Striport, some 1,000 years before the corruption and subsequent name change, was a typical city like many others on the human-dominated continent of Triahkel. Personally, Krinink was partial to the lively culture and rich history of Tahir—the smaller population was also a boon—though he was grateful to be away from all that blasted sand.
”Striport is boring.”
Grnulf complained to Krinink as they walked through the bustling market district, which had the second-largest population in Triahkel.
”Don’t let the masters hear you say that.”
But Krinink still gave him a sly nod of agreement.
The two apprentices were on the prowl for people to interview. Shopping districts were a great place to scout for two reasons: First, there were many people, not just locals. A place like Striport attracted humans from all over—Striporters were known to be less than hospitable to those who didn’t look ‘human’ enough. The gnomes were more or less accepted because they reminded humans of children—many also talked to and treated gnomes as such.
The second reason shopping districts were good spots for the gnomes to get down to business was the merchandise. Fascinating objects and stories could be found on a store shelf, and any shopkeeper worth their saltpetre would know the lore attached to the items they were selling.
It wasn’t just aimless walking, hoping to stumble across something worth documenting, no sir. Gnomes had a sixth sense for this sort of thing. A built-in dowsing rod for knowledge, one might say—or at least they were supposed to have a sixth sense. But Krinink and Grnulf’s may have needed some recalibrating, or perhaps Grnulf was right; Striport was simply boring. Or few were willing to share their stories, the gnomes wouldn't be pulled towards histories they had no chance of actually learning.
”How long have we been searching for a good story? The inkstick will dry up before I can use all the ink at this rate.”
”Two and a half weeks. I can’t bear going back empty-paged again.”
Even Krinink, usually exasperated by Grnulf’s impatience and frequent complaining, agreed this was becoming weary.
”You think Father and Widbi would know if we go to the pub instead? A cold, fruity beer sounds nice after all of our efforts.”
”I think we’d be kicked out as children before you’d get the chance to order.”
”Fiddlesticks.”
”With such strong language, one can only wonder why they’d view us as children.”
Krinink deadpanned, yet his teal eyes danced as he dodged Grnulf’s playful punch. As he stepped to the right, out of Grnulf’s reach, Krinink felt a tingle in his toes and a twitching of his nose that made him sneeze.
”Hold on! I’ve got something. Grnulf, over here.”
He started following the feeling. The further right Krinink went, the stronger it grew until even the strands on his thick head of red hair were ready to stand on end.
”I feel it, too!”
They reached a nondescript door. There was no sign over this shop, and the door had no visible handle. However, there was a small plate in the door, and when Krinink knocked, it slid open, and a set of sharp mauve-coloured eyes peered through.
“Ah, gnomes. Wonderful.”
The sarcasm in the shopkeeper's voice was not lost on Krinink, though Grnulf might have missed it if the look on his face was any indication.
“Hello, ma’am. We got a sudden feeling that this was an important place. Might we come in for a chat?”
Krinink heard a deep sigh, a bit of grumbling, and a click as the door unlocked and swung open.
They entered a small, plain room. If the apprentices were regular-sized humans, the space would be cramped. The only light was from candles sitting on the empty counter, and Krinink dearly wanted to cast [increased luminosity] to brighten the place up a bit. A door was set in the wall behind the counter, but there was nothing else of note.
Grnulf, who had been prepared to record the shop's appearance, was visibly disappointed by its lack of distinctive features. That only made Krinink worry about what insulting things Grnulf would say. And it didn’t take long to find out.
”Where’s all the merchandise? I thought this was a shop?”
Grnulf looked doubtfully around the empty space and even poked his stomach as if double-checking his sixth sense. The shopkeeper bristled at the gnome's impoliteness.
“This is the oldest business in Striport. Passed down from generation to generation of Archivist.”
“And what sort of business do you do?”
Grnulf grilled the woman. It was their one shot, and Grnulf was going to ruin it for them. Krinink shot the woman a sheepish smile and tried to will Grnulf to shut up with his mind. This is why he needed to do the talking, not Grnulf.
“I can acquire almost anything you might be seeking, with certain practical limitations, of course.”
The Archivist's tone was piqued.
