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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Forty: Vivification

Seated at the long table of the banquet hall, the long-haired human with blue-green eyes watches the other nobles. The drink to excess, and gorge themselves with the finest foods. Harem girls, the pampered servants of the King, pour wine and flirt with the noblemen. The entire party is a cacophony of joyous laughter and song. Suddenly, however, the joy is broken. Guards emerge, dragging a man with them. The King raises his scepter, silencing everyone.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He demands.

“We beg your forgiveness, great King, but this is important!” A guard replies.

“This person, if you can call him that, was caught trying to steal a nobleman’s horse!” The other adds.

“Yes, King! Right out of the royal stables!” The first exclaims.

“Who’s horse?!”

The guards shove the man to the ground, treating him as if he were less than an animal.

“We’re not sure. It was a gelding, with a black coat and gold paint throughout the mane.”

“That’s my horse!” A nobleman snarls.

The long-haired man looks at the angry noble, a fat and rather homely Falmun accompanied by a beautiful elven wench. Whether or not she’s his wife, he’s certain that she stays only for his wealth and power. The fat, little elf with thinning hair waddles around the gargantuan table.

“How dare he interrupt my banquet! How dare he try and steal a noble’s horse!” The King roars.

“P-please, great King! I beg you! I... I’m poor and without a home or food! I only wanted to sell it so that I could eat!” The filthy man, a young human, begs on hands and knees.

“No excuse!”

“I demand retribution!” The fat elf snarls.

“Since it was your horse, and I’m in a particularly generous mood, I’ll allow you to pick the punishment, Gonak.”

“Oh, thank you, great King!” The fat man grins. “For trying to steal my fine blooded steed, you will have your blood shed. Ten lashes, one for each year of my horse’s life, and since you don’t have a home, you can find one... As a servant!”

“No! Please! Have mercy!” The homeless man begs.

“Peasants deserve no mercy!”

“Whip him!”

“Make him squeal!”

The guards prepare the man for his sentence as the revelers cheer and gawk. Their bloodlust sickens the long-haired man, who watches in silent horror. A guard pulls the filthy rag of a tunic from the thief’s body, berating him for his stench. Their cruelty is unbearable.

“STOP!” The long-haired man suddenly calls out.

Everyone freezes, turning toward him. The man is aghast. Had he really spoken?! The guards look back at the King, waiting for his signal.

“Ah, one of our foreign nobles speaks... Do you disapprove of Gonak’s sentence?” The King asks.

“I do... This man has clearly been frightened so badly that he’ll likely never steal again. Is it necessary to torture him?”

“He’s getting off easy! I should’ve asked for his head!” Gonak growls.

The frustrated King holds up a hand, silencing the fat elf as if he’d covered his mouth himself.

“You’d have us do something else with him?” The King asks.

“... Let him go.”

The guests explode with laughter, and the guards turn to each other. One shrugs his shoulders, his hand still holding the cat o nine tails. Again, the King raises a hand. The crowd falls silent.

“Gonak made his choice. He must serve.”

“Then I’ll buy his term.” The long-haired man replies.

“... And he must bleed.”

Incensed, the long-haired man walks around the table, passes Gonak and approaches the guards.

“If you must have blood... Take mine.”

The crowd can’t make heads or tails of what’s going on. The long-haired man is a foreign noble, but a noble nonetheless. The guards and guests turn toward the King, who flashes a sinister grin.

“Fine! I’ll order the thief spared the lashes and servitude, but only if you prove your sincerity.”

“What must I do, great King?”

“You must pay... Ten thousand vasariks!”

The crowd again explodes with laughter at the exorbitant sum.

“Done!” The man replies.

His words take their breath away. Motioning with his right hand, he draws his Falmun manservant toward him. He begins to count the coins, swiftly realizing that the ten thousand vasariks required is all that he brought for his journey. Only his personal coin purse, which hangs at his side, will be left to him. Without hesitation, he surrenders every coin needed to spare the homeless man, presenting it to the nearest guard. A few of the nobles are so affected that they faint. The King collects the coin purse from the guards, who promptly release the homeless man. The long-haired man approaches him.

“Where are you staying?” He asks the thief.

“Did you think I was lying? I’ll find a culvert to sleep in.”

