagine a child held in the embrace of their mother, both dead and lying amongst the rubble of a broken building. You know, hold that memory of their death with you for all eternity¡­ You can only imagine the pain they have gone through at the moment of death, and you know their desperation before it, for you have felt it as well¡­¡±

    ¡±And now, Kanrel, imagine at that moment, in the moment of that discovery of an unjust death, over and over again, for all eternity¡­ Won¡¯t you at that moment rather wish for your own death; won¡¯t you wish to forget, to unsee what you have seen, for this torment¡­ this pain, this suffering caused by someone other than you¡­ how can you deal with it? How can you survive it?¡±

    ¡±Kanrel, do not believe the Veil when it whispers to you and claims that they don¡¯t wish to be forgotten¡­ For what they truly want is to be released¡­¡±

    ¡±They wish for oblivion, for nothing, for the nothingness¡­¡±

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s expression was subdued; although their speech was passionate, there was no resonance to these feelings on their face; instead, there was nothing¡­

    They smiled an empty smile and said, ¡±This is what I saw¡­¡± They again peered at one of the pools on either side of them. ¡±Within the globes, I saw what you will do¡­¡± Their dull expression sharpened as they met Kanrel¡¯s distressed expression.

    ¡±But, I¡¯ve said too much, haven¡¯t I?¡± Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t chuckled with a strange glow in their eyes, one that was soon eclipsed by the shadow that formed on their face as they grinned, ¡±No matter¡­ For you, I shall offer the mercy of oblivion as well¡­¡±

    Hundreds of fireballs appeared out of thin air; they surrounded them, and sudden warmth filled the room encroached by shadows that refused to scour or hide before the magical fire. Only the light of the crystals meant something to them; only the crystals could push them back and keep them at bay. Without them, the Veil would surely devour the two who were destined to die and to see the truth that they might give, the visions they might show.

    Kanrel sighed as the fireballs were launched at him, and before hitting him, he simply reflected them with a wind that either perished the fires or launched them into the Veil, disappearing into nothingness as if they had never existed in the first place.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t wore a shocked expression on their face, but that went away soon enough. One could imagine what the Atheian thought at that moment¡­ Perhaps, in their mind, it had become more clear that Kanrel would be the ruin of the Atheian people. They continued launching fireballs at Kanrel, who kept reflecting them without much effort; Kanrel could keep at it for hours if need be. His ability to control magic had become as perfect as it could be; and his stamina as well, surely, the feeling of disgust persisted, but he had learned to mostly ignore it, unless he formed a more complicated code, like one that would nullify magic or create the very manifestation of magic that he had done previously. But the things he now did were things he had learned at the Academy of the Heavenly, now with so much more precision and knowledge than back then. At this moment, Kanrel felt that he could easily best even the most practiced priest of the Priesthood; but the feeling wasn¡¯t good.

    After a while of Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t mindlessly blasting fireballs and some ice spikes, Kanrel decided to go on the offense. It was time to stop being and to take action. It was time to accept that he couldn¡¯t just let these Atheians do as they wished to do to him. If he himself had power, why not use it? Why not defend himself? So he did¡­ In between reflecting Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s spells, he sent out fireballs of his own; these ones were far more potent than the ones that the Atheian directed at him, and as the Atheian had to begin to defend themselves, Kanrel could launch more and more of his own codes at them, and soon enough, the Atheian could only defend themselves, and nothing more.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t began to panic as Kanrel barraged them with spell after spell; the Atheian could not keep up, and they had to retreat step by step, slowly getting closer and closer to the Veil that awaited them to fall into its abyss. They grimaced, and their eyes sharpened with a sudden determination, they had made their mind, and they screamed as they sent, as a last ditch effort, more and more clutter toward Kanrel; small balls of fire, short lances of ice, all which Kanrel blocked or reflected back; one of the lances struck the Atheian and stuck into their arm, they screamed in agony, but even then they grinned; with magic, they grabbed the crystals that kept the room lit; and covered them with stone that grew around, blocking the light, blocking that which kept the shadows at bay; blocked that which kept both of them alive.

    The darkness began to flood in, and Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t laughed as victory was imminent; their death would be enough; he would not have to pay for his crimes toward Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n and Kanrel; and perhaps Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t would die as well, but at least he would¡¯ve stopped Kanrel from becoming what he feared the Darshi might become¡­

    But Kanrel was prepared; from within his memory, he formed a code that took so much from him to create¡ªyears of his life in deep study and thought¡ªeven though it was something that made his skin crawl, that made him feel disgusted toward himself and magic itself¡­ He formed a code to create light that could be claimed to be evil and holy at the same time. He formed a code to let out light that was purer than the light of those crystals, for it was far more corrupt and far more potent than what they could ever produce¡­

    The brilliant light most holy scorched into all directions as the shadows surged upon them from all directions; it burned the Veil away, and as it burned, one could almost hear it screech in agony. Around them formed a barrier made from pure magic.

    The Atheian lay on the floor, their eyes agape with shock and awe mixed with dread that could not be unseen. They shivered violently as they whispered, ¡±It is what I saw¡­¡± Then louder, ¡±It is what I saw.¡± And louder, ¡±It is what I saw.¡± Until they too screeched, ¡±OBLIVION!¡± They screamed with all that they had and soon collapsed; no more words left their lips, and Kanrel was left alone with the Atheian, who had just moments before tried to kill him¡­ Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t was alive, and despite their crimes, Kanrel couldn¡¯t afford to let him die, not here.

    Kanrel wanted to puke, but even then he formed a code to pick up the Atheian; he lifted them from the ground and carried them with him as he began navigating their way back to the edge of the tunnel, back to the Edge of Darkness and Light.

    And when he returned to that corridor, he took a crystal from his pocket and activated it with magic; he dismissed the unholy light that scorched and made the Veil suffer; and walked with the passed-out Atheian to the other side, where Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n lay, still holding on to their crystal, against the wall; their eyes still closed.

    Kanrel placed Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t against the other wall and placed the crystal into their hand. He then formed multiple quick codes to heal the wound in the arm; muscle tissue grew back, and soon, there was no wound to be remembered; he then formed another code and sewed the fabric of their clothes back to what it had been before, copying how it was done on the other sleeve. And lastly, he cleaned all the blood off himself and the Atheian.

    Once he was finished, he let out a long sigh; he really wanted to empty his stomach onto the floor of this tunnel, but he wouldn¡¯t¡ªnot quite yet. Instead, he formed two codes, and water began to collect itself on top of both of the Atheians; then he simultaneously released the water; the ice-cold water drenched the Atheains, and with two bright screams, they were forced awake.

    ¡±What in the name of the Ancients!?¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n screamed and got up from the floor; he peered at Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t and Kanrel in turn.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t didn¡¯t say anything; he just stared at Kanrel for a long time, and then he got up as well; they cast a spell and dried their clothes; within their eyes there still remained something; their insanity had passed, at least for now, but there now lay deep, innate fear toward the Darshi; they didn¡¯t say anything as they walked off.

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n looked as they walked off. They cast a spell to dry their clothes as well. ¡±Care to explain? Why was I on the floor? And why am I completely and utterly drenched when I wake up? And what did you do to Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t?¡±

    Kanrel thought for a moment, and a smile crept on his face. ¡±There are times when it is better not to know... This is one of those times.¡±

    The last day at the Sanctuary came quickly. Before that, he was under the surveillance of Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n, who was very curious about what had happened, but each time he asked Kanrel anything relating to that, he got that same smirk as an answer. Kanrel simply refused to tell him what had happened.

    Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t had begun avoiding him completely, and whenever they passed each other in the corridor, the library, or wherever, the Atheian wouldn¡¯t even look at him. They would just pass each other without a word, without a glance, and when Kanrel would look back, he would only see Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t¡¯s back, as the Atheian would never look back; they just ignored Kanrel¡¯s existence. Which was, perhaps, the best thing that they could do. They had been humiliated. Their vision of the future must¡¯ve now seemed inevitable. They had failed to stop the destruction of their people, and Kanrel wondered if this would become reality; would he, truly, be the one to do such a thing?

    Kanrel walked through the room where he had been introduced to the members of the Universal Truth; there were just the two of them and Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s grandfather, who waited for them. He stopped them for a moment. ¡±I presume you¡¯re ready to leave us with more questions than what you already had?¡± The old Atheian asked with a smirk on his face.

    Kanrel sighed, ¡±Why ask when you already know the answer?¡±

    The old Atheian shrugged, ¡±It amuses me. Why else?¡±

    Kanrel just stared at him a moment longer. ¡±This is it then¡­¡± He muttered, ¡±The last moments I spend within this godforsaken building¡­¡±

    ¡±I¡¯d hope so.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n commented, ¡±I for one already had enough of this shit-hole during my studies. You know, you could¡¯ve asked me, and I would¡¯ve warned you of how useless this expedition into the Sanctuary would be for you¡­¡±

    ¡±No, no¡­ Despite everything, it has been¡­ an eye-opening experience.¡± Kanrel said and peered at the old Atheian, ¡±Did you know what would happen?¡± He asked him.

    The old Atheian answered with a slight smile, ¡±Farewell, Darshi, perhaps we will continue this conversation another day.¡± He simply said and left without another word.

    ¡±What was that about?¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n asked.

    ¡±Nothing.¡± Kanrel replied and stared as the old Atheian walked away. Truly, only he had come to see Kanrel go¡­ Not even Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t had come to see their enemy walk away from the fortress of knowledge they tried to keep Kanrel away from¡­

    Kanrel sighed and turned to the corridor through which he had entered the Sanctuary; he walked onward, this time being the one to lead them.

    He had not been outside for a year. It was the same as back then¡­ The engravings, which he now, as far as he could tell, knew to be just something to keep the people who sought entrance wondering what their meaning might be.

    He breathed in the air; it was no different than it had been inside. Kanrel had left the forest filled with wolves with more questions than when he had entered it. One of those questions was one Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t had asked him on the very first day: ¡±I wonder, will you corrupt us with your lust for knowledge, or will we, in the end, devour you before you devour us?¡± And it would seem that neither had happened, yet Kanrel wondered if either could still happen. After all, he remained in the Lands of Shadows below¡­

    Kanrel stepped further into the little section in between the walls of the Sanctuary and the Sanctuary itself, and his eyes met the globes¡­ and he couldn¡¯t help but peer into them¡­

    He was¡­ a butterfly with golden wings¡­ It¡­ flew from flower to flower¡­ But there was no sun; there was no light¡­ There was just¡­ darkness¡­

    Kanrel grimaced and forced himself to not look at the Globes anymore, instead, he marched onward, to the gates of this damn place, he stood there some time, as Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n walked beside him, the Atheian placed their hand upon a crystal that was unlit, the fluttered as his hand met its surface, then gates that had seemed solid moments ago came apart, and they walked out. Kanrel could now leave behind this cave as well, but his thoughts were haunted by what he had seen within the globe¡­ and he tried to disregard those thoughts and feelings, which they forced upon him; a question rose to the top of his mind: Who am I and what will I become?