“But archivists don’t sell stuff; they collect and store historical texts and objects. Us gnomes run the Grand Archives, we should know.”
Grnulf pointed a thumb at his chest and gave her a self-important look.
“It is a name, you ridiculous little thing. And the proprietors of this shop have done much the same as your precious Grand Archives. We are just a for-profit organization, you might say.”
Krinink tried signalling Grnulf to back off, but the gnome was blissfully ignorant. He was sure Grnulf would damage the reputation of gnomes in his records.
“Hold on—”
At this point, Krinink figured the best way to save face was to stomp on Grnulf’s foot, effectively shutting him up. He took over talking as Grnulf hopped around on one foot.
“My apologies for my friend's disrespectfulness, ma’am. You said this was the longest-run business in the city. That is remarkable! I know some establishments in Striport have been operating for hundreds of years. Would you mind telling us how your shop came to be and how it has endured all this time?”
She looked at Grnulf, weighing the merits of relaying the tale or giving them the boot. Eventually, she shook her head and pulled out a stool hidden behind the counter.
“Fine. Danciel, my grandfather, many generations removed, had a fondness for collecting. He would spend days searching riverbeds for fossils, crystals, whatever he could find. One day, he found a stone. Smooth and simple. Almost perfectly round. It resembled any other river rock, a rusty brown and gray mix, but he took it anyway because the shape pleased him. Danciel might have had an eye for pretty stones, but he had not an ounce of magic to him. When he returned home with his finds, he prepared his jars and grit to polish the stones. Before he could get them tumbling on the roller board, his wife came home. The family journal claims the magic in the air was so thick it blew her over like a strong wind. You see, his wife Ven’lea was part sylph, and even though her magic was limited to air, she could still sense other magic in the air. She stopped Danciel before he could destroy the entire neighbourhood by accident.
The simple round stone turned out to be a Stone of Absorb Energy—and it wasn't picky about what type of energy it would absorb. Danciel and Ven’lea had no want or need for such a powerful object, but they were not opposed to profiting from it, so they sold it. Danciel was already known amongst Striport as a collector, though no one paid attention to his hobby until then. Once word spread of the stone, they took far more notice and began pestering Danciel and Ven’lea for all manner of things. They saw an opening in the market and began establishing themselves in it.
Danciel had Skills to help with his collecting; though he had only used them to satisfy his hobby before, they were transferable to their budding business. The title of Archivist was not adopted until two generations later, but the shop became a family-run business. Each generation influenced the goods that could be acquired and the connections the business made. Some collected things more nefarious than others. But there have always been two rules: one, always leave more in the collection than you sold, and two, no selling people—we keep far away from slaves and slavers. The terminology changed from collection to archive, but we still do the same thing: acquire items—usually difficult to obtain—and sell them to our clients.”
Krinink didn’t find it the most exciting story, but he understood why they were drawn here. The oldest-run business in a city the size and age of Striport was part of the city's history, a good story to include in the expedition records.
The two apprentices wandered the city searching for more tales to record but found only small factoids here and there. They were also banned from carrying out pranks in Striport due to the increased hostility from the humans. Nemzo didn’t want to deal with the local watch. But that didn’t stop Grnulf from adding a coloured bubble bath elixir to the city’s fountain feature.
Besides that small prank, which Krinink did not participate in, the two strolled along, eating street food and picking out small souvenirs to bring home to their family and friends, enjoying the feeling of being regular tourists.
———
The entrance to the library was interesting in that it was metal. There were few metal doors, especially of this scale, in Triahkel. A complex geometric symbol was inlaid on the door. Magic ran through the symbol, a soft yellow-white, like liquid candlelight, powering the ward that protected the library. Widbi could feel a gentle hum of magic flowing from the door. The symbol was the work of an advanced [Mage]. The magic was contained within the design, feeding off itself. He couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. It was a ward that would hold for centuries.
Beyond the doors was a long rectangular room. A cream-coloured carpet ran down the long aisleway, with tall wooden bookcases flanking each side. At the end of the aisle, the room opened to the left and right, forming a T shape. On the back wall, at the end of the carpet runner, was a statue nearly touching the ceiling, covered with a massive sheet.