“Not today. Buy passage away from this city, and food, then rent a room somewhere.”

“With what?!” The homeless man asks.

The long-haired man collects his own coin purse, taking it from his belt and handing it over to the flabbergasted homeless man.

“Go. Run while you still can.”

The homeless man doesn’t hesitate. Even the nobleman’s manservant is horrified, but he remains silent as the man takes the purse and darts away. His master has just surrendered every coin they brought to the Erie Isles. With a smile on his face and the weight taken from his shoulders, the long-haired man returns to his place at the table, passing a furious but silent Gonak. He ignores the stares of the other guests and the harem girls, reaching for a silver goblet and taking a sip of red wine.

“That was... I, uhm... I’ve never...” The King himself struggles with his words, staring at the nobleman’s coins. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because he didn’t need to suffer; he learned his lesson. There’s already enough darkness in this world, don’t you think, great King?”

“A man more Saintly than the Seraphs themselves... What’s your name, again?”

“Lord Ivan Donogew, from Ogrodin.”

“I’ll remember you, Lord Ivan.”

“You honor me, King Euralian.”

Standing across the banquet hall, a middle-aged Nazir can’t help but smile as his Lord downplays the power of his own actions.

“No...” The King murmurs. “You honor me, and my Empire.”

“Hm?” Ivan turns to the King.

“The Erie Isles could use good Lords, and I know just the isle for you to rule...”

Opening his eyes, Valan yawns and stretches. As he awakens from the first pleasant dream he’s had in some time, he feels at peace. Sitting up on his cot, he finds Steingar standing in only his undergarments, washing his fur with a damp cloth.

“Finally woke up, eh?!”

“Yeah.” Valan sighs.

“Rough night?”

“Not this time. It was actually really nice.” Valan smiles.

“Oh, good! Then you won’t mind getting my back?” Steingar teases him, holding out a cloth.

“Keep that up and we’re swapping roommates.”

“Just don’t pair me with Naemen or Roak. Naemen will probably never let me sleep again, and Roak might mistake my ears for a snack.”

“Can you blame him? They’re the least fatty part of you.” Valan smirks.

“I am in excellent shape, thank you very much! He’d be honored to eat me! Feel this bicep!” Steingar steps closer and flexes an arm.

“Get away from me!” Valan leaps out of bed.

“Hey, get back here!”

Emerging from his room, Valan, who was too exhausted to undress and had slept in his clothes, makes his toward the lounge. To his surprise, the room is empty. Salman is nowhere to be found, and Lutala isn’t praying in the dinning booth, as she often is.

“Hey, where is everybody?” He asks, turning toward Trellan’s onyx plate.

The image flashes and the foot-tall spirit of the old Vizhek stands atop the plate. He looks at Valan for a moment, his expression perplexing the human; it’s somewhere between dread and anxiety.

“Yeah, about that...” Trellan’s hologram murmurs.

After loading his three ammunition bars at the table, Valan checks the functionality of his weapon.

“And you’re sure he’s not aboard?” Naemen asks.

“Trellan’s plate in the pilothouse saw him leave! He’s not on the ship!” Valan growls.

“And I checked, just to be sure.” Steingar adds.

“Why would Salman go inland, and at night?!” A stunned Salasha wonders aloud.

“Whatever it was, it must’ve been important.” Jarae remarks.

“Good morning, everyone!” Mairlynn chirps.

She freezes, taken aback by the stares of the crew inside of the lounge. After an uneasy silence, she clears her throat.

“Uhm... What’s going on? Where’s Sal?”

They quickly question Mairlynn, who’s even quicker to feign ignorance. She shrugs her shoulders and denies that there was ever a problem between her and Salman. For privacy’s sake, Trellan never put his plates inside of any room intended to be used as living quarters; he’s unaware of their argument. It isn’t long before everyone else has awoken. Lutala and Irzain finally recover, just in time for Kirsta, Steingar, Valan and Naemen to finish preparing their weapons. Heading for the main deck, they distribute their weapons and prepare to hike inland, not just to reach the only visible building on Irzain’s island, but to search for and hopefully find Valan’s missing brother.

