Rancent’s awakening was sluggish, like surfacing from the depths of a heavy, dreamless sleep. His heartbeat thrummed unevenly in his ears—slow, irregular, and oddly muted, as though someone had thrown a thick curtain over it. There was a dull pressure in his chest, not painful, but weighty, like he carried something foreign yet essential. Stone pressed against his back, cold and unyielding, and a faint, herbal scent lingered in the air—a mix of incense and something sharper, almost metallic.
He blinked his eyes open, squinting at first, but no blinding light greeted him this time—just a soft, golden glow. It emanated from the walls, the ceiling, and even the air around him, faint threads of energy flowing in calm, deliberate streams. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was… everywhere. He instinctively reached for his chest, brushing his fingertips over the skin where he expected to find some scar or mark, but there was nothing. Just the quiet thrum of his pulse, stronger now, yet still unfamiliar.
Rancent sat up, his movements stiff and deliberate, as though testing his own limbs. The air felt different, thicker, as if laced with an unseen presence that wasn’t hostile but watchful. He noticed the threads again—golden, silvery, and faintly blue, coiling and weaving between objects and surfaces. They pulsed faintly, alive in a way he couldn’t quite describe.
“What… is this?” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
The Ether reacted. It curled lazily toward his hand, drawn by his voice or perhaps something deeper within him. It wasn’t chaotic or hostile; it felt orderly, calm, and deliberate, like the silent turning of gears in a well-maintained clock. When the strands touched his skin, a faint warmth spread through him, soothing and steadying, as though the world itself had acknowledged his presence.
He didn’t feel afraid, but he did feel changed.
He rose to his feet, glancing around the chapel. The place was quiet except for the distant murmur of chanting. Golden threads of Ether lined the walls, etched into the very stones like veins of light. The sight wasn’t overwhelming, but it demanded his attention in a way that was almost magnetic. He followed the soft glow with his eyes, his footsteps soundless on the cold floor as he moved toward the exit.
Then, the sound of familiar footsteps broke the silence.
“Rancent?”
He froze, turning just in time to see Finnian emerge from the shadows. His friend’s expression flickered between relief and worry, his silver-threaded Ether gleaming faintly as it pulsed in time with his quickened breath.
“Where have you been?” Finnian asked, his voice low but insistent. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze sweeping over Rancent. “You look—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Different.”
Rancent opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. A sudden, sharp pressure gripped his temples, not painful but firm, as though something had gently but decisively closed a door in his mind. He frowned, trying again, but the sensation returned, subtle and undeniable. He couldn’t speak of it—whatever “it” was.
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Finnian’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, stepping closer.
Rancent shook his head slowly. “No… I’m fine,” he murmured, the words coming easier now. They felt true, even if they weren’t the whole truth.
Finnian studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “We need to talk,” he said, his tone firm. “But not here. Come on.”
Without waiting for a response, Finnian turned and gestured for Rancent to follow. They moved through the chapel quietly, avoiding the clusters of Ether-bright figures gathered near the altar. The faint threads guided their path, subtle and precise, leading them away from prying eyes and toward the library at the far end of the church.
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“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and here you are, slumped next to a couple of shelves in the study room,” Finnian said, stepping into the dimly lit space. His tone was teasing but soft, his eyes scanning Rancent with thinly veiled concern.
Rancent glanced up, barely mustering a response. The annoyance he might have felt at Finnian’s interruption didn’t come, replaced instead by an odd sense of calm. It was unsettling—foreign even. Finnian looked the same, yet there was something different about him now. He wasn’t just curious; he seemed… grounded, as though a part of him had quietly matured.
“I was thinking…” Finnian hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “The baptism is still going on. Would you like to accompany me? It might help—clear your head, I mean.”
Rancent blinked, the offer catching him off guard. For a moment, he considered it, but the thought of facing the chanting crowds and the oppressive light was unbearable. He shook his head, his voice calm but firm. “No. Not right now.”
Finnian frowned, leaning slightly closer. “You sure? It’s not like you to miss something like this.”
“I’m fine,” Rancent said quickly, brushing off the concern. “There’s just… something I need to figure out first.”
Finnian hesitated but nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Then let me help you figure it out.”
The library was cloaked in a hushed stillness, the golden glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on the towering shelves. The scent of aged parchment and wax hung in the air, heavy and comforting all at once.
Finnian shut the door behind them with a soft click, cutting off the faint echoes of the baptism ceremony. His gaze swept over the room, a glimmer of familiarity in his eyes. “Do you always retreat when something’s bothering you,” he remarked lightly, breaking the silence.
Rancent sank into one of the long wooden chairs at the center of the room, crossing one leg over the other. The table beneath his hand was smooth and worn from centuries of use. His gaze drifted upward to the endless rows of books lining the walls, their spines glinting faintly in the candlelight.
“It’s peaceful,” Rancent murmured, half to himself. “Like the rest of the world doesn’t exist in here.”
Finnian studied him for a moment before stepping toward the shelves. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, then I’ll figure it out myself.” He ran his fingers along the bindings, scanning the titles with practiced ease.
Rancent watched him without comment, his calm demeanor unshaken. He felt no urge to argue or push Finnian away. Instead, he sat back, letting the subtle rhythm of Finnian’s movements fill the silence.
“What exactly are you looking for?” Rancent asked eventually, his voice quieter than usual.
Finnian pulled a thick, leather-bound tome from the shelf and flipped it open. “Anything that explains what happened to you back there,” he replied simply.