 Chapter 105: Rendezvous at a Restaurant

    Every new morning starts with the end of another nightmare. In one, he is a butterfly burned into nothingness by what he could imagine to be a god; in another, he is that god who burns the butterfly. In one dream, he is a peon before someone so mighty he cannot comprehend their existence, and in another, he is that creature of power most supreme.

    ¡±Who am I? And what will I become?¡±

    Am I the butterfly who will find itself among the ashes of the ruined city? Or am I the god who uses their supreme powers to lay waste to all that lies before me? Is it what I already am, or is it something that I might become? This or that: the butterfly or the god.

    But each dream ends with rain as he wakes up to another morrow beneath the world he would love to return to. The rain is warm; it is sticky¡­ it is red... How he had begun to wish that instead of these dreams and nightmares, he would have the same ones that he used to have all those years ago. He would have much rather spent another delirious moment of pain strapped into a bed while faceless figures with rapiers in their hands would impale him and, in whispers, demand he tell them a truth he doesn¡¯t know¡­

    He would have much rather spent another eternity falling down into nothingness¡­ Into that oblivion, he had begun to believe the Atheian, Mu¡¯u Tou¡¯t, meant during their rant. It was so similar to the ritual. This vision of nothingness that they had shared with him. It was something he had gone through already; it was something all priests had to go through. It was something no priest could ever forget. But most priests would come to realize that this abyss they fell into was something none would want to enter for all eternity. No one should want to exist in something like that. Even the idea of existence within it, whilst lacking the ability to sense and think, felt horrifying, but at the same time, he couldn¡¯t claim that some would not find some sense of comfort in the idea of total inexistence.

    Some things ought to be forgotten. We all have memories we could do without. Is it not a privilege that most have to forget? Is it not painful to carry the burden of memory at all times? For aren¡¯t there some memories so horrifying, so dense, so heavy, so¡­ crippling¡­ that their weight makes life worse than what oblivion could ever be?

    Be it that you are a man who walks in the rubble of a ruined city, one brought to its knees by a siege that could have lasted for months or even years. This man walks within the city, looking at the neighborhood where they once lived, unable to recognize the buildings that once were; he has only the memory of them; the bricks that build that memory now lie under his feet. But isn¡¯t it the buildings and their destruction that horrifies the man who now walks down this street¡­ It is the memories of those happy moments that have become ruined as well. Right across from his house, there once lived a young family, a simple one who lived in a small room, cramped together; life is tough for them, but they have each other, and they are happy. The man remembers them well, for he has seen the wife of the family around the street with her child; the man has even shared a beer or two in a nearby pub with the husband of this family. And now that the man looks at the building and its rubble, among them, he sees a woman mauled by the stones and bricks that now lay on top of her. In her arms, she holds her child, no less broken than she. The vision is silent even with the horrors that have filled the world around them. The man stands there and stares at these visions. Never will he forget this. Never will he forget this moment; not the moments that led to this one, not the bad nor the good that has happened before this moment, nor the moment that then came after. A scream breaks this faux silence. Running steps, the man can hear from behind him, and he turns around, only to see the husband, who has now returned home; he drops his spear, throws his helmet away, runs to his wife and daughter, and weeps the tears no one should ever need to weep.

    This is the true moment of horror that the man looking at the things that he has seen will never forget. The faces of those who were left behind tend to their ruined world, with the ruined people that now inhabit their ruined memories of a ruined dream they had.

    One tear at a time, warm rain begins to fall and blood wets him and the streets. This too, a nightmare that Kanrel has had.

    However, he hoped and believed that he was no longer experiencing a nightmare. He was in the City of Last Light, on his way to the restaurant, where, apparently, Y¡¯Kraun found himself working these days in the company of his wife.

    Roaming the streets of a city instead of the corridors of the Sanctuary or going in between a cave and its vicinity to practice magic was by all means much different than what he had been used to in recent times. This felt like a break from a string of stress-induced situations and from the mundanity of working toward something particular. This was a different kind of mundane. Leisurely walking down the street, where most other people would look at him twice before turning away, wondering what they had seen and why it happened to be so¡­ hairy¡­ Of course, this seemingly leisurely experience had a goal to it, an intention: a meeting between friends who hadn¡¯t seen each other in more than a year.

    The restaurant he soon reached was the same one he and Y¡¯Kraun had visited right before Kanrel sought entrance to the Grand Library, the place where Y¡¯Kraun laid his eyes on his wife-to-be.

    Back then, it had been a fairly successful enterprise, since many of the students and even faculty members of the Grand Library would, during lunchtime or whenever possible, eat at the restaurant. Their troglobites are quite good, or so many have heard, and some even have had the pleasure, or displeasure, of experiencing. Kanrel shuddered as he stepped through the door and met the somewhat busy atmosphere of the restaurant.

    About half of the tables were full; a waiter went to and from the kitchen, carrying plates and trays filled with more plates and some cups, cans, and bottles of what might be water. A waiter he recognized all too well; never before had Kanrel seen him move so fast. To Kanrel, Y¡¯Kraun had always seemed like someone who wouldn¡¯t run unless they very much had to. So, of course, he supposed that this was one of those moments when the Atheian had to be swift in his actions.

    Kanrel stood there for a while, observing him as he went from table to table, then to the kitchen and soon back; and when he came out of the kitchen for the third time, He finally noticed Kanrel, sitting by the door. He slowed down and came to a halt, holding in his hands two bowls of what might be mushroom stew. He blinked and stared at Kanrel, and then a slow smile conquered their face that had been covered with a focused expression only moments before. Y¡¯Kraun then scanned the room and noticed an empty table; with their eyes and hairless brows, he nudged Kanrel to go and take a seat. Kanrel smiled back at his friend and did as he was expected to. He found a table, one meant for four, and took a seat; from his table, he continued observing Y¡¯Kraun as he went on with his work.

    Y¡¯Kraun placed the two bowls in his hands before the customers who had ordered them, and wished them a good lunch; he bowed out and went once more into the kitchen; he returned after a minute or two, this time, not wearing the white apron he had worn. With a smile on his face, Y¡¯Kraun walked to Kanrel¡¯s table. ¡±May I take a seat?¡± He asked in Atheian, and even before Kanrel could muster any reply, Y¡¯Kraun sat down and conjured a solemn expression to hide away his own excitement.

    Kanrel couldn¡¯t help but scoff, ¡±You look good¡­ I guess¡­¡±

    ¡±I never imagined seeing you do actual work; your mother must be proud.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun rolled his eyes and shook his head. ¡±Well yes, before I had no say in the work that I had to do¡­¡±

    Kanrel blinked for a while. ¡±Right, a fair point.¡± He apologized. Kanrel almost slapped himself; he had completely forgotten what Y¡¯Kraun had been all his life before he was allowed to go to the City of Lost Light¡­

    Y¡¯Kraun chuckled, ¡±Don¡¯t worry about it. Those days are far behind me now¡­¡±

    ¡±And besides, you¡¯ve spent years in a cave, barely communicating with other people, and then a year in a library, presumably in the company of books; by now I would guess that your mind must be so filled with useless information that you can barely muster words to express yourself in a normal manner.¡± Y¡¯Kraun spoke, a slow grin forming on their face as they went on.

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡±Speak a little slower; I understood maybe half of that.¡± He lied and soon looked around the restaurant again. Y¡¯Kraun shrugged, and they sat in silence for a while.

    ¡±Where is Gar?¡± Kanrel asked after a while, ¡±Also, how¡¯s your wife?¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun smiled as if he were the happiest person in existence. ¡±I thought you¡¯d never ask.¡±

    ¡±My wife is wonderful! A month back she gave birth to our firstborn, a little lad with the most beautiful eyes¡ªwell, second beautiful eyes; my wife¡¯s eyes are still, and will always be, the most beautiful!¡±

    ¡±Honestly, she is the best thing to ever have happened to me. There is finally someone who understands me. A gentle soul who, with their presence, cleanses me from the pains of my past; she nourishes me with her existence. She completes me.¡± Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes at times wavered as he spoke, and all this time a bright smile that reached his eyes filled the conversation; it made the room brighter than it was before. To see someone so happy¡­ if only Kanrel could truly feel it as well.

    Y¡¯Kraun grinned, rather suddenly, ¡±And Gar? Who cares about that bastard anyway?¡±

    They both could hear a loud snort not too far away from them. ¡±Nice to hear that¡­ friend.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s grin widened as he looked to the side, ¡±Always a pleasure to shower you with compliments you could very well do without.¡±

    Kanrel glanced at the person Y¡¯Kraun stared at. Gar was there, with his hands akimbo and his judgmental gaze set on Y¡¯Kraun. ¡±Indeed, there never goes a day by where my ears aren''t poisoned by your words¡ªand less so my eyes.¡± Gar added and mockingly covered his eyes with his left hand.

    Then, he let his hand fall to his side; he finally met Kanrel¡¯s gaze. ¡±You¡¯ve not changed that much.¡± He pointed and came a little closer and even leaned forward. Gar then shook his head in disappointment. ¡±Within your eyes, I can¡¯t say that there now lies some secret wisdom, nor is there some greater intellect either. Instead, you¡¯re just the same.¡± He shook his head again. ¡±I think we ought to give up; you¡¯ll never be as great a being as I am.¡±

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡±I can¡¯t just stretch my limbs to become taller, nor will I ever be able to eat enough to surpass your weight; thus, I shall remain a lesser being all my life¡­ Forgive me, oh you gargantuan being of mild or even lesser wisdom.¡±

    Gar cackled and took a seat as well. The three eyed each other in turn.

    ¡±Awkward,¡± Y¡¯Kraun pointed out after a while.

    ¡±Precisely.¡± Gar nodded along.

    ¡±Exactly what I expected.¡± Kanrel added.

    Y¡¯Kraun cleared his throat. ¡±I don¡¯t have much time at the moment; I¡¯ve got to go back to work in a few minutes, but I do wish that we could catch up sooner rather than later. There is much that we ought to go over¡­¡±

    ¡±As well as some plans for the future that I have.¡± He then added with an awkward smile.