They march across the gangplank and along the stone dock of the modest harbor, barely large enough for four medium-sized ships to moor. The jungle is thick and lush along the only path. Reaching out like thousands of thieving hands, the flora constantly snags their armor and weapons. Kirsta and Steingar stay at the front of the group, using their swords to slash the flora that creeps too close and blocks their way. Steingar takes particular glee in hacking away at the greenery with his massive, Helngarian saber.

Though no one dares say it, they wonder how Salman could’ve ever navigated the path in the darkness. It’s a chore even in daylight, as overgrown and shaded as it is by the jungle canopy. After a considerable and arduous hike, hacking and slashing their way toward the white stone structure, they finally arrive at their destination. Reaching for the sky, the impressive building dwarfs the party, who’re briefly taken by its archaic but beautiful design, and the megalithic stones used in its construction.

Shaking off the structure’s quasi-hypnotic effect, they head for a pair of large, wooden doors. It creaks loudly as Steingar pulls one open, giving him considerable resistance. He glances back at Valan as he pulls on the heavy door, the Helngar’s expression revealing a silent doubt that Salman might be inside. Undeterred, they make their way inside and find themselves in a grand foyer. Walking carefully through the vestibule, which is lined with exquisitely carved and well padded, cherry wood benches, they come upon a junction.

Various corridors branch off in many directions, leading throughout the building. Between the corridors are portraits and busts, each bearing a name for a man or woman who was once the caretaker of the ancient and expansive library.

“Which way should we go?” Naemen asks.

“There’s so many options to choose from.” Valan remarks.

“I think we’ll need to split up.” Steingar suggests.

“Good idea. We’ll break off into teams and-”

Irzain begins to walk, moving past Kirsta and distracting her. His emerald eyes grow wide and his jaw hangs open, his attention fixated upon a particular bust. The others call out to him as he approaches the marble head, obstructing their view. They join him only when he fails to respond to their calls.

“Hey, are you alright?” Kirsta asks as she approaches him.

“Irzain, what is it?” Mairlynn inquires, doing the same.

“By the Seraphs!” Valan gasps.

They gather around, staring at the bust in shock. It’s a perfect recreation of Irzain’s face and upper chest. A royal crest, fashioned into an amulet, hangs around his neck. It’s not a symbol of a nobleman, but of a servant to the Crown, a sigil worn only by the highest of the Empire’s minions. Beneath the bust is a plaque, fashioned from brass and with a deep etching.

“Overseer Hebron; Caretaker of the Grand Athenaeum, guardian of the knowledge of the Vizheki Empire. Years of service: ---”

They stand in silence, looking between Irzain and the bust.

“Woah.” Steingar finally chokes out.

“Look at ‘Mr. Boss-man’, with his own bust.” Naemen chuckles.

“Doing better than you ever did.” Salasha teases.

“I guess we know why the Crown wants you so bad.” Valan remarks.

“Do we?” Mairlynn retorts.

“What else could it be?” Jarae turns to the elf.

“I’m just saying, I think there must be something here that they want. Something specific.” The little Falmun explains.

“Maybe.”

“We can worry about that later. For now, we need to search this place.” Kirsta begins. “Lutala should stay with Irzain and Roak, in case they need her healing magic; we don’t want you having another fit.” She turns to the Scribe.

“Good idea. I can stay with them and make sure they remain safe.” Steingar steps forward.

“Valan and Naemen? You two can each pick a hallway or two and search the adjoining rooms.”

“Alright.”

“You want us to go off on our own?!” A shocked Naemen gasps.

“Aww, are you scared?” Steingar teases.

“The hell I am, you big sack of-!”

“Just take whoever you want, or don’t, and shut the hell up!” Kirsta growls, interrupting the half breed.

“I’ll go with you, brother!” Salasha chirps.

“Oh, joy...” Naemen sighs.

“Shut up! You know you love me!”

“And I’ll join you, Val.” Jarae steps closer.

“I guess I’ll go with you two, then.” Mairlynn approaches Valan and Jarae.

Without saying a word, Jarae reaches out a clawed hand, placing it on the Falmun’s chest. She narrows her eyes, remaining as silent as the grave as she stares at the elf.

“Or I’ll just hang around with Steingar’s group...” Mairlynn murmurs.

“Alright, then. Let’s get to it!” Kirsta chirps.