The librarian was warm and friendly, but Widbi thought the library had a foreboding chill. It wasn't the worst he had been in by far. Once, he had worked in an underground library with multiple cases dedicated to malevolent books, and just being around those texts exhausted his gnomish nature. No, Striport’s library was nothing like that. It just had an eerie feeling to it.
Widbi felt the calling pulling him left and right toward different shelves. Those would be the books he focused on copying first, but not yet.
Widbi, Nemzo, and Nithroel followed the librarian down the central aisle into the back of the library. The right half to the T had more bookcases. He felt a slight pull in that direction, but nothing too compelling.
To the left was a different story, though. All three gnomes could feel the intense draw. There was more shelving, some tables for reading and working, and a door at the end of the walkway.
"This is our Room of Reliquaries. Beyond this door are two rooms, one for the rarest tomes and the other for Striport’s greatest relics."
The librarian pulled an old bronze key from the pocket of his robes and fit it into the lock.
“What is used to secure this section of the library?”
“The ward on the main door will surely protect the entire library. I also have some Skills from my [Librarian-Relic Keeper] subclasses that help.”
As Nemzo questioned the librarian about security measures, Widbi noticed Nithroel curiously peeking under the sheet covering the statue. The librarian didn't miss the action, either.
“Young lady, [Do Not Touch] that!”
Nithroel's arm snapped back to her side, the Skill forcing her hand away.
“See, Skills to protect the library's contents.”
The old librarian waggled his eyebrows and pushed open the door to the Room of Reliquaries.
The room of tomes was flooded in a golden glow. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases of dark mahogany lined the walls, with ornately carved pillars separating each case. Crown moulding of forest green and gold bordered the top of the shelving. It wasn't a large room, but it was opulent.
Tomes of magic were mixed among the other books on the shelves—thick, glowing manuscripts that instantly caught the eye. Some pulled Widbi in, such as a light green one that radiated earth magic. Others repulsed him. One in particular, locked away from the rest of the books, had black smoke wafting from it, so thick that the book itself was almost completely obscured.
The second room housed the artifacts. The walls were painted with gold leaf, and small reliquaries sat upon shelves mounted on the walls, spaced an equal distance apart. Each reliquary was open to display the relic housed inside. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected the room throughout, making it look larger and grander.
Pedestals stood around the room, displaying various artifacts inside glass cases. Many of the objects were so rare it would be exceedingly difficult to place a price on them. One display case had a sword with a rack holding it upright so it could be admired from all angles. Widbi thought it was a ceremonial relic rather than a blade for combat. Though the dark matte grey metal suggested it was black steel or an alloy of it. The grip was not practical for holding in battle. The filigree-decorated hilt would be a nightmare to hold firmly.
The librarian gave the three gnomes a short tour of the room, naming the items and providing a brief history. Soon thereafter, they got to work.
Widbi set to work copying books he was drawn to. Spells helped him replicate the material, but the copies still had to be checked. Ink smudges, misspellings, or abysmal handwriting could cause errors in the copied text.
"Master Terifore, what is this tome?"
Widbi called out as he perused a shelf in the main room.
"Ah, you have a good eye. That is a rather new addition to our collection. One of the first ever written about chaos magic."
"And what is chaos magic?"
"As I'm sure you know, we humans can't use magic like the rest of you. Even being a [Mage] is difficult, and only a small few can use magic that way. This, though, is magic all humans can use. But it is not wielded in the traditional sense. We imbue items with it. It works like a power source. A wondrous thing."
"That is...interesting. And why that name?"
Widbi paged through the text as he spoke with the librarian.
"There are those of earth, air, fire, and water. And if history is to be believed humans are of chaos. It likely seemed a fitting name to the people who discovered it. The lack of magic in human communities has felt like a curse for so long. Levelling up has become harder, and some children are not receiving Classes when they come of age. This new magic helps us bridge the ever-growing gap between us and the other species."
Widbi studied the book. Interestingly, it was a manual on using already synthesized 'chaos magic,' but it didn't mention how to obtain the materials needed to create it in the first place. Yet, he had a terrible feeling in his gut that he knew where the humans were getting this new magic from.