    ¡±So, perhaps we can meet later today at your place?¡± Gar asked, ¡±Kanrel gets to see your wife and your kid as well as where you now live, and we get to have a long conversation about the things we¡¯ve been up to and what Kanrel has seen and learned within the Sanctuary¡­ as long as they are, of course, details that he is allowed to share.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun smiled and got up. ¡±Most certainly. I¡¯ll get off work in four or so hours¡­ And you in about the same time?¡± He asked Gar, who nodded.

    ¡±And what might I do in the meantime?¡± Kanrel asked, but Y¡¯Kraun was already off and on his way toward the kitchen. Gar sighed, ¡±He¡¯s a busy man nowadays. Not the ever-relaxed Y¡¯Kraun he used to be¡­ It seems that getting married and then soon finding out that he¡¯ll become a father has matured him up a bit¡­ as well as made him work harder and harder.¡±

    ¡±I see. It must be difficult for him.¡±

    ¡±It is. But he isn¡¯t one to ever mention a thing about it. Life is expensive here, and it is much more expensive for someone in his situation.¡±

    Kanrel thought about it for a while, then nodded, ¡±I don¡¯t know much about how things are here with such things, but when compared to life above, I can see some similarities. There, too, things would be difficult for someone like him as well.¡±

    Gar raised his brows. ¡±I thought you didn¡¯t have any serfs in your lands.¡±

    Kanrel blinked. ¡±Oh, you were talking about that¡­ I was more so thinking about his lack of wealth, lack of education, the fact that he has a child and that he lives in an expensive city.¡± Kanrel pondered for a while again, ¡±Does his past as a serf make much difference to how he is treated nowadays? Shouldn¡¯t that really be in the past and not something to be held over him?¡± Kanrel asked.

    Gar shook his head. ¡±Well, he will always be treated differently by those who aren¡¯t as understanding; everyone has their own prejudice. And his past is the reason why he has little to no education and even less wealth.¡±

    Kanrel nodded. A silence ensued. Soon, Kanrel could see Y¡¯Kraun come out of the kitchen; they once again wore their white apron; they went from table to table, partaking in small talk and asking if he could help or bring anything else to his customers.

    Gar cleared his throat. ¡±You could come with me to the library¡­ There are some things I want to talk about with you when fewer prying ears are around to listen¡­¡±

    Kanrel accepted this offer, and they left behind the restaurant and Y¡¯Kraun, who didn¡¯t even have time to bid them farewell.

    They entered the already crowded library, passing students, teachers, and professors, most of whom carried books or at least notebooks. Wherever Kanrel went in the City of Last Light, he attracted the curious eyes of those who had never seen a creature like him but had definitely heard of him. At least within the Grand Library, most were well aware of ¡¯Kanrel the Darshi¡¯ as he was known.

    Kanrel half expected that they would go to the higher levels of the library, to seek a place where they could converse in peace, but instead, they turned to the right, the other wing of the library, where Kanrel had never visited before. They walked down the corridor, now amongst fewer and fewer students and more professors and teachers. There was office space, rooms meant for professors, and much wider spaces with tables and such spread around for teachers.

    They came to a halt after walking past multiple such rooms and past a set of stairs that would go up a level, where, no doubt, it would be just a continuation of what could be found on this level. Maybe the offices would be nicer, maybe the professors who worked at the higher levels would be more important, maybe they would have better qualifications or something like that. But that was, again, just what Kanrel assumed. For, if knowledge itself was placed upon a hierarchy within the Grand Library, then so would be those who studied and studied them.

    What they now stood before was indeed a door, another somewhat complicated magical device of stone and engravings, which then would allow one to form something like a wall that could not be opened without activating it with some magic. Gar did just that; he then waltzed inside his little office¡­

    Kanrel followed ahead but was instantly struck by this new sight of his friend. It was a mess. Papers and books everywhere; where there was a chair, it was instead made into another surface on which more books and papers could be stacked upon each other, just another place to store what could easily be managed and sorted in a way that would be logical and easily accessible. But of course not. It could not be so.

    This was like taking a step into someone else''s mind, a clear view of their habits. Perhaps one could make a conclusion based on what Kanrel saw now: the owner of this room wasn¡¯t very organized; they were someone who had lots of different ideas and interests, and they probably didn¡¯t have much time to clean or organize their working space, and perhaps even their own mind¡­

    Kanrel stood still for a while and studied this view that transpired before him. But he did not place judgment upon it; only that it was different from how he himself did things. This mind was someone else''s; he had his own. He didn¡¯t need to claim this for himself and change it. It was perfect as it was. To someone else, it was orderly; to him, it was chaos. But one man''s chaos was another''s order.

    Amusing.

    The stone door formed itself together once more; bricks placed themselves upon each other, making the wall whole again and leaving no one the possibility to view what happens inside of someone else''s order.

    ¡±Sit,¡± Gar urged Kanrel as he went around the books and papers that were seemingly everywhere; Gar found his chair on the other side of the table that had piles upon piles of random things on top of it; he then sat down and met Kanrel¡¯s gaze.

    ¡±Oh¡­¡± He mouthed and blinked for a while, ¡±Where, indeed¡­¡± He scratched his head and then pointed at one of the two chairs that served as shelves for books. ¡±Just move those books to the side¡ªdoesn¡¯t really matter where¡ªand take a seat¡­¡±

    ¡±I apologize for the¡­ mess?¡± He began, but he trailed off as if unsure what to apologize for; he then scoffed, ¡±Yes¡­ A mess, indeed.¡±

    Kanrel did as he was told and took a seat. ¡±Well then¡­ What did you want to talk about?¡±

    ¡±No, wait! Let me guess¡­ You want to ask me about the Sanctuary and what I learned there?¡±

    Gar smiled, ¡±Well yes¡­ But I would assume that you¡¯re about to shatter my dreams with phrases like, ¡¯I really can¡¯t tell you much,¡¯ and ¡¯I don¡¯t know how much I can tell you¡­¡¯¡±

    Kanrel gave no reply; he decided to let his silence speak for itself.

    Gar sighed, ¡±How dull¡­ Well, what can you tell me?¡± He asked instead.

    Kanrel thought for a moment, ¡±They didn¡¯t seem to like me being there that much, but I survived and learned what I wanted to learn nonetheless¡­¡±

    ¡±So, now you know what lies past the Veil?¡±

    Kanrel shook his head. ¡±I do not. On the contrary, now I feel that I know even less about the Veil and what it entails¡­ The answers I received¡­ Well, they were more like a fragmented collection of knowledge with all the important parts missing and hidden behind more walls and held by people who really don¡¯t want to share what they know¡­¡±

    ¡±It only made this much clear: I must enter the Veil myself.¡± Kanrel continued.

    It was Gar¡¯s turn to shake his head. ¡±I had feared as much¡­ Can I talk you out of it?¡± He asked. They stared at each other for a while. Gar sighed, ¡±No?¡±

    ¡±No.¡±

    Gar scoffed, ¡±I¡¯m honestly not that surprised. This outcome is what I had most expected. After all, it was always the obvious outcome¡­¡±

    ¡±But even then, even if you must enter the Veil, I will demand one thing, and one thing only¡­¡± His eyes met Kanrel¡¯s; the ocean, that is what it was. One, not so calm anymore, one filled with emotion; one so adamant, no man could deny them nor the words that would follow, ¡±It is the same one that I had made some years back¡­ Try to live among us¡­ So far, you haven¡¯t tried such a thing; you¡¯ve only locked yourself away and allowed only a few to find their way to you¡­¡±

    ¡±Only then will I allow you to court further with death. Only then will I fulfill the promise that I made back then¡­ Only then will I help you, even if it means your death.¡±

    The two looked at each other in the silence that followed. The waves crashed into the ocean of Gar¡¯s eyes. There was a storm there. In the end, Kanrel sighed and even smiled a little. ¡±My destination is inevitable, but I will try; at least this much I owe the two of you.¡±

    Gar nodded, ¡±Good.¡±

    The atmosphere released itself from the knot of seriousness, and Gar smiled, ¡±Well then¡­ Now you, can finally help me with this mess of mine¡­ Look around; you see papers and books, but do you know what they are about?¡±

    Kanrel sighed, ¡±I knew this was coming¡­¡± He muttered and placed his gaze on one of the papers; he squinted his eyes and read aloud, ¡±¡­ the language has some inherent poetism within it, but what I find most curious is the use of euphemisms¡­¡± His voice trailed off, and he met Gar¡¯s gaze once more; the Atheian had a wide grin on his face.

    ¡±Must we? Really?¡±

    Gar¡¯s grin widened. ¡±There are many hours ahead of us before ol¡¯ Y¡¯Kraun can free himself from the chains of work. To honor him, of course, we must.¡±

    Kanrel sighed. He wanted to ask a question but did not; instead, he kept it to himself: Is this the living you were thinking of? But the answer was obvious¡­ of course, it wasn¡¯t what he meant, but at the same time it was. This, the somewhat dull jump into the study of language that Kanrel had taught Gar, was part of life as well. It was Gar¡¯s passion, after all. And for those who could feel such emotion, passion was life itself.

    He scoffed to himself as he prepared himself for the coming hours; he was reminded of a poem he had read long ago that suggested that one ought to ¡±be drunk.¡± Be it on wine, on poetry, or on virtue¡­ perhaps anything and all that one could wish to be drunk upon.

    This is what Gar wanted to be drunk on. This was his passion.

 Chapter 106: Little Light and Restless Dreams

    The apartment that the three of them entered wasn¡¯t very spacious. It was located not too far away from the restaurant and the Grand Library, but by no means was it a place large enough for a small family.

    U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui awaited them in the kitchen as the doors opened; she held a small bundle of cloth in her arms, and a little gray creature wrapped in that dark cloth slept in her embrace. The mother of that little thing seemed so tired, yet a smile pushed itself past that tiredness as she saw Kanrel, Gor, and her husband.

    ¡°What took you so long?¡± She simply asked, looking at each of them in turn.

    ¡°I was forced to work with convoluted notes that were in two different languages, go through them, and point out mistakes that our great scholar, Gor here, had made,¡± Kanrel said and couldn¡¯t help but poke Gor a few times.

    ¡°Hey! I know that your meager mind can barely comprehend such things, but I am on the cusp of something truly great!¡± Gor complained and poked Kanrel in turn.

    A burst of giggles escaped U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui¡¯s lips as she was forced to listen to their bickering. ¡°I see that some things never change¡­¡± She muttered and then stepped forth, ¡°There is someone I¡¯d like you to meet, Kanrel.¡± She said with a gentle smile on her face. She extended her arms toward Kanrel, urging him to take the child into his own arms.