“You sure you want to go off on your own?” Steingar asks the buxom warrior.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“But isn’t Kirsty scared?!” Roak exclaims, a quiver in his voice.

“I’ll be fine, Roak. I’m a big girl.” Kirsta smiles as she draws her sword.

“Yeah, we’ve noticed...” Naemen mutters, his eyes fixated on her ample chest.

Kirsta pays him no attention, glaring as she pushes silently past him. With sword in-hand, she makes her way down the easternmost corridor, the hallway directly to their left. After watching her for a moment, the others briefly glance at each other before resigning themselves to their tasks. Splitting off into their chosen teams, they fan out and search the strange complex. They move from room to room and hall to hall, all the while, Irzain stares at the bust of himself. The sight of his given name, the only name he’d had for most of his life, brings back another flood of memories. Lutala remains at the ready, but thankfully Irzain doesn’t succumb to another seizure.

Turning a corner, Kirsta looks down yet another long and wide corridor, lined with many doors. With her hall being one of the longest, she begins with the nearest door. Carefully clearing the room, she finds only a study, filled with desks and record keeping equipment. The next room appears to be a sitting area, while another is a small lecture room. Perhaps this is where Irzain taught his underlings, when he was still Hebron? She moves from room to room, sword in-hand as she looks for any sign of the missing man. She’s tempted to call out to him, but she can’t be certain that they’re alone on this island.

At the end of the hall, she finds a junction. To the right is another long hallway, while the left contains a stairwell with a blocky staircase. It only leads up. She approaches the staircase and examines it. Every square landing has another set of steps, each one ninety degrees to the left of the previous. She climbs the steps until she finds herself on a second floor, though the stairs continue upward. Standing at the landing, she looks down several long corridors, contemplating going back and gathering the others. However, she feels a drive to press on. She’s eager to find Salman on her own, curious as to why he’d leave in the dead of night.

After searching a few more empty rooms, she sits on a bench in the hallway, taking a moment to rest her feet and ponder her next move. With the tip of her sword stick into the rug, covering the stone floor, she spins the blade, admiring the polished sheen and the light that bounces off of the cold steel. Picking up the blade and resting it on her lap, she cannot help but smile. This, too, was a gift from Salman, who’d replaced the crude, iron weapon she’d found and carried, after her original broke some time ago. Though it took her a little while, she found it startling easy to lower her guard around Valan’s twin brother, who’s always so pleasant, kindhearted and generous.

Suddenly, a faint thud catches her attention. Her long, blond hair swishes through the air as she turns her head and focuses her attention on a closed door a short distance away from where she sits. Rising silently to her feet, she moves carefully and deliberately, her weapon at the ready. Reaching the door, she slowly turns the knob, moving as quietly as she can. Pushing open the hardwood door, the hinge doesn’t so much as squeak. She leans inside and looks around the room. Standing near a window, a book in-hand, Salman is oblivious as she watches him.

Her lips curl into a little smile as she softly steps inside, her footfalls muffled by the intricately patterned rugs that cover the floor. With a hand on the door, she swings it hard. BANG!

“Ahh!” Salman jumps and whirls around.

“Found you.” Kirsta smirks.

“Are you trying to frighten me to death?!” He asks, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“I should ask you the same thing.” She replies, sheathing her sword as she approaches him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about reading this book.”

“Don’t be cute with me! What would possess you to leave the ship in the middle of the night, explore an unknown and potentially dangerous island, and not even tell anyone!”

“Uh-oh... You’re mad.” He murmurs, a nervous expression on his face.

“I’m not mad... I’m frustrated and worried. You know, you scared the shit out of your brother, running off like this. It affected him, and that alters his judgement... You put everyone at risk.”

“I’m sorry...”

Salman sighs, setting the book atop a nearby table before taking a seat on a padded bench. Kirsta can see the pain all over his face, furling her brow in confusion. She approaches the man, taking a seat beside him.

“What’s wrong? Why’d you come out here?”

“I just needed to get some air... I decided to take a walk, and I was barely five steps away from the harbor before I became lost. I was turned around in that jungle, lost in the dark. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get out, so I came here and decided to wait.” He explains.

“How’d you find it at night?!”