———
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After weeks of copying texts with Nemzo and Nithroel, Widbi decided they had completed their task. Therefore, it was time for them to preserve the Room of Reliquaries. They sought permission from all the appropriate people, filed all the forms, and formulated a plan.
The beautiful magic on the main door was excellent, but that didn’t mean it could stop everything. What if someone came into the library disguised as a visitor? Nothing would be in place to prevent a theft if they made it past the front door. Thus, they decided puzzles would be a fantastic way to ensure the room's security—a riddle here, a hidden key there.
Krinink and Grnulf were brought in to help with the task, after weeks with few stories to show for their efforts.
“Krinink, begin building a box. It should be simple; we do not want to draw attention to it. Make it from the same wood as the shelving. Can you construct a combination lock hidden under the lid?”
Nemzo was handing out assignments to the group of gnomes. Each had a piece of the puzzle to complete.
“I might be a research apprentice, but I'm still a Lonkadir, Master Nemzo.”
“Well, then get to it.”
Krinink shuffled off to gather supplies and begin building the box that would contain the next piece of the puzzle.
Nemzo sent Widbi to commission the gate, which would replace the simple door into the Room of Reliquaries. The two had drawn up detailed plans of the design to bring to the blacksmith.
“Widbi, are you prepared to imbue the metal throughout the smithing process?”
“Indeed.”
It would be a mana-intensive project. Widbi would funnel magic into the metal as it was being worked. Each bit of metal would need the same amount of magic running through it; no one part could have more than another. Magic and metal would become intrinsic parts of each other.
“You have the mana potions and understand the process of allowing the gate to open while also remaining closed?”
“I am not an apprentice, Nemzo.”
“Yes, yes, very well. I will check on the gate's progress later.
Grnulf handed Widbi the mana potions he had been sent to buy for Widbi's task. The large undertaking would blast through Widbi’s natural mana and channel a great deal from the earth around him. He'd need potions, or he'd run dry. The magic and metal would become one, but the magic in the gate would not physically move the same way the gate could. Instead, it would be akin to a barrier that would stop those with ill intent from entering the Room of Reliquaries—a pairing of physical and mental protection.
Nemzo turned to look at the last two of the group. Grnulf and Nithroel couldn't be more different. For all he loved his son, Grnulf was impatient, impulsive, obtuse, and had a penchant for laziness. He could be brilliant if he tried; the problem was motivating him to try. Nithroel, on the other hand, was more reserved, contemplative, and advanced in her studies. She was also closer to her ‘young adult’ years than Grnulf, reflected in her maturity. Grnulf was expected to succeed Nemzo someday, but he worried his son wouldn't be prepared for the task. He hoped this expedition would help Grnulf find himself.
Nemzo snapped out of his thought as Grnulf shifted uncomfortably under his contemplative gaze. He clapped his hands together and broke the silence.
“Alright, let's craft riddles.”
It should come as no surprise that Nithroel devised a riddle about the elements, drawing inspiration from their own origin.
“Using this riddle about the four elementals, we can correspond the answers to their alchemical symbols and use that for the combination lock.”
“A great idea, Nithroel. Coordinate with Krinink so he knows what to carve into the lock.”
“Yes, Master Nemzo…The first runs but doesn't get tired. No, that's not right. It needs to sound poetic.”
Nithroel spent some time smoothing out the wording of her riddle, then left the library to update Krinink.
Grnulf, on the other hand, paced up and down the rows of bookcases, muttering to himself. It took him a few days to come up with something.
“I've got it. We’ll hide the lock behind the answer to the riddle!”
Grnulf waved a book around and plopped it on the table in front of Nemzo.
“Alright. And what is the riddle?”
“It's the beginning of time and part of past, present, and future. It's part of history, but not here and now. It's in a moment if you know what it is. Errr, something like that.”
“Very good, Grnulf. It needs some polishing, but it is a fine riddle.”
“The answer is the letter T, so I thought we could hide the lock behind this encyclopedia.”
“Interesting. A bright idea. Good work, son.”
He patted Grnulf on the back approvingly before returning to work on the lock that would open the gate.
———
The puzzles were clever, a tad silly, and slightly impractical, but they did the job.