    Kanrel stared at it for a moment; he had never seen an Atheian so small. He had seen Atheian children before, but never one so small, one that had its eyes closed, one that was in deep slumber. He accepted the child and took it into his own arms, this warm bundle of cloth and baby. Gray and alien but somehow so beautiful.

    A feeling ran through him, it came in the form of shivers and a prickling feeling in his very existence; it placed itself into his mind; into his throat as a piece that he could not swallow; as tears that wanted to emerge and vacate this hollow man; by this new life in his arms, he wanted to be reborn. This child, in its peace, was so beautiful, yet he felt his heart twist a little as another realization seeped in. He wasn¡¯t happy; he didn¡¯t feel good. Instead, he felt sad and touched; he felt lacking¡­ He might never hold one of his own like this.

    Kanrel swallowed all these mixed emotions and kept them at bay. He swallowed the tears that tried to pierce this mask that he held. He swallowed everything that there might be. He painted his mask with a gentle smile and asked, ¡°What is its name?¡±

    ¡°L¡¯enu¡¯m, her name is L¡¯enu¡¯m.¡± Y¡¯Kraun replied after a sniff; he too pushed away the tears that found themselves in his eyes. He reached for his daughter and caressed her little head. Her name meant, quite simply, ¡°Little Light.¡± A fitting name, for it seemed that she truly was the little light of Y¡¯Kraun and U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui¡¯s life, but that little light was so bright that the two wouldn¡¯t want to see anything other than its light.

    Kanrel nodded and offered the little bundle to Y¡¯Kraun, ¡°I had half expected your firstborn to be named after me, but what can you do? A daughter deserves a more beautiful name than mine.¡±

    U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui chuckled, ¡°Maybe that day comes sooner rather than later.¡± She stared at them with a wry smile; all were enthralled by the sight of L¡¯enu¡¯m, so none noticed. She went ahead and clapped her hands together and announced, ¡°Dinner is ready! Come inside and don¡¯t just hang around the front door. We¡¯ve got plenty of space to sit, so just pick a spot¡ªon the floor or on a chair¡ªas long as you sit while we eat. I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Atheian cuisine, from Kanrel¡¯s point of view, is quite limited. Much of it consists of small animals, bugs, and other creatures that seem to find their inhabitant so deep below the ground. One surprise was mushrooms, and the wide variety of them, most of them of species that he could not name, but either way they were safe to eat. That was quite frankly all he could say about them as well as the meal that he now ate in the company of his friends. Everything tasted the same; it had been so for so long that he couldn¡¯t really say if there ever was a moment in his life where he had the ability to taste, or if everything had always tasted like ash. A curious feeling brought on by years spent slowly forgetting what he once could do.

    But some things remained in his memory. Just how selective could the mind be? Or does the taste of wine simply matter less than everything else? Are memories simply not equal¡­ He supposed that this was the case.

    They dined and conversed about this and that, mainly about what they all had been up to recently. U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui was especially curious about Kanrel and how he had been; after all, they had not seen each other since her wedding.

    Even L¡¯enu¡¯m partook in this necessary ritual called dinner; a bowl was placed before her, and she used her delicate hands to shovel the cooled mushroom stew into her mouth. Of course, making a mess while she was at it. One could not get mad at the sight, or such was obvious in the expressions of the others; their smiles and L¡¯enu¡¯m¡¯s smile were like a mirror of happiness that bounced within the enclosed space. Her bright eyes studied the world and the strangeness of Kanrel with astute curiosity; at first, she had been shy of him, and she looked at him with her brows furrowed, as if not understanding what she saw, but soon enough those brows unfurrowed themselves, the blue in her eyes set away her suspicion, and a bright smile that lacked teeth crowned not only her happy expression but also the atmosphere of the apartment.

    To that smile, Kanrel had to answer with his own, hoping that the little thing might be fooled by it. Hoping that it would not take offense because of his lack of enthusiasm or true happiness because of the moment. All he had was curiosity toward that spawn of his friend. Just how different was an Atheian child from that of a human child? There must have been many, but he couldn¡¯t name most of them¡­ so little time he had spent with children of her age. Before this moment, he simply never had the reason to.

    And when, at last, L¡¯enu¡¯m was done with her dinner, spending time in the company of them, she finally became what she had been hours before. Sleepy, so sleepy she was. Her eyes were soon unable to stay open; her eyelids forced themselves to cover the world and its lights, its curiosities, and even her parents. She slept, and U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui went ahead and carried her baby from the room where they ate their dinner, and into another one, a simple bedroom that the small family shared.

    Y¡¯Kraun looked on as his wife carried their baby away, a gentle smile on his face ruined by weary eyes no less tired than his wife¡¯s. ¡°I serve her; she is the last person for whom I am willing to be a serf if I must¡­ She is worth it¡ªnay¡ªshe is worth far more than that¡­¡± He muttered, letting out a sigh. After a while, he returned his gaze back to Kanrel and Gor. ¡°Now then, I suppose I can finally say what I¡¯ve wanted to say since we met earlier in the restaurant¡­¡±

    Gor raised his brows. ¡°And what could that be? Nothing good, I assume¡­¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun scoffed, ¡°Depends on how one defines the very concept ¡®good.¡¯¡± Without much humor, he let out a chuckle. But then, he locked his gaze with Kanrel, ¡°We all have a hundred different excuses to not do a given thing we¡¯ve either dreamed, thought, or planned on doing for, possibly, the longest time¡­¡± He glanced at Gor, ¡°Some of us are stuck in work they don¡¯t much enjoy these days, holding on to dreams of great contributions they might make in the field of linguistics and language¡­¡± His gaze returned to Kanrel. ¡°Some of us dream of returning, or perhaps finding, their way back home.¡±

    ¡°All of these so-called dreams have obstacles in front of them¡­ Some of these obstacles are created by ourselves,¡± he again glanced at Gor, ¡°and some of them just exist without much explanation¡­¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°I have my own dreams, and this dream has had its own obstacles. Some of those obstacles still remain, but most of them, I claim, are gone now.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°I would like to share my dream with you, and I wonder if you would be able to help me. I wonder if, through this, you two could push yourselves to take action toward the dreams that you certainly have within but dare not approach.¡±

    ¡°Below our apartment, on the lowest level of this complex, there is a vacant shop. I don¡¯t own much; I have only a little, but I would like to buy it and, together with you two, use it as a catalyst to fund not only my dreams but yours as well.¡±

    ¡°Both of you have talents that I don¡¯t hold. I am poor; I barely have anything at all, yet at the same time, for the past few years, I¡¯ve never felt richer than I do now.¡±

    ¡°I have a wife and a child, and for them, I would give anything; I would give everything if I could so that they might live a better life than what I have lived. A better life than what my family has lived.¡±

    ¡°So, I come to you two as almost a beggar, and I beg with pure intent and hope in my heart that together we might buy that shop before it is too late. And together, we will make it into something that uses the talents that you have and lets them blossom.¡± Y¡¯Kraun let his gaze go between Kanrel and Gor. ¡°Neither of you would have to do things you don¡¯t want to do, and both of you could focus on the things you do want to do.¡±

    ¡°Those dreams and desires, whichever one wants to call them. Don¡¯t let them wither and be forgotten just because you don¡¯t have the time to pursue them. Don¡¯t let them die just because of how one¡¯s own rational mind gnaws at the idea of doing something so wild and dangerous, something so uncertain.¡±

    ¡°Embrace the randomness with me and whatever might come out of it.¡± Pleading, that is what he did. Indeed, it was as if he were a beggar kneeling before them, his head against the floor; all of that and much more could be seen in his eyes. Pleading.

    Gor sighed, ¡°It really doesn¡¯t make any sense at all.¡± He glanced at Kanrel, ¡°But I do have quite a bit of wealth just hanging around; one could say that I have more of it than I do have sense in the first place.¡± He chuckled, ¡°But¡­ in the end, my decision lies with Kanrel¡­¡±

    Kanrel met Gor¡¯s gaze, the blue within his eyes; a memory of words spoken earlier today forced itself into his mind again. A sigh escaped his lips. He had promised, after all, to at least try.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing better to do, so might as well,¡± Kanrel muttered.

    A snort followed soon after, ¡°Just say it, loud and proud!¡± Gor urged, he grinned as if he were a man who had just won a great amount of wealth¡­ or lost even more.

    Kanrel sighed and repeated himself, ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing better to do, so I might as well.¡±

    ¡°Come again?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked in turn; he held a confused expression on his face, which barely reached his eyes.

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°Do you want to do this or not? I can still back out, right?¡±

    The two Atheians laughed, only to be stopped by the angered expression of U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui¡¯ that peeked at them from the other room. Even then, they held on to their grins, and Y¡¯Kraun got up and sat next to Kanrel; he placed his hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m glad to do this with you, brother.¡± His tone was so sweet and gentle, his eyes earnest and without guile, yet his grin was the same as it had always been, somewhat sarcastic and always crowned with a spark of mischief.

    Kanrel sighed, ¡°I won¡¯t say something like ¡®me too¡­¡¯ Instead, I would like to ask what a group of rats is called.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun rolled his eyes. ¡°Are you really copying someone else''s joke?¡±

    Gor seemed a bit confused. ¡°The answer is ¡®mischief,¡¯ right? But what joke? I don¡¯t get it.¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun sighed, ¡°For a studied man, you can be a bit dense at times, you know that?¡±

    ¡°Well yes, most creatures are somewhat dense, not as dense as other things, but¡­¡±

    Y¡¯Kraun stopped him. ¡°He is calling us rats.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ But that doesn¡¯t make any sense¡­ Two is a pair, not a group.¡±

    Kanrel smiled, ¡°You are correct, but the three of us do make a group, pack, or swarm¡­ in whichever rats and other rodents squirrel around.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ That does make sense.¡± Gor pondered aloud, but soon a grin veiled his mixed expression of confusion and deep thought. ¡°So you do admit it, then?¡±

    Kanrel sighed, ¡°Yes, I do admit it; I am as much of a rat as you are, even when it so pains me to admit such a thing¡­¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure, enough of rats and other useless things; I would much rather talk about plans and such. When can we go ahead and buy the damn shop? I¡¯ve talked to our landlord, and they have expressed that they are willing to give a discount to me since I live in the same building and all that.¡± Y¡¯Kraun pivoted.