“You know that shinning thing on the peak of the spire? Whatever it is, it glows at night. It was like a torch. It was the only thing I could see in the darkness, so I walked right for it, pushing through the brush.”

“Lucky for you, huh?”

Salman shrugs his shoulders.

“... That doesn’t explain why you needed to take a walk so badly.”

“I know.” He sighs.

“Did something happen? Are you regretting coming with us?”

Salman remains silent, staring at his boots. After a modest pause, his lips contort and he shakes his head.

“Look, if this is going to be a recurring thing, I need to know it!” Kirsta demands, slowly losing her patience.

“It was a personal issue, alright? ... Between Mairlynn and myself.”

“Oh...” Kirsta’s cheeks flush. “It wasn’t, uhm... Sexual, was it?”

“No.”

“Good... So, what happened? ... Sal? ... ... Well, are you going to answer me?!” She snarls.

Salman turns his head and shifts his blue-green orbs. He looks into Kirsta’s eyes. She’s taken aback by how innocent he appears; his head is slightly bowed, his eyes turned up and toward her. His soft features and unblemished skin are like the depictions of the Seraphs themselves. He’s almost celestial in his beauty. In an instant, she feels her anger melting away.

“I’m sorry. I just want to help you.” She speaks sweetly, leaning in and resting a hand gently over his.

“I appreciate that... I just thought there was something more between us. I could see how jealous she became with the other women on the ship, so I assumed she had feelings for me, which was good, because I was starting to feel something for her, too.”

“Seriously?!” Kirsta gasps, straightening out and pulling her hand away.

“What?”

“Er... Nothing! Go on!”

“Anyway, last night I discovered that I was mistaken... Mairlynn wasn’t interested in having a serious relationship; she just wanted to have sex with me... I felt so... Used! ... I can’t figure it out, though. Why would she seem so attached, so eager to keep me to herself, if she didn’t want to be with me?!”

“Oh, Sal...” Kirsta sighs. “You made a classic mistake. You mistook possessiveness for jealousy.”

“I did?” He asks, showcasing his naivety.

“Yeah. She wants exclusive rights. She wants you to herself... You, Sal, not your heart.”

“Oh... But, she! I-I mean, when we were together-!” He stammers.

“Did she ever tell you that she loved you? Has she even said it once?”

“...”

“Did she ever hint that she liked waking up next to you, without her hands groping or fondling you first?” Kirsta persists.

“Uhm... No...” Salman flushes.

“Has she ever offered to share the secrets of her past, or asked you for yours? Does she even seem interested when you try to talk to her?”

“Okay, I get it! I’m an idiot!” He growls.

“You’re not an idiot, Sal. You’re inexperienced; you’ll be able to see her for what she is, the more you learn about women. You see, Mairlynn isn’t looking for love. Maybe she never was? If she was, though, you’d know it.”

“I guess this is what Valan was warning me about...” He murmurs.

Kirsta’s eyes narrow as she slowly looks him over. Overcome with curiosity, she cannot help herself.

“How many women have you been with, anyway?”

Salman’s face flushes, growing even redder. With a nervous smile, his head bows a little lower. He turns his eyes away, before shifting them and looking at Kirsta once more. Lifting a hand, he holds out three fingers. Her eyes grow wide with shock. Salman extends another, his thumb staying tucked into his palm.

“Mairlynn makes four, and they were all at least a year apart.” He speaks very softly.

“Wow...”

Kirsta controls the urge to gasp. Even with the modest population of her clan, she’d had that many lovers by her second year of adulthood. In her clan, and much of the world, adulthood begins immediately after the onset of puberty. How has a Lord of an island as large as Mishgan lived for thirty-one years and not claimed just as many lovers?! There must be as many as two-thousand young and impressionable women for him to target, and yet he’s had only a fraction of her experience.

“Do you mind if... If I ask what she said to you?” She sheepishly asks.

Emerging from their chosen corridor and returning to the grand vestibule, the others turn toward them. Naemen and Salasha both shake their heads as they approach their companions; they’ve failed to find Salman. Irzain doesn’t even notice, still staring intently at the marble bust of himself, his emerald eyes bound to the plaque bearing the foreign name.

“I don’t suppose any of you found him?” Naemen asks.

“If they did, I’d be on him already.” Mairlynn coos, winking at Naemen.