The puzzles and gate did not come together overnight. But once it was complete and the gate was installed, the gnomes and everyone who came to see it had to admit it was a work of art.
The gate’s bright brass finish complimented the ornate rooms it guarded. The metal was moulded into a scrolling design with floral accents. And it looked delicate, as if one good blow would break it, but it was as hard as steel. The small crowd oohed and awed over the magic that softly radiated from the gate.
“We thank you for your visit, Master Nemzo. The council has asked that I bestow this gift upon you to add to the Grand Archive as a sign of our gratitude for the added security of our Room of Reliquaries. It is the Sage's Ring of Insight. The council thought it a fitting gift for gnomes.”
The librarian carefully presented a small pouch, drawing out a mesmerizing ring with a slender band of tin—the metal of knowledge—and three exquisite gemstones. The centre stone was a deep, royal blue, while the two adjacent stones were lapis lazuli. Each ring component was symbolic of wisdom; just looking at it made the mind feel clearer.
“If they were grateful, maybe they would have come to see us off.”
A human in the small gathering scoffed at the comment. The other gnomes glared at Grnulf, and the librarian politely ignored him.
“Your gift is well received and will be a wonderful addition to the Grand Archive. Thank you, Master Terifore and people of Striport, for enduring our presence these few months. We will record all we have learned here to ensure your history does not fade.”
The gnomes said their farewells, which were much quicker than most places they visited. Again, Striport was not overtly fond of them in general. But they were also eager to get to their next and final location, Eltanu.
———
Only days out from Eltanu, the final event of the gnomes’ expedition occurred.
Their party was travelling down a lesser-used road toward the last city on their list. Grnulf was quietly documenting the landscape, which was still mostly forest, though Nemzo had told them it would soon open up to plains again before they reached the coastal city of Eltanu. An elk with radiant navy blue antlers streaked with a shocking lemon yellow leapt across the road just ahead, fleeing into the other side of the forest.
“Everyone stay alert; even a small predator is a large threat for a gnome.”
Widbi warned the group, logic telling them the elk had to be running from something.
“Let us hope it was our presence that spooked it.”
“Yes, let’s…”
Widbi's voice trailed off with uncertainty. He exercised more caution than Nemzo in most situations.
The gnomes had barely passed where the elk came from when they heard a voice from their left. Then there were two, and then three. The voices grew in strength as more joined in. Their words filled Nemzo with dread all the way to the tips of his toes.
“Run away, run away
Silly little gnomes.
Run away, run away
You’re far too far from home.
Run away, run away
And don’t you dare look back.
Run away, run away
Else your neck will surely snap.”
Nemzo and Widbi immediately began casting protective shields as the song was chanted. Earthen walls rose along the roadside, creating a barrier between them and the forest.
“We must leave this place, now! Run!”
Nemzo was an old gnome who remembered a time when gnomes were aggressively hunted for their knowledge. Though the threat was not nearly what it once was, there were still people who thought gnomes could give them answers to all their problems like some sort of [Seer].
To Nemzo’s relief, none of the apprentices questioned the command. They ran down the road, trying to flee the ominous words floating through the air after them. The song, sung like a nursery rhyme, was one Nemzo had not heard in hundreds of years. A threat to gnomes, a sick warning of impending doom, something to strike fear in their hearts. And it worked.
There was a problem, though. The earthen wall only stretched so far, and gnomes had short legs. Their stride was nowhere near that of any human. Widbi and Nemzo tried to raise more but weren’t fast enough.
A gaunt-looking man sprang out from behind the wall, a dirk half the length of a gnome in one hand and a potion in the other. He wore a medallion Nemzo recognized as a mark of the Ysesites, a group gnomes had had more conflict with than any other.
“Little gnomes, you heard our song. Unfortunately, you did not run fast enough.”
“We do not want trouble, good sir. Tell us why you have sought us out, and maybe we can reach an agreement.”
Nemzo cautiously addressed the man, who began chuckling and then laughing until the sound turned shrill, hysterical. Other voices joined in as they revealed themselves, spreading out behind the laughing man.
Each [Apostle], as Nemzo recognized them, wore a pristine white robe that enhanced the sickly pallor of their skin. The Ysessites were devoid of facial hair, and their eyes looked like the colour had been bled from them. It was unnerving.