    ¡°Tomorrow, tomorrow! What¡¯s the hurry, really? Can¡¯t we just dwell in this moment a little longer? I for one can barely believe two things that have happened today! One, you called Kanrel ¡®brother.¡¯ Two, Kanrel finally acknowledged his rat-like behavior, his rat-like ways, and his rat-like face! A truth that makes all of this make so much sense; he really isn¡¯t a Darshi; he is, in fact, a talking rat that happens to move in a bipedal manner. Explains all the hair as well as the few years he spent living in a cave!¡± Gor spoke, his speech gaining speed as he went ahead, and at the end of his explanation, he had to inhale deeply.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we all technically live in a cave?¡± Y¡¯Kraun muttered but soon grabbed Gor by his shoulder, ¡°Now, you¡¯ve dwelled enough in these grand revelations; let¡¯s talk business instead.¡±

    Gor sighed, ¡°Fine, but one day I will force you two to dwell with me further; of this day I shall remind you two until the earth above collapses and buries us all.¡± He vowed.

    The rest of the evening they spend in deep conversation, planning ahead what their little shop might specialize in. A mix of magic and parading Kanrel around here and there as a thing of curiosity for all. Nothing, really, but at least this time, he would get paid for it. This plan, a loose one, of course, would surely develop into something more profound and interesting, Kanrel hoped, but this was to be seen.

    As night fell, Gor went ahead and left for his own apartment, leaving Kanrel in the care of Y¡¯Kraun and his family, who offered Kanrel a place to sleep, the very room where they ate, with an addition of some blankets and pillows turned into a guest bedroom. Y¡¯Kraun bid him good night and joined his wife in their bedroom. So, Kanrel was left alone with his own thoughts once more.

    He was unsure if it would be worth his time to fulfill a promise he had made to Gor. To spend, possibly, years on this endeavor, on someone else¡¯s so-called dream. Of course, he wanted to help, for they had helped him; they had helped him so much more than he had helped them. This was the reality of their relationship.

    So even if this would be a waste of time, in one way or another, he still ought to pay back what he owed. Even if it means wasting another year or two, or maybe even more. In a way, this normalcy felt out of place in his world. For so long he had not partaken in things that made sense for most people. Instead, he had lived his time in between what seemed like reality and what seemed like a dream, never knowing or being quite sure which was which.

    Of course, he wanted a moment like this, but he wanted to have it in a way that actually felt normal and not just a different shade of already familiar gray. He wanted to feel the emotions that Gor and Y¡¯Kraun felt. He wanted to look at Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s daughter with not just curiosity but with recognizable love for his friend¡¯s child. He wanted to experience all of this, this still moment that had placed itself within the eye of the storm where he had carefully dreaded and survived for so long; he wanted to feel like a human, not like a beast, not like a disgrace. A human, what does it mean to be human? What does it feel like to be human? It could not be this. This moment, meant to be natural, felt so unlikely and unreal to him. It was as if it were something he wasn¡¯t allowed to experience or seek out. It was, as if, he ought to run away from, to run toward another destination, to another dream, away from the light that was found in this small apartment.

    Oblivion. The staircase, the steps, so many that he had taken; the thousands of steps others had taken until they reached a point of desperation. The abyss. The solitude and loneliness of knowing what will come for us all either way. It all makes no sense; it ought not, and it will not. Such is the nature of existence: to fight against the waves, to keep your head above the waters, to spit out the dark matter that enters our lungs, to pray that there might be something or someone to give all the answers, to give us a sense of meaning. But there is no meaning. Not one that can be given, not one that inherently exists. There is only the meaning we give to things, and being alike.

    Meaning is meant for those who know of passion; it is for those whom it is allowed. And for those like Kanrel, meaning is only found when one escapes oblivion.

    Kanrel closed his eyes, wondering which nightmare he would see tonight.

 Chapter 107, Part One: The Past Presented as the Current

    He stood on the edge of what one might call nothingness. The Veil. It moved of its own will against the lights of the lanterns that were there to keep it at bay. It smoldered for reasons unknown to most. It screeched and screamed in a chorus of distant pain, of memories in which they were stuck. They too had their dreams, their desires. They too loved life and those who made life worth living. They too suffered, yet their suffering had never come to an end.

    Who was the fool who claimed they could kill a god? Who was the fool who brought them here? Who was the fool who led them to die for nothing?

    He stood at the edge of it, at the entrance of the abyss, of oblivion manifested into physical reality. He contemplated, for the last time, the question of utmost importance to a man courting death: If he died today, would he regret it?

    He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and pondered the question and its implications. There was nothing else he could do but this. If he wanted to be¡­ whole¡­ There would be just this. How did he even get here? What had he done to deserve to be here, to stand here, to contemplate such things as if it were his destiny to simply walk in?

    For a moment, he imagined rain. What would it feel like on him, what would it feel like on his skin, and what would it sound like?

    Tap, tap, tap, tap¡­ Time moved on without fault. Things happened; days, weeks, months, and years go past. One barely notices it as it happens. Moments just go by without a fault in the order in which they happen, but soon, one can¡¯t tell what happened first, which thing was before the other, was this, or that? The next or the previous? Tap, tap, tap, tap¡­ You can¡¯t do anything about it. You can freeze it. You can¡¯t stop it. It just goes on and on.

    Then one day, you realize that more time has gone by than you had hoped. You¡¯re older now than you were then, and you wish you were not who you have become. You wish you were someone else¡ªsomeone you had been thousands of days ago.

    ¡°How did it happen? How did it all just slip away? How did I get here? How did we get here?¡±

    <hr>

    Everything went well. Perhaps that was the issue. There were no great difficulties with the little shop they had bought together. Within the first few days, they obtained the deed to the shop. Soon after, they returned to the Forum, this time only to apply for a permit. It had taken about a week before they got permission to open their shop, even though it was somewhat unclear what they wanted to sell and what services they wished to provide.

    For several months, while they built their business, Kanrel lived with Y¡¯Kraun and his family. There hadn¡¯t been much to begin with, and soon there was even less. But it wasn¡¯t Kanrel¡¯s style to complain about such things; after all, this was what he was used to. In fact, he was used to having even less. It was quite clear that the years he had spent in the Academy of the Heavenly had provided him with the patience needed to have so little. All in all, he had grown into a man who didn¡¯t really care where or when he slept, for as long as he was allowed to sleep at some point.

    Y¡¯Kraun was gracious enough to feed him, offer him shelter, and give him work.

    After receiving the permit to practice business, it took about a month before they had furnished the shop and turned one of the smaller rooms into a bedroom that Kanrel could use as his home. This same room served as storage and as the place where the three could gather, converse, and relax when life gave them a chance to do so. This meant that he seldom had any time alone¡ªtruly alone. It was much different from his time at the Sanctuary. There was no one who wanted him gone. No one tried to kill him or isolate him from others¡ªnot even he tried to do so. But there were certainly days when he longed for solitude¡ªto sit, write, and think without someone standing behind him or sitting beside him, interrupting his thoughts with concerns like, ¡°How will we pay rent this month?¡± or ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we do this instead of that?¡± Essentially, they were almost always matters related to the business. There was not that much time for idle thought, nor questions about the future that he had envisioned for himself, nor the quest that he had set upon, nor the past that he had lived and the mistakes that he had committed. Life came in the way of some aspects of personal growth.

    Perhaps this was good. Perhaps not.

    At first, they did everything and all that they could¡ªteaching the Darshi language to those who were curious, setting up meetings with Kanrel for them, and even selling books written in either the Darshi languages or the Atheian language, whichever preferred, to those who wanted to own them. Such books were about a wide variety of topics, some about the cultures found above, others about the life that could be found there, what humans were like, or what kind of world could be found there. These maps, depicting the world above, were not entirely precise, as Kanrel had not seen a map of it in a long time. Still, he remembered the most important landmarks: the great mountains, the rivers, and the largest cities, most of which were coastal. His map outlined the world¡¯s shape and even marked locations shrouded in myth, such as the desert born from the lust of the Wildkin and the mountains where the Darshi gods, the Angels, were said to dwell.

    It went on like this for perhaps a year or so. Their shop became a place that was somewhat known among the scholarly circles, and its location was quite convenient because of this; the location of the Grand Library wasn¡¯t too far away, and there were some old students of Gor, who were excited to see what the professor had been up to. The world above was a great point of interest, as it was considered to be something almost mythical by many. A place of old stories and legends, it was a utopia to some, and some thought of it as nothing more than the place of their forefathers, a place they had been forced to abdicate. A lost home now populated by the strange, hairy creatures that were the Darshi.

    But there were many other things that Kanrel could do that he could teach Gor and Y¡¯Kraun as well. Healing and the so-called Medical Magic that he had learned as a student under Professor Forsvarn all those years ago. Something that he hadn¡¯t practiced much in years, but something that he could easily pick up again, and by this point refine. Of course, Gor and Y¡¯Kraun didn¡¯t have the beds that were used at the Academic Hospital, so they weren¡¯t able to practice this skill that much.

    It was a different view to the medicine that the Atheians practiced; both, of course, used magic and there were many skilled healers, but the lack of simulations was something that was denied to them. They simply hadn¡¯t crafted such a device. There were many similarities between these two different systems, and the knowledge of different diseases and medical issues, in general, was about the same that could be found above.

    It was something that Kanrel wanted to pivot their business toward, to either practice medicine and serve as a healer or doctor for the Atheians that lived in the City of Last Light, or to be there to bring great innovation with the simulations and other devices that could help push the skills of many practitioners of medicine further. Yet both endeavors were impossible for him to achieve.

    To become a doctor, he would have to study in the Grand Library¡ªnot for just days or months, but for years. It was a waste of time to go learn something that he mostly already knew, but he would have to do it either way, or he would be denied the permit to practice medicine, be it magical or not, within the City of Last Light as well as the Atheian society. One needed a permit for even this. Of course, one was allowed to heal small wounds of anyone if they had the skill to do so, but to have a practice, which then would be in fact a business, was very different.

    Creating devices for simulations, like those used in the Academic Hospital of the Academy of the Heavenly, was even more impossible than becoming a doctor¡­ He didn¡¯t have nearly enough knowledge of devices, even after spending multiple months studying literature about them. He would have to spend, possibly, another year or even more within the Sanctuary to learn such a skill. There was only so much that he could figure out by simply playing around with a random device like a lantern. Besides, he had no idea how the device that allowed for simulations really worked. It would be like trying to build something you had seen only a few times, but this something was so complicated that you could only build what it looked like but clearly without the mechanisms and such that allowed the intent for which the thing was built to serve.

    Simply put, he could build a bed¡ªone could lie on it¡ªbut he lacked the knowledge to generate the necessary ¡°code¡± for simulations. Thus, their endeavor was a useless one, and quickly it remained as only a passing thought of what they could do and nothing else.