“What, right here?!” Jarae snickers, shocked by the coldness in the Falmun’s voice.

“Maybe... I might want to show off my prize.”

“Watch how you talk about my brother...” Valan says with a low growl.

“He’s not an object, Mairlynn.” Lutala adds.

“I was only jesting...” The elf grumbles, crossing her arms before her chest and rolling her ruby eyes.

“Anyway, we didn’t see him.” Naemen continues.

“Maybe he’s not even here? I mean, we didn’t see any sign of him on the trail. He could be lost in the jungle.” Salasha remarks.

“This island is big, but it isn’t that big. If he’s not already here, he’ll be able to find his way or make it back to the ship by light of day. I can’t imagine it taking more than one to walk across the whole isle.” Steingar replies.

“As tall as this place is, there must be more floors! We just need to keep looking!” Valan insists, the anxiety audible in his voice.

“We will, Val. It’s going to be okay.” Jarae coos, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Is Kirsta back yet?” Naemen asks.

“No. We haven’t seen her since she went down that hall.” Lutala replies, pointing with a finger.

“Kirsty gone! Her spirit is lost in the darkness, far from purity! Oh, poor Kirsty!” Roak exclaims.

“I’m sure she’s alright. How about we go and find her?” Naemen suggests, reaching out and resting a hand on Roak’s shoulder.

“Ahh! No touch!”

Without hesitation, Roak slaps Naemen across the snout. The flabbergasted half breed stares at the dreadlocked human with wide eyes.

“No means no, Naemen.” Steingar snickers.

“That’s your side! This is my side! My side, your side! Your side, my side!” He shouts, jumping back and pointing at a golden pattern on the area rug.

“Whatever!” Naemen steps back.

After a moment of quiet, waiting for Kirsta to return, Naemen glances toward the Scribe. The human stares intently at the marble bust, his gaze affixed and his body unmoving, as it has been since he first laid eyes on it.

“Has he been there this whole time?” He turns to the others.

“Yeah.” Jarae replies.

“I don’t think he’s even blinked in half an hour.” Steingar adds.

“Hebron? Hey, Hebron... Hebron! ... ... Irzain?!” Naemen shouts.

“Hm?”

The scribe glances over his shoulder, looking back at everyone.

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

“You said ‘Hebron’. Please, don’t use that name.”

“But... That’s your name, isn’t it?” Salasha asks.

“It was... Hebron died in that shipwreck.” Irzain murmurs, turning back and staring once again at the marble bust. “He’s the failure who let down his lover and his friends, the man who didn’t run when he had every chance to escape... Hebron was weak, and he died because of it; I’m Irzain, and I’m not making Hebron’s mistakes...”

“As you wish.” Lutala remarks.

“I’m used to ‘Irzain’, anyway.” Steingar comments.

Echoing footfalls soon draw their attention, and even Irzain looks away from the bust. The reverberating sounds, which bounce off of the cold, stone walls, are clearly made by more than one person. Turning the corner, Kirsta arrives in the junction, with Salman by her side, joining the others in the vestibule.

“Sal!”

“Hi, Val!”

“You had me worried sick, brother!” Valan exclaims, hugging his twin.

“Glad to see you’re alright.” Jarae remarks, waving at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What’s the big idea rushing off into the dark like that?” Steingar asks.

“Yeah! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Valan adds.

“The jungle is no place for a Lord, my Lord. You could dirty your clothes or mess up your hair, or worse... Break a nail!” Naemen teases him.

“I could say the same thing about you and the kitchen. You’re supposed to burn the dead, not our food.” Salman retorts.

Kirsta and Salasha softly giggle, amused by the pained look on Naemen’s face. Patting Salman on the shoulder, the busty woman passes him and returns to the larger group. Mairlynn pushes past her and inserts herself between the brothers.

“It’s good to see you’re alright.” She says, hugging Salman.

“I’m fine...” He murmurs.

“Yeah, you are now! Don’t run off like that, Sal.”

She nuzzles his neck and gives him a little kiss, her lips caressing his flesh as her spindly arms gently squeeze his midsection. Glancing back, she looks between Valan, who stands behind her, and Salman, who she continues to hold. Gently poking out her butt, she grinds her bottom against Valan’s groin, causing him to step back, while a hand reaches around and gives Salman’s manhood a squeeze.

