Heror tucked away the kinship cloth.

He gave Shaadur a quick pat before joining the rest of the search party at the center of the dome, underneath the skylight’s rays. As the group came together, Adjaash spoke again.

“The temple continues that way,” she said, pointing behind her. “Brocus, Heror, and myself will go farther in and see what there is to see. Nariyu, you come with us, and bring the torch supplies with you. Khaliu, Yuryu – you two stay by the entrance and keep an eye on the horses while they rest. I can’t say when we’ll be back, but if it’s dark, we’ll wait until morning to set off.”

The two Midans nodded – a skittish look still in the younger one’s eye. Now Adjaash glanced at Nariyu and motioned for him to grab the torch supplies. Nariyu went and picked up a leather pack from behind his horse’s saddle, and slung its strap over his shoulder. And then the four ventured farther inside the walls, while the two Midans stayed behind.

The four walked past the skylight’s rays and into the shade again, boots clacking lightly against the marble stone floor as sand grains crunched underneath. In under a minute, they came to the far end of the domed rotunda. All of the walls and curved glyphs converged on a smaller stone hallway that stretched onward, shrouded in darkness. Adjaash placed a hand on the stone entryway, then turned to Nariyu.

“Let’s light the torches,” she said.

As Nariyu set down the leather pack and rummaged through its contents, Brocus glanced back and took in the domed structure one last time.

“It’s incredible the engineering that would’ve been needed to build this temple,” Brocus examined. “The oldest dome in Ghiovan is in the city of Peranon – almost 3,000 years old. This predates even that. It’s amazing that it’s lasted this long. The carving work is a bit rougher, but still… very impressive. On the one hand, it makes sense – the Pylanjuun Cyngoths are the precursors of all elsish life on Kivveneth. But on the other hand…”

Brocus trailed off, lost in his thoughts again. As the scholar peered up at the ceiling, Nariyu lined up three small wooden staves on the floor, each with a bulged end on one side. The Midan wrapped each end in cloth, which he’d first dipped in whale oil. Then, one by one, he handed each stave to Adjaash and struck a flint and steel to light the cloth ablaze. The first torch, Adjaash handed to Brocus. The second, to Heror. At the smell of the whale oil, Heror scrunched his nose. But as it burned, the odor faded.

The torches were lit, and so they carried on through the small passageway, footsteps echoing louder in the condensed space. As they walked, the orange torchlight trembled along the ancient walls, expelling the dark ahead. But soon, they came to the top of another staircase within the claustrophobic corridor, over which the rough stone ceiling sloped downward, into a sea of blackness.

Adjaash stopped at the top of the staircase and held her torch forward just a bit, testing how far the light could reach. Then she stepped down onto the first stair, when she heard a hushed voice behind her.

“Careful, Adjaash,” Nariyu warned, raspy voice echoing down the way. “This is where the Par-va like to play tricks.”

“There’s nothing to keep their tricksters here,” Adjaash countered.

She started down the stone staircase, descending into shadow. Nariyu hesitated, and so Heror filled in behind Adjaash, while Brocus trailed slowly, his eyes scanning the walls for markings. They went down the steps for some time, until finally, the floor flattened out again, and another narrow passage led to an open stone doorway – silence and dark beyond.

“Look,” Brocus said as he peered over Heror’s shoulder. “The doorway is supported now. Load-bearing structure, and inlets on the walls. The dome must have been part of an acropvlis on risen ground in ancient times, and this passageway led underground. We are in the depths now.”

Adjaash paused, and then she walked through the doorway. The others followed. As they did, the ceiling rose, the walls opened up again, and the amber torchlight swept the darkness away, revealing a new room.

This room was smaller than the dome, but still large, with a twenty-foot ceiling supported by four pillars that bisected each side of the room. Set lengthwise in the middle of the room was a smooth marble table, with a long stone bench on either side of it. On each of the side walls, several torch sconces sat, their fires long gone. There were no bones, no weapons strewn about, no tools. If there was ever any treasure, the place had been stripped clean long ago. Only dust and stone remained.

Heror looked up and ahead, however, and he saw what lay on the far wall. He couldn’t see the details from where he stood, at the opposite end of the room. But he could see that the far wall was, in and of itself, a giant map that splayed from end to end. It was not a drawn map. Rather, it was hewn into the stone itself – a massive display of carved cities, fortifications, and roads, with Pylanthean words and names etched underneath each landmark with precise stonework and craftsmanship.

Adjaash glanced over the adjacent walls, searching for relevant symbols, while Brocus observed the room’s structure in awe. Nariyu shook his head, seeing little of relevance.

“This is it?” the Midan questioned. “The Sword can’t be here.”

“It’s not,” Brocus said with a grin, his wide eyes climbing the walls. “But here, we may be able to learn where it is.”

Now Brocus came to the marble table at the room’s center. He ran his hands along the smooth stone and leaned forward. After taking a deep breath, he smiled wider.

