A bookkeepers dilemma by RJ Quill

Prologue

“Shattering of the Round Table,”

In the easternmost cavern of Lian Yu, beneath layers of stone and shadow, I sat at a grand, round oak table—the heart of our guild, the Fallen. One by one, the seats around the table filled, faces solemn in the flickering torchlight. After twenty minutes, all were present, save for one.

Jacob, tall and broad, was the first to speak. His grand beard and crow-dark eyes lent him an air of authority, matched only by the rich, battle-worn armor he wore—a testament to his noble lineage. “I apologize for the emergency meeting,” he began, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. “But tonight… we have lost one of our bravest warriors.”

A shorter, stout man across the table sprang to his feet, slamming his fist onto the wood. This was Justus, a member of the clergy and our finest spy, a man as fierce as he was loyal. “He is a coward!” he shouted, his voice raw with anger.

“Justus, please,” I said, trying to calm him, but he only grew louder, fists clenched in fury. “He made a promise!”

Marvel, the eldest among us, held up a hand, his voice steady but firm. “Justus, that’s enough.”

Justus glared, his eyes wild with indignation. In a flash, he pulled a dagger from his belt, hurling it at the banner that hung behind the empty seat. “We made an oath when this guild was formed!” he yelled, his voice filling the cavern.

“That was the past,” I replied calmly, but my words fell on deaf ears. Justus’s voice only grew louder, his fury relentless. “No man may renounce his seat in the Fallen!”

Morbius, sitting to my right, watched with his eerie red eyes glowing in the dim light. “What’s done is done,” he said, his voice a low rumble, as cold as the stones around us.

“He must be punished,” Justus insisted, his face twisting with determination.

I couldn’t help a sardonic laugh. “You’re a fool, Justus.”

Justus rounded on me, undeterred. “He must be held accountable for this act of treason!”

Jacob raised his hand again, speaking with the gravitas of a man used to command. “And how do you plan to do so, Justus? How do you punish a man who feels no pain? A man who has ascended to the throne?”

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Finally, Justus sat down, his voice subdued but still brimming with resentment. “He betrayed us.”

“Betrayed us? No,” I replied. “You misunderstand what it means to be an ally.”

Justus slammed a fist on the table. “I do not! Take that back!”

In response, I reached for the book we called the Fallen Guide, its dragon-skin cover worn with age. I turned to the twenty-first page and began to read aloud. “Section 8, Article 9 of the Fallen Guide: ‘He who is inducted into this guild must maintain loyalty to the guild until—and only until—he reaches a position where he ascends beyond its ranks.’”

Silence filled the room, heavy as stone. Justus’s face hardened, but he offered no rebuttal. Instead, he sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. “You’re all fools. None of you think it strange that the princess suddenly took a liking to him?”

The air grew thick with tension. Justus rose from his seat, striding over to the empty chair. He gripped his dagger, cut down the banner, and with a flick of his wrist, set it ablaze with fire magic. “It is done,” he declared, his voice cold and final. “He is no longer part of the guild.”

And with that, Justus turned and left the cavern, his footsteps echoing in the silence, leaving only the smoldering remains of the banner in his wake.

Part two

As we all watched Justus walk out of the cavern, leaving the round table behind, Jacob turned to me and began to speak in a low, solemn voice.

“Marquette, Keeper of the Book, it falls to you to record the history of what has transpired here today.”

His words weighed heavily in the cool, damp air of the cavern. I found myself lost in thought, trying to absorb the reality of what had just happened. Moore has really ascended to the throne. The thought felt unreal, like a bitter truth I wasn’t ready to swallow.

“Are you sure?” I asked, almost as if I expected Jacob to change his mind. “Should this day truly be written in the book?”

Morbius spoke up, his voice as cold as his gaze. He looked at me with eyes as red and unfeeling as embers, piercing through me as if reading my very soul.

“You know it must be done,” he said with quiet certainty. “This is the way of the Fallen. Every decision made in this room, at this table, must be recorded. That duty lies with you, Keeper of the Book.”

I rubbed the back of my head, trying to steady myself against the gravity of it all. “Very well,” I murmured, resigned. “I will transcribe what has happened here today. But you all know our tradition—any time we inscribe something new, we must start from the beginning.”

Several members groaned, shifting in their seats. Some muttered protests, questioning the need for the tradition. Morbius silenced them with a glance, his face hardened, his tone resolute.

“You all know this is more than tradition,” he said, his voice unwavering. “It is our oath, a practice older than any of us. As Keeper, Marquette must honor it. We must always begin at the start, to remember why we are here, what we fight for, and the sacrifices we have made.”

Jacob cleared his throat and inclined his head. “Apologies, Marquette. We meant no disrespect. Please—continue.”

I opened the worn Fallen Guide, flipping from page 20 back to the very first. Taking a steadying breath, I began to read aloud.

“Long ago, our once-peaceful land of Lian Yu was plunged into darkness. Demons overran our lands, and our cowardly king, Tomo, lost his will to fight. As defeat loomed, he was ready to surrender the kingdom to the demons. But then, eight noble families of vastly different backgrounds came together. Each family brought its own expertise, uniting to drive the demons away. They formed the Round Table.

“For this victory, the king was grateful, but he knew the high-ranking nobles would never allow these families to go unchecked. So, the king had no choice but to exile the eight families. But he was no fool; he secretly entrusted them with the power to govern from the shadows, while he and his descendants remained mere figureheads. Thus, the Round Table was born…”

I continued reading, recounting the guild’s origins and history for nearly an hour. Finally, I reached the blank pages at the back of the book and turned my gaze to the assembled members.

Taking up my quill, I began transcribing the events of the day, each word heavy with meaning. Once I finished, each member took out a small dagger, pricked their fingers, and pressed a drop of blood onto the final page, sealing the entry with a solemn oath. More than half the members had marked the record—a testament to the guild’s agreement.

With the book secure in my robes, I walked out of the cavern, casting a final look back at the silent, somber faces of my comrades. The traditions had been upheld, but the future felt more uncertain than ever.