“Mmmm... We should try this sometime.” She quietly coos.

Valan and Salman both take offense to her perversion. Valan shakes his head as he walks away, while Salman pushes the dainty Falmun away from him, following his brother and rejoining the group. Only Jarae and Steingar, with their superior hearing, understand what the elf has said; both share similarly disgusted expressions.

“What?!” Mairlynn flashes a little smile, feigning innocence.

“Come on... Sal has something to show us.” Kirsta sternly commands, her narrowed eyes glaring at Mairlynn.

They traverse a corridor, led by Salman. Kirsta stays unusually close to him, her forearm nearly brushing his as they walk the halls.

“So, when I came here last night, I started looking around for a place to lie down. It took me a long time just to map the place out in my head, and I’d only scratched the surface.”

“Did you have any light?” Lutala asks.

“No.”

“Not even a candle?!” Jarae gasps.

“What would I light it with?” Salman retorts.

“Walking these halls in the dark must’ve been pwetty scawy.” Naemen teases.

“Yeah, it was, and the ghosts weren’t very clear with their directions.” Salman quips, glancing back at him. “Eventually, though, I found this...”

Standing before a pair of large, ebony doors at the end of a long and otherwise empty corridor, the Lord grabs the ornate, gilded doorknobs and pushes them open. A light illuminates the entrance and part of the hall, spilling out of the circular room before them. It’s akin to the amber glow of the Arona-Dahl’s ceiling lamps but much brighter. Following him inside, the group pauses, their eyes collectively bulging as they look upon a truly spectacular sight. The floor is a rich, dark hardwood, and highly polished. It gleams like treasure from the mysterious light source shining down upon it.

The large, round room is lined with bookshelves and diamond shaped scroll cubbies, from floor to ceiling. Each and every one of them is packed with tomes and scrolls, and thoroughly organized. Nearing the center of the room and looking up, they can see another level. It’s slightly smaller in diameter than the ground floor, and with an ample walkway before the shelves, which are also lined with books and scrolls. A curved set of wooden stairs, matching the floors and bookshelves, leads from the ground floor and up to the next level, with another set leading even higher.

Above the second level is yet another floor, again, slightly smaller and equally laden with tomes and scrolls. This continues for several more levels, until they near the top. The source of the light is revealed to be a large, golden sphere, which sits in marble buttresses that emerge from the walls and face inward, cradling the glowing orb. As they stand in the center of the room, the crew gaze skyward, staring at the ceiling in silent reverence.

“Woah...” Naemen finally chokes out, breaking the silence.

“It’s so tall!” Jarae gasps.

“We’re inside the spire.” Salman comments.

“It’s beautiful... Think of all the knowledge stored in this place!” Lutala gasps.

“I thought you might appreciate it.” Salman remarks.

Turning her head, Lutala finds Salman’s eyes locked onto hers, a pleasant little smile on his face. Though his gaze isn’t particularly lustful, it makes her cheeks darken; she flushes all the same, and smiles back at him.

“It’s all of the knowledge...” Irzain steps forward.

“How’s that?” Steingar furls his brow.

The Scribe slowly walks away from them, turning his attention away from the ceiling and toward the bookshelves. He turns his head and his body follows, basking in the glory of the magnificent temple, dedicated to the vastness of all that has been discovered thus far.

“All this, the expanse of the mind for centuries...” He murmurs.

“What’re you talking about?” Naemen raises a brow.

“This place, the Grand Athenaeum, is the home to all of the knowledge of the Vizheki Empire and more. All that the world knows about science, magic, mathematics, culture, religion, and even art is within this spire. I was the Overseer; I catalogued the knowledge of the world, and protected it.”

“The Vizhek are known to horde knowledge. I can’t say I’m surprised by this, but... The sheer size of it!” Steingar exclaims.

“Is their knowledge bigger than yours? Are you jealous?” Naemen teases the Helngar.

“It’s beginning to make sense, now.” Jarae murmurs, glancing toward Valan, whom she stays beside.

“All of this is certainly worth the trouble they’ve gone through... I mean, look at it! Seeing this, I’m more surprised that the King hasn’t sent the entire navy to search the seas for this place.” Valan adds.