“This temple must have been a crucial strategic and spiritual center for the Pylanthean leaders in ancient times,” he theorized. “In the dome itself – under the stained glass skylight that mimics the light of the Painted Sea – and in the courtyard outside – before it fell into ruin – they would have been able to pray and meditate. And in times where counsel and consultation was needed, they would come down here, to this council hall.”

At last, Brocus’ eyes came to the map on the far wall. His smile bore teeth.

“This is promising,” he said with a nod.

Brocus walked around the marble table and reached the far wall. The others joined him there.

“There has to be something here,” Brocus told them. “Keep an eye out for the details we discussed.”

They each took separate sections of the map, while Heror lingered at the center. He stepped forward until he was just inches away from the carvings, and a wave of awe washed over him again. Up close, the intricacy of the carvings was even more incredible. Each city and fortress was unique and stylized as it had been in real life. Some were scaled up, while others were smaller, and all of them were connected by a network of roads and smaller villages, each with a corresponding label.

As Heror’s eyes scaled the marvel, something caught his attention. Near the bottom of the map, at the center of the room, Heror could see a large flat circle, with what appeared to be text inside, and a symbol he recognized. It was the clawed blade symbol that Brocus had highlighted from the texts – the one that corresponded with the Sword.

“Here!” Heror yelled. “I think I found something.”

The others rushed to the center of the map, and Brocus slid in front of Heror, holding his torch toward the wall. Quickly, his eyes fell on the Sword symbol. He smiled.

“That’s the Sword symbol from the readings,” he confirmed.

“What’s that underneath it?” Adjaash noticed.

Now all of their eyes snaked downward, to a small section of text that sat below the symbol. It was in ancient Pylanthean – structured as if a riddle to the unknowing eye. It read:

Nnevtanae gvards Et.

En eplaec wenec Cvraeg covms.

Heror and Adjaash glanced at one another, sharing confused looks. And then they looked at Brocus, who was piecing the words together in his head.

“Neutanae guards It,” Brocus read. “In the place whence Courage comes.”

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Adjaash let out a stifled laugh, before muttering: “They were only a little full of themselves.”

“Courage,” Brocus thought aloud. “Sparhh’s manifestation. We already knew Sparhh was involved. But now…”

He pondered a moment longer.

“… place…”

And then his eyes went back to the map on the wall.

“… we look at the map?”

“Are we sure it’s still there, wherever it is?” Heror asked. “During the meeting two nights ago, you mentioned Hiirvanos last used the Sword. He would have used it after this temple was built, correct?”

“Yes, Hiirvanos – almost 2,500 years ago. That’s good,” Brocus confirmed, smiling lightly at Heror’s recall. “According to the legends, Hiirvanos used the Sword to defeat the mortal constructs of Muscvall and Mulent – the Parvan Gods of Beasts and Destruction – thus ending the Great Scourge and restoring the Kingdoms at the end of the second Eoh. But those same legends state that Hiirvanos did not take the Sword directly. It was summoned to him as the last of the Boons of the Divine Consortium. When the Scourge was over, the Sword dematerialized and left Hiirvanos’ possession. It left him, and was lost to the ages, but it is never gone. The Boons are tied to the mortal world of Aelyum by their very essence. So we can only assume it was rematerialized, and returned to its resting place… here…”

Brocus paused, and then his eyes went back to the word ‘Cvraeg’.

“… in Sparhh’s Kingdom.”

“But we were able to just walk in here,” Heror debated. “Is it possible it could’ve been stolen by now?”

Brocus shook his head.

“In the ancient Pylantheans’ time, this temple – at the top of the acropolis – would have been guarded, and reserved for only the ruling family and their various advisors and servants. This information would have been privileged, and the location itself will no doubt be more shuttered than this.”

“‘Neutanae guards It,’” Adjaash echoed. “What does that mean?”

“That, I am unsure,” Brocus admitted. “The ‘ae’ suffix implies divinity in Pylanthean tongue, but the Pylantheans were not fond of magic or traps to guard their spoils and sacred items. For Bor’s sake, look at their map! This empire of theirs was a labyrinth in the desert. If they wanted to guard their Sword, all they would have to do is hide it, and hide it well. Time and sand might’ve done the rest.”

“So what happens if it’s buried?” Heror wondered.

“If the time comes where we must cross that bridge, we will,” Brocus assured him. “We’ve only explored the southern edge of the Pylanthean ruins in the desert. Odds are, there are more ruins accessible to us beyond, if that is where we must go. I don’t know for certain. But for now… we can find the location.”

Heror glanced across the bottom edge of the map, from left to right.

“You mentioned we’re on the southern edge of where the ruins lie,” Heror started.

Brocus nodded.

“I don’t see any other circles or dome structures at the bottom of the map, aside from the one that holds the text,” Heror went on. “Could this circle be where we are now, beneath the dome? And then from there, we could trace the path to whichever location we find.”

“My stars, I think you’re right!” Brocus exclaimed. “Good, very good…”

Brocus set his finger on the circle with the text inside. Then he traced upward.

“Everyone,” he began, speaking with haste. “Look for a symbol that may be an identifier of an affiliation with the Courage God, Sparhh. You may have to look close.”