“Good sir? We are neither good nor evil, unlike you ridiculous lot. Our only purpose is to serve Yses.”
Gnomes were inherently good. And yes, goodness was an actual part of their biological makeup, infused into their being by the master crafters themselves. It was hard for a gnome to be evil, to do wrong things—for all the concepts of right and wrong were subjective. It went against their very nature. They could be oblivious to the damage their tricks might cause, but they were never malicious or purposefully harmful.
In contrast, the Ysesites tended toward questionable deeds at best and horrific ones at worst. Yet, they did it all in the name of their god, convinced they were following the right path—the path of the pure.
Triahkel was the largest seat of power for Yses, and it was only luck that the gnomes hadn’t had a run-in sooner.
“We have many kilometres left on our journey. What might we help you with so that we can continue on our way?”
“Our Godspeaker heard a curious rumour, little gnomes, of an object gifted to you. We only wish to relieve you of its burden.”
The Ysesite sneered at Nemzo.
“Not to worry, it is no burden. Just a bobble, really.”
Nemzo spoke carefully, only daring a slight pushback. An eager, bloodthirsty look grew in the Ysesite’s eyes. This group of apostles specialized in tracking down tributes appropriate for their god, and they were very aware that gnomes collected valuable objects. Yses themself may have assigned the apostles to this task.
“We insist, little gnomes. It belongs to Yses the Unsullied. Bring it to me.”
The malice in his gaze became sharper, glittering with a hunger for violence. And his tone turned erratic. He had the look of a man beyond reason, conviction burning through him.
It was clear there would be no negotiating, so Nemzo just nodded and took a step forward, ever so slowly pulling out the small velvet pouch with the Sage's Ring of Insight.
———
As Nemzo approached with the artifact in hand, the leader of this Ysesite group tried inconspicuously uncorking the potion he held, the liquid inside bubbling violently. Grnulf caught the movement and began drawing power to him.
Widbi, trained to recognize the flow of elemental magic, shook his head at Grnulf. But Grnulf was angry at their weakness in this situation, and, most of all, he was scared.
The Ysesite’s hand holding the dirk twitched; he wanted violence. He would attack them no matter what they did. And Grnulf, a young gnome who did not want to lose his father, reacted without thinking.
He was not foolish enough to think his magic could take down the whole group of Ysesites, so instead, he targeted the highly volatile alchemical potion. Grnulf estimated that Nemzo was still far enough away to not be in mortal danger from the blast that would occur.
This may have been Grnulf’s first encounter with Ysesites, but it was not a first for the apostles. Their leader easily spotted the apprentice preparing to defend his father and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
Widbi tried to disrupt the flow of magic, but it was too late…
The Ysesite sprung to action at the same time Grnulf shot a [stone dart] at the bottle.
An explosion knocked back everyone in the vicinity, engulfing the area with dust and debris.
Grnulf could make out vague shapes lying on the ground as the dust settled. The Ysesites, not killed or knocked out by the explosion, fled, likely to get reinforcements. Seeking revenge was typical for the Ysesites. Worse, they had also gotten away with the artifact.
A smile spread across Grnulf’s face, pleased with himself for saving the day. That was until a ruby-red hat came fluttering down.
“Father?”
The gnomes held their breath in the deafening silence, waiting, straining to hear a reply. Grnulf changed forward when no response came.
“Father!”
A small shape lay on the ground, probably knocked out from the blast. There was no way his father had been close enough for the explosion to kill him.
“Father, wake up. We beat them!”
Grnulf nudged Nemzo, watching for signs of him rousing. It would be a bugger if they had to carry him.
“Grnulf…”
Widbi spoke from behind Grnulf, but the young gnome paid him no mind.
“Father, you must get up. We have to go now, in case the Ysesites return.”
He shook Nemzo with more force, going so far as to smack his cheek, trying to wake his father however he could.
Before Grnulf got carried away, Widbi grabbed his shoulder. Gripping it so hard Grnulf finally pulled his eyes away from his father’s face.
“I’m sorry, Grnulf.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what? Help me wake him, Widbi, so that we can get out of here.”
