In dad’s black office, an office fitting his somber moniker of Flying Hound, I was sitting at a loss. The softness of the couch drawing me in like an abyss.

Unable to move.

“I just made what?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” He replied.

“So you think you’ll be able to find a cure for your broken core by reading the family archives?”

“Y-yes..” I said, feeling somewhat deflated by the way he had asked the question. His tone caustic.

“Because you think I didn’t try?” He postulated.

“Ah- Sorry, I didn’t think that far.” Now, understanding his weird tone.

“No-no don’t apologize, now is not the time to back down.” he asked, somewhat unconvinced. “You think you will find something?”

“I hope so. If there’s anything that can cure me, it has to be in family archives, right? I refuse to believe that I am the only one in our family’s history with such a curse.”

“Hahaha, interesting.. and what if I told you you were?”

“This... this can’t be possible.” I sputtered.

“Hahaha, I wish that was a joke, but anyhow there’s no fault in trying. "

After having said these words, he became silent. His amused smile from before disappearing as he became pensive, rocking himself on his office chair.

He looked at the roof of his ceiling in this way for a solid 5 minutes before breaking the silence.

“Well, alright, you seem to have realized the precariousness of your situation. This is excellent. I will acknowledge your efforts and even let the matter of the window pass.”

He laid back in his chair, stretching his back as he yawned.

“Your punishment will be to read the family archives back to front until you’ve found something. If you can’t find a solution to that problem before your brother is born... I won’t be able to look after you anymore.”

The ominous meaning of these last few words was not lost on me, causing me to stiffen in fear. Through his eyes, I knew he was dead serious.

Despite his unfitting aloof behaviour, he was dead serious.

If I didn’t succeed, I’d be left behind.

“Understood.. dad,”

“Phew, alright, alright, don’t look at me like that. Here’s the key to the archives.”

He pulled something from the drawer of his desk and threw it my way, as if this object was as trivial as the hammer still laying on the ground.

“From now on, when you want to go there, ask Gregoire. He’ll guide you there.”

“Gregoire?”

“Ah yes, you’re probably not familiar with him,” He clapped, “Gregoire come in for a minute.”

Almost immediately an old middle-aged man, with hairs a weird mess of black and white — the same man that had been guarding this room — entered.

Then, with a reverential attitude, he asked father, “Yes Duke, how can I be of assistance?”

“Just come in, I want to present you to my son,” Dad replied.

“Oh, but of course, my humblest greetings, son of the Hound, I am Gregoire Witchhammer. I am but one of your father’s humble servants.”

“Hahahaha Gregoire, don’t underrate yourself.” Dad said, an amused smile on his face.

“Oh my Lord, it is but the truth” he said in a bow.

Who the hell is that weird man? His overly reverential attitude irking me.

“From now on, whenever my son asks you, guide him to the family archives and guard the door, this new assignment will take precedence over guarding this place.. understood?”

“Yes sir, it shall be done as you’ve spoken it.”

“Good. now leave.”

“Yes.”

As soon as Father ordered it, he left the room, not daring to impose himself longer.

Son of the Hound uh, first time I hear that one.

I wasn’t without knowing of the reputation of my father.

Nathanael Balmung, known by the public and warriors alike as the Winged Hound or Kerrebus. A man with battle abilities so terrifying that our elders called him the second coming of Nemerus. And one of the rare mages in our lineage who achieved flight using the technique coined by the great Nemerus, “Shadow Wings”.

Even so, I was not used to being called that myself. Now that I thought about it, it makes sense. Except for our features, I took nothing from him talent-wise.

Still, this name felt... gross.

Or maybe it was the way he said it?

“So, how do you like him?” Father asked, breaking my string of thoughts.

“Hmmm I don’t know, he’s a bit weird I suppose?”

“Hahahaha, a little too honest, aren’t you? Hmm, don’t take it against him. He’s just really loyal to me; something I respect. Anyhow, is there anything else you need to talk to me about?”

“N-no, this was all,” I said, as I pushed myself to my feet, leaving the couch and heading for the door.

“Perfect, so this is the last bit of resource I am ready to invest in you. Either you find something or...”

He didn’t finish his sentence; he didn’t need to, this silence more powerful than any words he could have said.

“Understood.. dad.”

#

The sense of urgency could not have been stronger, and thus, as soon as I left the room, I asked Gregoire to lead me.

His face didn’t even twitch as he heard me ask him. Not even a single twinge of discontentment. In fact, his placid smile was… uncomfortable.

I didn’t put more thought into it. After all, I had much more important fish to fry. I had to find a solution.

A few minutes later, the big door of the archives stood in front of us.

This door — even once put amongst the lavishly engraved doors of the manor — stood from the rest.

Its body? a deep ebony black, contrasting heavily with the velvet walls surrounding it. At its left margin, intricate gold engravings representing the equally intricate story of the Balmungs illuminated the dark wood.

At each generation, a tiny bit more of that pattern was continued. Currently. it stood at about three-fourth of the length of the door.

And finally at its center, the emblem of the Balmungs, a crow bleeding from an eye, handing a dagger to another crow — in heavier gold lines.