“Even the Empire isn’t big enough to conquer the ocean. Only Yashuva commands its’ secrets.” Lutala retorts.

“Whoever controls the knowledge controls the world.” Naemen comments.

“That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say in more than a week.” Steingar chuckles.

“Maybe that’s what they wanted with him.” Kirsta thinks aloud, looking toward Roak.

“No, no, no! My fire isn’t here! Hahaha! They tried to take it, but Roak stopped them! They wanted to steal my fire, my glow which dances on purity, but Roak won!” He cheers, skipping in circles, like a barbarian Shaman trying to summon rain.

“That still doesn’t answer what exactly they want.” Mairlynn interjects.

“You don’t think it was this place?” Salman asks.

“Do you? Whatever’s here must be a big deal, because there are other libraries, and some of them are vast. I’m sure much of this knowledge is duplicated elsewhere in the world.”

“She has a point.” Lutala agrees.

“Well, maybe we can find it?” Jarae suggests.

“With so many books?!” Salasha gasps.

“It would take us several lifetimes.” Lutala replies.

“Well, we have to do some-”

Everyone pauses as Irzain winces, stumbling for a few feet before reaching out and grabbing a wooden post, which supports the stair’s railing.

“Are you alright?!”

“Don’t have another fit! Please!”

They crowd around him as Lutala’s hands begin to glow, prepared to save him from another seizure. However, the Scribe holds out a hand. He shakes his head and waves them off, still wincing from the pain as more memories flood his mind.

“Don’t, I’m... I’ll be alright.” He grunts out.

“Are you sure? Do you want to sit and rest?” Lutala asks, standing beside him.

“No, that’s alright... I’m fine... Just... Fine...”

His eyes widen, his emerald orbs nearly popping out of his head as he stares at the now thoroughly unnerved group. Suddenly, he bolts past Lutala, grabs the post at the base of the stairs, swings around it and dashes up the steps. The others race to catch up to him, shocked by how quickly he moves to the next floor and then the next. Finally, on the fourth floor, the Scribe stops before a bookcase that sits across from the stairs leading below. He doesn’t even gasp for breath as he looks over the shelves. The others soon reach him, bombarding him with questions, all of which go unanswered.

“Where is it? Where is it?!” Irzain asks himself as he scours the shelves.

“Are you alright, buddy?” Steingar asks him.

“Gotta be here. It’s just gotta be! Come on, come on, come on... Where is it, where is it, where is it?” He murmurs.

“He’s starting to sound familiar...” Naemen remarks, eying the dark-skinned human, Roak. “Maybe he’s going a little-”

“Don’t you dare pick on Roak...” Kirsta snarls, stepping toward Naemen.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious. Does that sound sane to you?” The half breed Lahnyt points toward the Scribe.

“Give me it, damnit. Come on, come on! It’s gotta be here!” Irzain talks to himself.

“He’s looking for something, and Roak can’t help how he is, so shut your damn mouth...” The blond-haired human snarls.

“Besides, he may yet recover his mind.” Lutala adds.

“All’s I’m saying is-”

“Ah-hah! Here it is!” Irzain exclaims, cutting off the half breed.

The others fall silent, turning toward him. He pulls a large book from a shelf, an ornate tome bound in red leather and with gold leaf decorating it.

“I remember! I updated this book myself. Several years ago, I came back and placed it right there. When King Euralian died and Vashalak was so hastily coronated, I worried about this book... I didn’t think to do anything at the time, though; I was so absorbed in safeguarding the rest of my life... ... Maybe if I’d taken it sooner...” Irzain speaks softly, his expression gloomy.

“W-what is it? ... What’s in the book?” Kirsta asks, a hint of fear in her voice.

Irzain brings the book to his chest, wrapping his arms around the large tome. With his chin resting atop the edge, he slowly turns around, facing his companions. His emerald eyes are desolate of joy, his expression frozen in perpetual despair. Though the bright, amber light of the gargantuan sphere in the ceiling illuminates him, his presence is shrouded in the blackest mist, as if he exists in oblivion’s abyss. It’s as if the knowledge itself oppresses him, enslaving him with foreboding doom.

“The royal genealogy...” He whispers his reply.