Grnulf turned back to his father and noticed something he hadn’t before. He choked, looking from Nemzo to Widbi in disbelief.
The dirk, the one the leader had been carrying, was sticking out from Nemzo’s stomach. Red blossomed around the blade—it reminded Grnulf of a poppy.
“I’m sorry, Grnulf.”
Widbi repeated himself, his grip growing tighter on Grnulf’s shoulder.
“No! How could this happen? I got him! I stopped the bad guys.”
Grnulf’s eyes flashed from Widbi to Nemzo and then at the cluster of motionless figures in robes—no longer pristine white. His brain tried to connect what had happened but refused. Grnulf began shaking his head in adamant denial.
“No. It’s not possible. He’s immortal! We just need to get him to a [Healer].”
“We can live forever, but we are not invincible, Grnulf.”
The tenderness in Widbi’s voice enraged Grnulf.
“You’re wrong! Nithroel, Krinink, help me lift him.”
Grnulf shouted at his fellow apprentices. But neither moved to help.
“What are you waiting for? Help me! Now!”
He tugged on his father, trying to lift him, but Widbi grabbed his arms, holding Grnulf back.
“Let go of me!”
He screamed at Widbi, his voice breaking.
“Grnulf, we have to leave.”
Widbi spoke with a gentle urgency—too much kindness and sympathy.
“We can’t leave him here!”
“We have no choice. We are all at risk here. The earth will take Nemzo. I can sense it already absorbing his elemental being.”
Widbi was tugging Grnulf away, but he struggled, trying to resist. He scratched and kicked at Widbi, trying to escape the strong hold.
“Grnulf, I am sorry to do this…”
“Do what?”
Krinink and Widbi glanced sharply at Nithroel.
“[Sweet Apathy]. I hope you can forgive me for this one day.”
She sounded sad, not just for the loss of Nemzo, but for taking such an extreme measure.
Grnulf suddenly relaxed in Widbi’s arms as the spell took effect. The rage and despair slid from his face.
That was not a spell gnomes used on others, especially without permission; it crossed the line of free will. A [Healer] might know the spell, but it was uncommon. The fact that Nithroel knew how to cast it was shocking—though Grnulf, with his newly cleared mind, considered that it was not that surprising for someone like Nithroel—and only their current circumstances prevented an uproar over it.
The spell was like a sedative. Grnulf knew what happened. He still felt the physical pain of loss in his chest, true heartache. But he also felt separated from the debilitating emotions, as though they were locked inside a glass box within himself. Grnulf could visualize them in his mind; he knew they were there and that the feelings belonged to him. But he could only view them from outside the glass box, not feel them.
Grnulf rose and walked stiltedly to Nithroel and Krinink, Widbi following with a hesitant expression. As he crossed the short distance between his father’s body and the other gnomes, Grnulf noticed something on the ground.
That quintessential hat.
Grnulf recovered the iconic cone-shaped hat that only Nemzo wore. Not a spec of dirt on it.
He stared at it as he held the simple bit of cloth loosely, and he would have felt the strongest surge of rage if he had not been separated from his emotions. He hated the hat—overwhelmed with the desire to destroy it as if that little glass box of feelings could be destroyed with it.
He was not ready to inherit this hat.
———
The ring sparked infighting amongst the Ysesites. It created a divide within the religion that reached a boiling point a few hundred years later. One side of the argument stayed in Triahkel, with many moving to an isle off the coast of Eltanu and establishing the Citadel of the Pure. The other group fled with the ring to Olera, following the priest Tarquin Charmant. They established a stronghold in Hascea and solidified their regional power. The Ysesites in Triahkel were all but forgotten—even their god seemed to give up on them. Their religion warped until they forgot their origin—lost their history.
The events that took place in Triahkel would haunt the gnomes—eventually leading to their end. Gnomes would flee Bott Gonrin as the eastern continents fell into disrepair. The qhul, who never stopped hunting them, followed the remaining gnomes to their isolated home in the Vyrwall mountains of Olera, which in turn brought the scorpion men, too.
Though the gnomes were responsible in some ways for the events that occurred, greed, above all else, drove magic from the East.