This emblem always seemed to bewitch me.

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Supposed to represent our vindictive nature.

“Don’t mess with us” It seemed to shout. I loved it.

Still, I didn’t have time to admire this work, and slapped my own cheeks red to wake up.

You don’t have time for this, quick!

Entering the room, I was met with an array of bookshelves, 15 to be exact. Some bigger than others, all lined with books.

15 bookshelves.

15 generations of Balmungs.

And in front of each of these bookshelves, a painting of the head it was supposed to represent, all the way up to the illustrious Nemerus.

My father wasn’t there yet. Except for Nemerus Balmung, who had started this tradition, every bookshelf of the heads were added posthumously.

Half a millennium of history, and I’d have to parse through all that info to even begin to find a solution to my troubles.

Still, this had to be done.

“Phew, here goes nothing!”

Where to start?

I sat.

As ironic as it was for me who had been rushing all this while, I sat.

I had to think, to find the best strategy possible. If I was to find the solution, even with my best efforts, it’d be impossible to literally read through all of it.

So what could be done? It wasn’t like they had an index or were classed by subjects. This would have been way too easy, right..?

“Gregoire, is there an index of these books? Or some kind of classification?”

“No.. Son of the Hound… not that I know of.”

Well, at least we’re clear on that.

“Ugh- okay.. also could you drop that Son of the Hound thing? It’s awkward.”

He didn’t answer.

We both exchanged glances before I moved on.

Let’s scan the shelves and then go from there.

“Gregoire?”

“Yes?”

“Could you carry me on your shoulders?”

“Yes, if you order it.”

“Then I order it.”

As pumped as I was to sift through, these bookshelves were tall. I’d need a little bit of help to do an effective scan.

So it went, and we walked through the entire collection, simply skimming. That took us 30 minutes.

“‘Memoir of this’, ‘Almanac of that’, ‘Grimoire of this’, lots of big words, but nothing that shouts ‘toolbox for broken vessels...’”

“phew at least that’s settled,” I sighed as I looked at the bookshelves.

Almost all of them were useless at face value and thus would need more attentive reading to decipher. The only book that looked even slightly useful on a superficial level was “Elixirs and other Concoctions for Mana Expansion by Graham Grenoble.”

Which was the book I’d start with. I had a strong feeling that dad had already read through it though.

Oh

Gregoire.

I innerly gasped as I remembered where I was sitting.

“Thanks Gregoire, you can put me down now”

I had been in my own thoughts while he had stood there quietly, awaiting the next order. Everything aside, his shoulders were really comfortable.. but comfort wasn’t needed. I’d need to work.

[…]

Yeah, quick enough, I realized this book was one of those that father had browsed. The recipes inside it familiar, skimming through its contents to see if anything had been missed, ‘yeah nothing of use’, everything in there was for the sake of opening the mana veins, growing the core or solidifying it, but everything in these last two categories was something I had already tasted, while the rest simply didn’t solve my problem.

Back to square one.

It wasn’t too disappointing.

After all, I half expected it. Still, it was daunting to realize I’d have to sift through all that manually.

Let’s choose a bookshelf, I thought as I stood up, the thought of what to do next weighing on my mind.

After some time, I elected for Solander Balmung — the most recent head.

Why him? Two reasons, the first one was because I needed to start somewhere and going at the ends made the progress easier to track; the second reason was more a matter of intuition and hope.

If I put myself in the shoes of a Balmung head, once there I’d try to read the works that were read by my predecessors, especially if their legacy was notable.

This way I’d soak in the wisdom of all the Balmungs preceding me.

And from that, since almost all the Balmung heads had journals or diaries in their shelves, if he were to reference a work that seemed relevant to me, I’d simply note it and consult it myself later. I hoped that by starting with him, I’d get a more complete vision of everyone that preceded him.

And thus I started with his journal.

Full of hope.

[…]

Three hours later, of diligent reading, I was about a tenth of the way through his thick diary. And I was forced to wake up from my delusions.

I had expected difficulty, and tedium, but wasting 3 hours of the limited time I had sifting through boring information was stressful. After all, every sentence had the chance of being useful, so I couldn’t mindlessly skip it; but these three hours had been utterly useless.

I had a feeling that if I truly wanted a chance at this, I’d need to spend all my waking time here--and then some.

I had 5 months to go, the smallest shelf having 13 books; I really had no time to waste.

[…]

Two days later, this room had become my room.

And while the cadence for the first journal was at first fairly fast considering how big it was, soon enough, my rhythm fell to a crawl as my brain slowed down.

As mental and physical fatigue buildup grew, it became harder and harder to focus; reducing even more the already slow pace. At such times, I’d go for a nap, asking Gregoire to wake me up 30 minutes later.

These naps were very much needed, allowing me to refresh quickly, but the pace itself stayed slow.

It’s going to take a while.

[…]

First journal.. useless. Nothing of note. NOTHING ...

calm down..

This is just the first shelf. Let’s try the previous head.

[…]

One day later, its memoir was shorter and more concise, making it easier to read. Still not much useful. This book was much more about his many “conquests?” I wasn’t too sure what he was talking about, but he seemed to be quite proud of it.