    And so, they solidified the focus of their business: the world above. After all, they had the only ¡°expert¡± for such things. And so, much of Kanrel¡¯s time was spent writing about the world above, mostly in his own language, so that Gor could translate it into Atheian; this helped Gor¡¯s mastery of the Darshi language as well as his studies.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Y¡¯Kraun, instead, served as the ¡°handler¡± for both of them. He handled everything else so that the two could focus on their work instead of worrying about other matters. He made sure that they paid taxes and rent; he made sure that there would be appointments and lectures that Kanrel and Gor could hold about the world above; he made sure that everything ran smoothly, even if it took years before he learned the necessary skills to do just that. Yet, of the three, he was perhaps the most motivated to succeed. Not because he was the most skilled, but because he had far more to lose than the other two combined.

    He had his wife, his daughter, and soon a son as well. A boy they named L¡¯ek¡¯ral, ¡°Light Above.¡± A new addition to their family, and much to Kanrel¡¯s dismay, he was not named after him.

    In moments like these, you want to believe that everything is all right, that you belong exactly where you are. You want to believe that life will get better, that everything and all will be worth it. You want to believe, from the very bottom of your heart, that this won¡¯t be a waste of time. And not really for the sake of yourself but for the sake of that little gray thing wrapped in a bundle of cloth.

    And so, years passed. The children grew older. Their business prospered as much as it could, though it had its limitations; there was only so much they could offer. With it being pointed toward scholarly circles, there really weren¡¯t that many customers, but these customers, because of the place they had in this society, were quite wealthy, and thus the services and the books that they sold matched this demographic or wealth bracket.

    Gor remained a single man, upholding his vow to make knowledge his only true lover, as would any true scholar. He didn¡¯t need anything else. He had friends, and he could live vicariously through Y¡¯Kraun and U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui; he was the goofy uncle to their children, the one who had more questions to ask than answers to give. Through all of this, he was perhaps the most content with his life. Finally, he was allowed to do what he most wanted to do. He drank his wine¡ªthis passion of his, and he lived well.

    Kanrel wished he could be proud of Gor and the others, to smile sincerely and say their passion compensated for his own lack of it. But he could not.

    Gor was happy, Y¡¯Kraun was happy, U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui was happy, L¡¯enu¡¯m was happy, and L¡¯ek¡¯ral was happy. They were all happy; they lived their lives to the fullest that they could. Yet¡­ Kanrel was on the outside of it all; even when he lived, he suffered, he worked and was part of those happy moments with them. He tried to live vicariously through his friends and their emotions, their happiness, but it could never quite reach him. He dearly loved them, of course, but what he had become, a priest so long ago, remained the rule of law within his mind and how he was allowed and how he could experience emotions, such as happiness.

    Such an emotion didn¡¯t exist for him. Instead, there was a lack of it. There was no love; there was just the longing for this emotion. He yearned to feel this happiness; he yearned to taste this wine of theirs, this passion that they all shared and lived through. In these dreams they lived, he felt like an outsider to them. He tried to believe that he belonged, but he did not. He wondered if he could find his place within this strange world, but he could not. Even when he had lived years among them, he remained an outsider, as a curiosity and nothing more to most. He hadn¡¯t made new friends, really. Only those who were curious about him as something exotic and strange. As a source of knowledge about the things that were above. An outsider he was, and he remained one.

    Not just because they held him at arm¡¯s length, but because he couldn¡¯t connect. Perhaps, not because he was different, a different species altogether, but because of what he had given to have the power he has now. His vow to bear the suffering of others kept him a stranger, an outsider, and perhaps an outcast among these people so different from him. It had been so even when he had lived above.

    Of course, later, he would realize that there was much that he would miss, but he wouldn¡¯t be able to feel the good things; he could only feel the hollow lack, the disgust he had for himself and what he had become. He was in constant pain; his mind was never truly at ease. And he could distract himself only so much, but each morning he would awake from another nightmare, another vision forced upon him by what could only be the Veil.

    The shadows, the voices, the visions, the pictures¡ªeverything and all that had ever happened. It beckons; it calls for you. It was the voice that had called him to take entrance, to enter the ruins, that had led him through the labyrinth that was the temple that was found below, it was the same voice, the strange desire that demanded him to descend even further, it was the call Boran Walden wrote about in his journal; that made Kanrel step on the narrow stairs that lead into the darkness, that lead him on that platform suspended above the darkness below¡ªthe void that had its own call.

    The mirror stood there and a reflection of himself, holding on to a cat and nothing more¡ªa child who knew what it meant to smile, but despair lingered in those eyes, in that reflection of himself, that past who he had been. A different memory of who he could¡¯ve been. A mirror that had shattered; a mirror that he had entered¡­ All this because of its demands, of the voice that whispered and demanded and yelled within his mind, ¡°Enter!¡± And so he had had to enter. A mistake. This one and so many more before and later on. So many mistakes that one comes to regret. There was so much regret. There was only regret.

    During the years he spent in the company of his friends, he saw so many nightmares. Different and new, but they all held similarities. Either there would be a god or a butterfly, the perpetrator or the victim. Masses slaughtered in mere moments, the laughing of a tyrant with promises of more pain, of more slaughter, of more which one could only describe as absolute evil without even a singular point of confusion of what it could be, for there was nothing good about it, none could claim that such acts could produce anything good for anyone else except the demon that had sentenced all of them to death through suffering.

    The guilt of an Angel who walked the ashen streets of a ruined city, his gaze always placed at his feet, his golden wings dragged along with him, cleaning away his steps but leaving behind a mark of his wings. Empty were the eyes of an angel; guilty were the words of a god as he burned another butterfly, as he scorched another living thing in the wake of a city once great and prosperous.

    Indeed, who was the fool to think that they could kill a god? And who was the fool, who thought that they could be any better than the god he had killed¡­ Who were the fools who thought that they could build a city free from the crimes of their past? Who were the fools that gave up on the said city, only to burn it, only to slaughter the last of their kin? Only to leave behind more things to regret. Only they are to be blamed for it. For everything that did happen. There is no one else to blame.

    And at times, during and after each nightmare, Kanrel would wonder if he was to be blamed for it as well. Was he the cause of it all? Weren¡¯t he Ignar, even if for just a moment¡­

    Years go by, first just a few and soon almost a decade. And Kanrel lay in his bed; he was left to wonder about it and if it had been worth it. If he had been content. If it all had been a waste of time? He remembered fairly well the conversation he, Gor, and Y¡¯Kraun had before they decided to form their own business.

    Y¡¯Kraun had mentioned dreams; he had wished to chase after his own dreams but to also give an option, a place, and a chance for Gor and Kanrel to chase their own dreams. He had mentioned the many excuses most would have. He had mentioned the things that placed themselves as an obstacle before those dreams.

    Kanrel had such dreams. He had a dream of becoming what he once was. He wanted to shed away this shadow of his; to become a human once more, to feel that he did not lack, to find the ability to feel what being content meant, or what lust felt, or what love truly felt like. There was so much he wanted to feel. He wished to enter the Veil, to go past this obstacle that placed itself before him. He wished to enter it, even when it might as well mean death. Even if it could mean the end of all things. Even if it were the place where his dreams would wither and die away.

    But he felt that it would be better than this. Even here, even among friends and people he loved, he still felt the lack of things. And this lack made this experience; these years feel like a waste; they made this situation, this bed, this room, this shop, this business, and even his friends feel like an obstacle¡­

    Here he was. Years. He had wasted years.

    And why? Because there was always something they ought to do. Be it helping a friend, doing complicated work, writing another collection of Atheian history to remember later, or reading one such codex. Another book about the world above, another lecture to hold, another student to teach, another month of rent to pay, another mouth to feed¡­ someone else¡¯s dream to live¡­

    Had these years truly been a waste? He wondered, and he wanted to question this thought, all of these thoughts that he had. But he had just one conclusion. One reality. One realization: It felt like a waste because he lacked the ability to appreciate it now. He wouldn¡¯t be able to know if these were the so-called ¡°good times¡± of his life. Not now. Not ever, if he weren¡¯t able to reverse the Ritual, the descent down the stairs; the descent into that oblivion that all priests of the Priesthood had to gaze into, to fall down into, to embrace as if it were their only lover¡­

    There was something he ought to do, and he knew it. He had kept his promise to Gor. This was enough. He had other promises that he needed to uphold. Promises that he had made to himself years ago.

    ¡°Find a way home.

    Find within the ability to dream again.

    Forgive yourself, or find someone who can forgive you.

    Find again what it felt to love¡ªnot the despair of it, not the loneliness of it, but the happiness of it, the warmth of it.

    Try to live, not for yesterday or for tomorrow, but for today; not in the regret of past deeds or the worry of those to come, but in the present. There will be time to regret and worry either way.¡±

    A list that he had made for himself. Promises that he had pondered about for so long but not made enough effort to achieve. And to achieve these almost mad dreams of his, he had to leave behind what he had here. He had to desert his friends. He had to leave this city, he had to leave these lands, he had to enter darkness, the eye oblivion once more, to find his way back home, to find his long-lost ability to truly dream, to forgive himself or to find someone who could forgive him, to find again what it meant to love, and not just its despair¡­ To find how to live without the all-encompassing regret of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow; to find a way to live just in today and not live in a past that presented itself as the current.

    Years he had spent here. For years he had tried. Years he had felt regret and guilt. Years he had suffered and wasted. It was enough. This was enough.

 Chapter 107, Part Two: Through Memory and Dream, an Entrance to a Nightmare

    As if in stagnant waters, not in a bed¡ªunable to move, unable to scream, not able to free himself of the chains that he has placed upon himself. These stagnant waters are not only a feeling of profound sadness but also the life that he has constructed around himself¡ªclaiming that these are the things that he needs to live a happy, fulfilled life.

    What need there really ever was for something so abstract and uncertain as dreams? Such aspirations and desires, he can barely feel them in the normal sense of dreaming. Thus, he dwells in these stagnant waters; he dares not break these chains. Why dream when you can slowly dwindle and wither away while always wondering what could¡¯ve been if you had only set yourself free?

    But to dwindle, to wither, can one accept such a fate? On the ceiling, shadows danced without a stop, or so he imagined; in reality, it was a smooth nothingness¡ªa darkness that embraced him from all around. Neither warm nor cold. Kanrel lay in his bed on his back and stared at that smooth ceiling. On it, he saw a vision of the many ceilings he had stared at in such moods throughout his life.

    Most of them were nearly identical, for it wasn¡¯t really about the ceiling¡¯s substance¡ªits texture or color¡ªbut about the thoughts and emotions he projected onto them. This was the thing that differed, yet remained in close relation to a core set of issues that he had dealt with for most of his life by now.