They spread out, and their eyes snaked across the map again. In silence, with a new frantic energy, they scavenged the carved map’s buildings and streets and symbols for any sign of Sparhh. Inches from the stone, with painstaking focus, Heror climbed up and down the central section with his gaze, blue eyes catching the torchlight.

Minutes passed. More minutes, and still nothing. And the group’s energy began to fade. Most of the buildings were mere stone models, without any symbolism or art attached. Nariyu was the first to stop and rest his back, sitting at the table. Adjaash began pressing the wall for buttons or hidden switches, to no avail. And soon, even Heror stepped back and sat on the ground, resting his prodding eyes.

It had to be almost evening. Only Brocus was still at the wall, growing frustrated by now as he examined every inch of the wall’s left section. Heror glanced back up at the wall from where he sat, around ten feet away – and then he saw it.

It was easier to see from where he sat – an ever-so-slight indent that tracked around the expanse of several buildings above the dome. When he was closer to the wall, the torchlight and shadows played tricks and hid the indent, but in this specific spot – on the room’s center line – he could make it out. It was a shape he recognized immediately – burned into his memory by the Pylanthean kinship cloth. It was the shape of a wolf’s head, craning upward.

Almost too fast, Heror jumped to his feet – startling Adjaash, who’d been leaning on the adjacent wall. In a rush, Adjaash hurried to Heror’s side, as Heror called to Brocus: “Brocus! Over here!”

Suddenly reinvigorated, Brocus turned away from the wall and hurried to join Heror and Adjaash. Heror pointed toward the hidden wolf head indent, and soon, Brocus saw it, too – outlining a cluster of temples to the northeast of the dome.

“The wolf,” Brocus said to himself in a low voice. “The totem of Sparhh.”

The scholar paused, and then nodded: “This has to be it.”

Now Brocus turned to Adjaash, only for a brief moment.

“Hold my torch. Both of you, stay where you are. Don’t disturb the light.”

Adjaash took Brocus’ torch without a word and stood next to Heror, while Brocus slowly approached the wall. The scholar crouched so his shadow would not block it. He trained his eyes on the point where the wolf’s head craned up and its snout peaked, as if howling at the moon. As he got closer, the optical indent faded – but by now, his eyes were fixed on the point where the wolf’s head would meet the sky. He refused to break focus, and as he met the wall in a crouch, he reached up and pressed his finger on the location.

“Heror, Adjaash,” he beckoned, his head bowed. “You can still see the indent. Is my finger in the right spot?”

Both of them nodded, and Heror said: “Yes.”

Now Brocus brought his eyes up, and he carefully stood. He pulled back his finger and fixed his attention on the structure beneath it: A small temple with a smaller cylindrical shrine outside of it. Just below the temple’s southern wall, a carved text label – barely distinguishable – read:

Dyvgan

“Dyugan,” Brocus read in a whisper. “The resting place of the Divinium Diaphanae. The Sword of Sparhh.”

A triumphant smile found its way onto Brocus’ face. But just as soon as he began to laugh, his smile faded. He quickly brought his finger back to the location on the map and wrenched his head around.

“Adjaash!” he shouted. “Do you see a scale on the wall?”

Adjaash was startled for a moment, but she soon understood his request. Her eyes traveled the length of the wall.

“I don’t see any scale,” Adjaash replied. “But…”

Her eyes now went to the very southern edge of the map. After a moment, she turned to Heror.

“Hold my torches,” she blurted.

“Wha– I can’t carry three torches!”

But before Heror could protest further, Adjaash shoved her two torches into his hands and went to the wall. She crouched to Brocus’ left and brought a knee to the floor, and as she searched the very southern edge of the map, her eyes fell on a small watchtower, spiking up just above the floor.

“This is the watchtower we passed by on the way to the temple today,” she observed. “It’s around thirty miles southeast of this temple. We can use that distance as a scale to estimate the Sword’s location…”

Now she stood and stepped away from the wall again, and with her eyes, she measured the distance from the dome to the point where Brocus held his finger.

“I’d estimate…” she concluded, “… that the Sword’s location is around 65 miles to the east-northeast of where we stand right now. North-northeast of camp.”

“Mark it on your map,” Brocus told her. “Quickly.”

Adjaash took out her own map, unrolled it, and marked the location. Once it was marked, Brocus finally lifted his finger off the wall and dropped his arms. He turned to the group and beamed, and his triumphant energy returned.

“We’ve found it.”

Brocus laughed haughtily. Adjaash turned and grinned at Heror, while Brocus continued, bellowing from his chest.

“I’ve found–”

And then there was a sound. The walls shook, and as quickly as they started, they went idle again. The group froze, collectively questioning whether or not they had imagined it.

Then the sound came again. A low boom, muffled through the stone and sands beyond – as if something large had submerged into the desert. A short tremor ran along the walls. Dust fell from the ceiling.

“What is that?” Brocus asked.

“Eaters,” Nariyu hissed.

Without another word, the Midan grabbed a torch from Heror’s hand. He turned and rushed back to the corridor, and up the steps. After a short moment, Adjaash, Heror, and Brocus followed.