Useless info..

Next.

[…]

Five days.. later.

This was the third book.

One week, I had already wasted an entire week, and I had only read 3 books.

None of them useful.

Do I keep this up?

Should I change plans..?

It wasn’t supposed to be easy.

At no point I thought it would be.. but still.

[…]

3 days later.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARH,” I yelled in a rare tantrum as I threw the book I was currently reading at an innocent Gregoire.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

Nothing but a salad of irrelevant, useless information.

Trust the process...

Trust the process?

"How can I trust this damned process!?" I thought to myself.

I was at my wit’s end. Having a plan to follow was good — yes — but I had been reading nonstop for close to two weeks now, with nothing to show for it.

Was my plan flawed? The ticking clock seemed to suggest, yes.

4 months and a half to go...

I sighed as I rested my head against the table.

My head was hurting, and I couldn’t see clearly anymore.

“Mom..”

“I want to talk to mom.”

Yes, I had work to do. I had to read.

But I needed a break.

[…]

At this time, mom usually was drinking tea. And she drank it on the terrace at the center of the garden. She said the flowery atmosphere infused the tea with a special sweetness.

I had never really understood what she meant, since to me tea tasted like tea. Still, I could agree that the idyllic context made the experience a tinge more enjoyable.

“Oh great heavens,” she said as she looked at me, worry apparent on her face. “Look at your face!”

“Uh- hello mom.. what?”

“How pale you are, quick!” From where she stood, she raised her hand, and before I had time to reassure her, my body started floating. Or maybe, it would be more accurate to say it was carried by something.

My shadow as well as the shadows of the surrounding flowers stretched and carried me gracefully into mom’s embrace.

“What have you been up to?” She asked in horror, before yelling, “Brigitte!”

Out of a nearby thicket, a lady dressed in form fitting chic attire emerged, her appearance refined and pristine. She wore the same one piece attire as Gregoire.

“Bring us water, some food and also more tea”

“Mo-,“ I tried to say to calm her.

“Shush,” she interrupted.

“Okay...” I said, defeated. When she went like that, there was no way to reason with her.

I wasn’t against a little food too; I was tired and now that I thought about it, famished.

##

“So...” she said as she slurped on the tea Brigitte had brought us.

“What have you been doing these past days?” she asked, threat in her voice. I couldn’t lie.

So this after taking a deep sigh, and taking a sip of the tea that I started speaking. But not before taking another sip, as its aroma was entrancing.

After that, I sorted out my mind and started speaking. Explaining everything that had happened these past two weeks (also conveniently leaving out the fact I thought about cutting my hair) and then, after finishing it again, I took another sip.

This tea... wow.

While I was experiencing the flavor of this tea, mother’s aura went through multiple jerks, anger, confusion, rage, rage.

She was angry...

I lifted my head and while her expression remained gentle, the aura she unleashed made me shudder.

“So your dad put you up to this?”

“Uh?”

“What?”

“Wait! No-no-no-no-no” I said as I shook my hands and head in a no motion.

“I am not here to complain. I asked him myself” “

Her face remained unsullied, but the veins on her neck started pulsating.

“Mom, please don’t be mad!” I said, seriously worried about what she would do.

As I did, her aura calmed slightly. It worked?

She didn’t say anything, bringing the cup of tea to her mouth before sipping on it, her every movement overflowing with grace.

She stayed silent for a while, doing nothing to comfort me, but soon she spoke.

“I won’t tell you to stop looking for a solution, after all I won’t be able to protect you your whole life and this world is merciless ... but be careful, don’t lose your health over this, don’t forget to sleep, and to eat properly.”

“B-“

Her aura roused again. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“okay...”

“Good,” she sipped before adding, “also from now on you’re forbidden from missing dinner.”

“Wait, wait, that’s not fair!” I said, slapping my hand on the table in protest.

She looked at me unimpressed before saying, “I will watch you, and make sure you do what you said you would.”

“But.. but.. I can simply eat at the library. "

“and how am I supposed to know you ate?”

“I could ask Gregoire to report to you” “

“And what tells me you won’t ask him to lie?”

“Uh- I won’t!” I said resolute.

“That’s good to hear. After all, there’s nothing more important to a man than his word.. still I won’t feel reassured unless I can see for myself.” She sipped again.

“But.. but...” I didn’t have a good answer to that. I didn’t want mom to worry about me.

I sighed. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good.” She placed the cup on the table.

“Was that all?” she asked me.

“Wait... no, that’s not why I came here!” I grumbled as I snacked on the cookies that accompanied the tea..

The sweetness and spiciness of the cookie exploding in my mouth, giving my brain no chance of actually staying on track.

Why does this taste so good.

“Mom..” I said, thinking of all I could ask her.

As I prepared to open my mouth, I realized there was no solution she could give me.

After all, if there was, she’d already have, and now that I talked with her, my mind was clearer.

“Thank you, this was delicious,” I said as I took a handful of cookies and downed the remainder of the teacup.

“See you tonight," I said as I ran towards the library.

I would find something!