    The moments surrounding those times were filled with reflection and dread as he stared at the ceiling, the wall, or a window. It was not the issues themselves that mattered most, but the life he had then and the person he was. He missed one but not the other.

    He couldn¡¯t really miss the constant call of the void, nor the coldness of existence, and definitely not the regrets of the past. But what he missed were the people that he knew back then. There were so many. And now he couldn¡¯t quite remember them, not how they were, not what they looked like, nor did he have a clue of who they were today, what they would look like, how much older they had grown, or if they were alive at all.

    Dread layered itself upon him. The fear of forgetting and the fear of not remembering remained an overbearing presence above his worries. But this fear of not knowing was the one that screeched above all else¡ªthis uncertainty that he wasn¡¯t quite sure about in the sense that he didn¡¯t know if he wanted to know or if ignorance surrounding the lives and the existence of those who you once loved was better than the knowledge of their fates.

    But if memory fades and one day he finds that he can¡¯t remember his mother''s voice nor her face, then wouldn¡¯t that be almost as bad as death itself? Then you would have to know; you would have to find out and hope that she still is alive, with the risk of finding out that she has long passed, and with her passing, her memories have died as well, for Kanrel no longer can remember a thing. Just that she once was, nothing more.

    Thus, is it not time to break free from the self-imposed chains of his life? After all, he had truly tried; he had given enough of his time to this part of his life, but what he gives for this shouldn¡¯t be more than what he might lose.

    It was time to go. From one embrace of shadows, he must enter another. It was time to leave this cave behind, or at least try, and reach the sun and its glory. It was time to say goodbye to his friends without telling them that he would never return.

    Kanrel got up from his bed. It was still far too early to really do anything. He channeled magic to a crystal and sat down to write at his desk. He would leave most of these things behind; there were so many journals that he had simply filled. Most of it was text with purpose; most of it related to the work that he, Gor, and Y¡¯Kraun did in this shop.

    But what he opened was a journal with only empty pages; ink had yet to soil its surfaces. No tears, no stains, just a smooth surface upon which he wrote his goodbye; tomorrow they would find it, tomorrow they would read it, and tomorrow they would know that Kanrel had long gone. If they knew that he wanted to do something like this, they would try to stop him, or they would want to go with him. This was the only way.

    ¡°I have fulfilled my promise; I have tried, but I must go. I hope to see all of you one day again, but I doubt we will. So I wish that there is such a thing as an afterlife; maybe we will meet there; maybe we will sit down and talk about everything that has happened between now and then.

    Goodbye, dear friends. Do not follow me into the dark.¡±

    There was no need for longer words between friends; perhaps less would¡¯ve served the same purpose, but why not give some hope, some desire for a reunion? Why not? They might just be words, but their strength might offer a speck of solace in the vastness of grief.

    This was it then. He supposed, whilst staring at the ink on those otherwise empty pages. It dried and set itself so that it could be read by anyone who desired to find out where Kanrel had disappeared. And when the ink at last had dried, and as if that were the point in which there was no turning back, he sighed, and closed the journal, hiding away his own words. He would not alter them, he could not. What must be done will be done.

    He would travel light, with just a backpack. In it, he packed a blanket, a knife, multiple crystals he could light when necessary, a journal, a pen, some ink, and food and water. What else would he really need? He found himself a hooded cape; he would need it if he would ever reach the world above. Who knows? It might be winter. It might rain. Oh, how he missed the rain. Even the snow. It might be cold and deadly to some, but is there not beauty in that as well?

    Kanrel was ready to go. But he couldn¡¯t. Not just yet, even if it was better to leave now without looking back on the life he would abandon and never reconnect with. This, too, would become like the memory of his mother. A fragment¡ªelusive, barely there. Something you struggle to recall, only to be left in tears when you realize you cannot. And you begin to wonder if it really ever truly happened, or if it was just a dream you once had. A dream indeed.

    He left his room behind, placing the journal¡ªclosed¡ªon the table. It was the center of it all, something anyone would be tempted to peek at. After all, who hasn''t felt the urge to read another''s diary, even knowing it would feel terribly invasive?

    He walked in their shop, an open space more like a restaurant, just one with bookshelves filled with tomes and codices, all filled with knowledge relating to the world above. A mark of himself that Kanrel would leave behind. How else would anyone here know anything about the world above if not for him? The Atheians would otherwise only have history books written thousands of years ago by long-dead Atheians; their histories were only a tale of the fall that their people went through, as the magnificence of their history had become lost to the ages. Lost beneath destruction and disgrace; lost beneath the new, which would cover the old.

    He let his hands run through the back of these books; they were his, but they didn¡¯t feel like they truly were. He didn¡¯t feel proud because of the hard work they had done. He didn¡¯t feel anything about the mark that he had left behind. But even then, he knew that this mark would be felt by someone else. It would always be so.

    He opened the door and walked out, making sure that the door would remain locked behind him. He knew that no one would enter the store other than him today, and his note would be read tomorrow at the earliest. Today was a day off. Just something they decided upon together, as Y¡¯Kraun had become much busier in his life. Apparently, being a parent required far more effort than work did.

    This day off was something they all accepted. Gor wanted to, at times, focus on other things as well, and it was quite clear to the two others that Kanrel needed some solitude to recharge from the constant writing and lecturing he had to do.

    The two would not agree to this, though. It was a traitorous move. A backstabbing without blood, one that would cause only tears, perhaps some anger as well. But Kanrel hoped that they would forgive him for this.

    He entered the staircase, and step by step, he climbed his way to Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s apartment. Each step had a memory attached to them; he was sure they did. He had spent lots of time playing with both L¡¯enu¡¯n and L¡¯ek¡¯ral on these very steps; apparently, there was something so incredibly fun and fascinating about stairs and stairwells. Perhaps it was the echoes they liked so much. For is it not fun to hear someone yell and then hear your own voice echo back?

    It must have been amusing. Although Kanrel wasn¡¯t sure if it truly was. If he had done so as a child, would he have found it amusing? And if he weren¡¯t a priest who had gone through the Ritual, would he have now found the amusement of these children amusing in itself?

    He reached the door and knocked on it. The family would be awake, probably eating breakfast by now and preparing the oldest, L¡¯enu¡¯n, for some schooling. She had recently learned how to read¡ªafter much effort¡ªand realized that it was all that she wanted to do all the time, and so school was the best place for her, or so her parents had decided. And the kid seemed to enjoy this new process in her life; after all, she now could make friends of her own age.

    The door opened, and Kanrel locked eyes with U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui, who at first seemed a little startled.

    ¡°Good morning. I just wanted to say ¡®hi¡¯ before I go for a walk,¡± Kanrel lied, smiling softly.

    U¡¯Ran¡¯Ui scoffed, ¡°Do come in¡­ But you really have to practice those smiles of yours; they still remain so unconvincing!¡± She opened the door wider and walked off, back to the table they had purchased some years back. It was, indeed, breakfast time. A short, yet quite awkward, exchange, of which he had many with Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s wife, was still something he would miss.

    L¡¯enu¡¯n was devouring her breakfast, possibly at record speed, wanting not to be late for school. She greeted Kanrel with her mouth full, speaking between bites as she shoved in more food. A growing child ought to eat lots, and an Atheian child ought to eat even more, as much was clear. An observation Kanrel made long ago. A sight he would definitely miss.

    L¡¯ek¡¯ral, on the other hand, was still quite small and ever-excited about seeing and spending time with ¡°Uncle Kanrel,¡± which is why he dropped his food and hurried to give his uncle a hug, giggling as Kanrel lifted him up and hugged him tight. A moment he would look back on¡ªone of many he would surely miss. Perhaps now, at this moment, he wouldn¡¯t feel much, as most things felt the same. But when days and weeks had gone by, it would all set in. A feeling of missing someone dear to you.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    He let the kid back down, who then hurried along back to his breakfast, as it was indeed a duty a child ought to uphold. At last, Kanrel met Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s eyes. The Atheian had visibly aged over the years. There were a few lines on his once-clear skin, but not many. Some things had changed about him; he was more confident; he was a father, a happy man with a wife he adored and loved more than anyone in this world. He was a close friend, yet, despite all these things, he still had that damned grin that refused to go away. He was always ready to mock Kanrel whenever he could get the chance to do so. They stared at each other, perhaps a moment longer than was needed, but Kanrel just had to do so. He had to make sure that he would remember his face, this expression, for as long as he was alive.

    ¡°What?¡± Y¡¯Kraun asked at last and shifted a little in his chair, ¡°Am I really that beautiful?¡± He said and covered his face and even blinked a few times.

    Ah, yes. Change is an illusion; the grin that has remained is the truth.

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°Not really, I was just wondering when you got so old¡­¡±

    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Y¡¯Kraun snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not sure about the Darshi aging process, but I do remember you mentioning ¡®graying hair¡¯ and ¡®balding.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Not sure which is worse, though, but I¡¯m most certain both will make you uglier than you already are¡­¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± Kanrel answered with a dry tone, ¡°Anyway, just wanted to say good morning and goodbye; I¡¯ll be walking around the town for today; maybe I¡¯ll find some interesting engravings or shops¡­¡± He continued, offering a slight smile, trying to be as natural as possible.

    Y¡¯Kraun raised his brows. ¡°You really didn¡¯t have to¡­ Today was supposed to be a day off for me¡­ I think seeing you now, at this very moment, might ruin the rest of my day.¡±

    Kanrel scoffed, ¡°Somehow we will meet in the afterlife, and you will still be like this.¡± He muttered, but no one heard what he said.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Kanrel smiled, ¡°Nothing, nothing at all. See you another time.¡± He turned around, leaving his friend''s apartment without another word, closing the door behind him, making sure not to break the mask he had been holding. No tears would flow today. There would be plenty of time for that later, he hoped.

    He walked down the familiar streets¡ªthe same ones he had walked down for nearly a decade now. This was, in a way, an extension of his home. He knew these streets as well as he knew his shop, yet he only knew what he saw on the outside. He knew the exterior, not the things that were held within. He didn¡¯t know the Atheians he walked by, even when they nodded at him and he nodded back. At least, they were used to his presence, and he to theirs. They knew him as the Darshi, and he knew them as the Atheians. No names were needed. He wasn¡¯t close to any of them. They were a passing phenomenon in his life, and he was so to their lives as well. This was the nature of existence. There were only so many people one could know and only so many people willing to build a bridge to get to know another man who lives on another island. Kanrel was part of the group considered to be ¡°unwilling,¡± but most were, at least down here.

    He hesitated as he walked by Gor¡¯s apartment. He really wanted to stop by there as well. But he was afraid. Kanrel was afraid that if he entered his apartment, he wouldn¡¯t be able to leave because of many different reasons. He was afraid that he would lose the will to leave this life behind. He was afraid that Gor would figure out Kanrel¡¯s plans. And above all, he was afraid that the bastard would ask him to stay for a while and help him with some of his studies.

    Because of these reasons, he walked by, letting his gaze linger on the building and the memories that even that building held within. He sighed a bitter sigh. There was someone within him that wanted to stay. A part of him wanted to stay. But a stronger part urged him to leave¡ªneeded him to leave it all behind.

    He reached the walls of the city after over an hour of walking. The city transformed around him, revealing buildings from different eras of Atheian history and architecture. Walking through such a city told a story of different generations and how they lived their lives. They told of the good times and the bad times¡ªthe grand visions for their future as well as the dread of never being able to reach their homeland ever again.

    And walls¡­ A device Kanrel now knew them to be. A monument to their despair, yet at the same time, a construction that helped the people who built them process the loss of life they had suffered, the loss of home they had gone through, and the crimes they had committed to guarantee their own survival. The ten-meter or so gap between the city and the walls, the emptiness that was placed there, to honor those who had become part of the wall for many different reasons. Some as a great sacrifice for future generations, some because of the crimes they had committed, and some just because it had become a tradition to do so. But even when it was horrid, even when it forced the one who bore witness to its existence to go through a complicated mix of fear and awe, it was a great honor to become one with it. Somehow, it was so. And now Kanrel knew that it was so.

    At the gatehouse, he showed his permit, allowing him to enter and leave the City of Lost Light freely. The guard studied both him and the permit multiple times. Even when Kanrel was a known figure within the city, many had yet to see him, so it made sense for one to look twice at him and maybe even stare at him for an uncomfortable period of time. It was fair enough, Kanrel figured, for even when it felt uncomfortable, he had seldom gone through anything unjust; he had been treated fairly within this city, most of the time at least.

    The guard let him pass in the end. And Kanrel began his trek to go around the city, along the barrier formed by the thousands of lanterns that kept the vicinity of the City of Lost Light lit at all times, until he reached the other side of it all, the eastern side of the city, one completely walled off, with no gatehouses open to let passengers in and out of the city.

    As he walked, he could hear it. It became so loud. The whispers from the Veil. The memories surged within him. The nightmares that he had seen. This and all of that, and much more, he would have to face when he took entrance into that which should be, by all means, left alone. It was better not to know, as most had told him when they spoke about it and its existence.

    It seemed so afraid under the blue glow of the lanterns. A wall of blackness, of shadow, of memory, and of trauma. Pain, torment, suffering. Was that all they knew? Was that all they could remember? Was that all they were allowed to remember? The legacy of Kalma and those who had claimed that they could kill a god¡­

    He couldn¡¯t turn his gaze away from it as he walked toward the most eastern point that he could find. He couldn¡¯t look away. And when he did, he saw a figure standing at the spot he had already mapped as the one through which Kanrel would take his leave, where he would take his entrance.

    The very spot the two expeditions had so long ago pierced through, only to die a death so horrible, none knew how they had died¡­ All that was known was that they never returned. They had died for nothing¡­

    Kanrel stopped and stared at that figure; he wondered if it was someone like him, someone who had come in contact with that darkness and was now unable to leave its call. Oh, how it beckoned him to take a step forth and witness the dread and pain of a billion tormented souls¡­

    But when that figure turned around, he recognized him¡­ Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n was now much older than when they had last seen each other. He stood very still, a mocking grin forming on his face the moment he noticed Kanrel. ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there! Come here now, will you?¡± The Atheian waved.

    A long sigh escaped Kanrel¡¯s lips; they just couldn¡¯t let him leave, could they? He marched on and soon reached the Atheian, who held on to the grin that covered their face. ¡°Is it finally time, then?¡±

    ¡°Nice to see you too¡­ Also, don¡¯t you have anything better to do?¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n had the audacity to smirk, ¡°Of course I do, plenty, even¡­ But this happens to pay better than anything else I could be doing.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­ What¡¯s this about, then?¡±

    The Atheian shrugged, ¡°I thought you were supposed to be smart? With all the books and all you¡¯ve written, and those that you¡¯ve read¡­¡±

    He smirked again, ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? I am on council business¡­ They tell me what to do; I do the thing they tell me to do, I get paid, they are happy, I am happy, we are all happy¡­¡±

    ¡°Get to the point.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n¡¯s smirk remained, and he continued without paying much attention to Kanrel¡¯s wishes, ¡°Sorry that I couldn¡¯t visit before¡­ The contract doesn¡¯t really allow me to do so. But it all seemed quite boring, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Like, how foolish can you be to not truly live and instead just work and work? Who the hell wants to spend all of their days immersed in books, lectures, and such? You really should live a little¡­¡±

    ¡°That reminds me¡­ I know this one most excellent brothel, a semi-legal one, great customer service and all... But you aren¡¯t really that interested in such things, are you?¡±

    Kanrel shook his head.

    ¡°See? This is exactly the reason why I didn¡¯t visit sooner! You are by far the most dull, Darshi, I have ever met!¡±

    Kanrel snorted, ¡°And the only one you¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n sighed, ¡°And I do hope to keep it that way; I don¡¯t want to spend another decade following an overly large rat that talks¡­¡± He, too, shook his head, and after that, finally, he let his mask fade away; his smirk vanished. ¡°But, I must say, Y¡¯Kraun¡¯s children, they are quite cute, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    It was like a stab to the heart. Kanrel swallowed tears and held on to his own mask. ¡°Yes, yes, they are.¡±

    ¡°And you would just leave them behind, even when they call you uncle and all?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think I have to.¡±

    Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n sighed, ¡°Ever the bore¡­ At least you¡¯re consistent in that regard.¡±

    Kanrel swallowed again. ¡°So, what business do you have with me?¡±

    The Atheian shrugged, ¡°I was ordered to stop you if you tried to enter the Veil. But today, I won¡¯t. Today, I think I just managed to miss you, or something¡­¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Kanrel muttered; the two locked gazes for an awkward moment. ¡°Is this goodbye, then?¡±

    ¡°I suppose it is.¡± Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n whispered and sighed, ¡°Don¡¯t you die for nothing now.¡± He walked to Kanrel and placed his hand on his shoulder. ¡°Farewell¡­ friend.¡± He said in a low tone and walked away, not saying another word, not waving goodbye, not staying to hear what Kanrel might reply. He walked away, and he did not look back.

    But Kanrel did. He looked at Vaur¡¯Kou¡¯n as he walked away, as he walked toward the walls and soon simply disappeared. He let out a long sigh that wavered. He reminded himself¡ªtoday, he wouldn¡¯t cry. Then, he turned back toward the Veil.

    <hr>

    There were so many regrets. There were so many things that he should have done and so many that he should not have. There were so many could-have¡¯s and should-have¡¯s. There was just so much that he had done here. There was so much he would leave behind. There were¡ªstill¡ªso many things he wanted to explore here. But he just couldn¡¯t stay. He had to go. Before it was too late. Before the chains of life bound him forever; before he was forced to abandon his dream of reaching the home he once had far above this world of Shadows Below¡­ He let out another such sigh, one filled with regret and tears that he would not shed quite yet.

    ¡°How did he get here?¡± In part by accident, in part by purpose, depending on which part of the journey the question was pointed at.

    ¡°How did time just slip away?¡± Because of a promise he had made, and because it happens to be the nature of time. It doesn¡¯t care if it slips away.

    ¡°If he died today, would he regret it?¡± Yes. Yes, he would.

    A regretful man stood at the edge of oblivion; he closed his eyes for a moment and pondered whether he truly ought to take a step forward or not. But the answer is clear; it was so since the very beginning. He slowly rolled his shoulders and prepared for the inevitable. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Once more, his gaze met the eyes of the Veil. Although he could not see them, he could feel them. He could sense that they were there, and he could hear them call for him. He had to take this step.

    He clenched his fist in which he held a crystal; he glanced at it and placed magic within it. A ray of bright blue light burst from it, and its rays flashed against the moving shadows, which flinched away from the light it produced.

    There¡¯s no going back. And one can only go forward; there is only so much one can regret before one must realize that to live, one cannot be stuck in the mistakes of the past. The past, for too long, had presented itself as the current. It claimed to be the present as well as the future. One cannot live in the past, nor can one live in the future. It was time for action, time to shed his shadow, time to stop confusing dreams with desires. It was time to dream the proper way.

    He took a step forth, and if one were to look at him from the outskirts of the walls, they would see a small hooded figure who held in their arms a bright crystal and on their back a backpack. An observer could see how the figure hesitated just moments before stepping forward; they could see how the figure pushed past the Veil with the light clutched in their hands. And they would witness the figure disappear into nothingness, as the shadows veiled him, blocking all view of what might happen to him, and what awaited him on the other side of the shadows that had beckoned him since the beginning.

 [Just a Short Update]

    It has been a bit longer than I had hoped since the previous chapter and the next one. So, I wanted to post a short update about when the next chapter might come out, which I hope will be in the first half of April. This is mainly because of the length of the next chapter, which I probably should have split into multiple chapters earlier¡­

    ¡°Why?¡± you might ask, to which I would answer, ¡°If I were to estimate how long Chapter 108 will be (at the moment), it would be anywhere from 20,000 to 30,000 words.¡± <<< The number is subject to change.

    So, it¡¯s slightly longer than the usual chapters that I post.

    ¡°Why so long?¡±

    Well, I had an idea for how I would like to deal with Kanrel¡¯s journey in the Veil since I began working on Part Three (N¡¯Sharan, the City of the Angels). Part Three, Part Four, and Part Five (which I¡¯ve yet to start working on) were, at first, supposed to be one big thing. But I figured it made much more sense to divide it into smaller sections, somewhat arbitrarily, depending on where each part of the story takes place.

    Anyway, I don¡¯t want to stray too far from my plan for Chapter 108, nor do I want to execute it in a way that feels rushed, given everything that happens in it.

    I will be cutting Chapter 108 into sections, and I will publish all of them on the same day.

    I will name them as follows:

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Or, I will name them as follows:

    I personally don¡¯t mind either option, and I will post all of them on the same day regardless.

    That is why I would like to know which option is preferable:

    On a Personal Note:

    At the start of the year, I worked on other projects, which is why there weren¡¯t as many chapters of the Priesthood

    Writing other stories helped a lot. I might post them here when they are finished, but this story takes priority.

    Otherwise, I¡¯ve been doing great. Spring is around the corner, and I¡¯ve been enjoying some League of Legends e-sports and D&D with friends.

    I hope everyone is doing well, and if not well, then hopefully better than before.