Isocrates stood at the edge of the pier like a statue frozen in time as his eyes wandered over the western bank. The lowest district besides being the home of the lower echelons of the capital, the mines and warehouses was also the home to the vast port where many merchant ships from the northern cities and from the continent travel through while also loading off on goods and all kinds of folks wishing to start their life in the largest city on the capital island and heart of the Empire.

Simple country kin who seek to establish a business connecting to their villages instead of plowing the earth endlessly there. Or desiring to gain their glories in the continent after listening on the myriad tales their elderlies regaled before the serene, song-like call of the Lady of Dreams – a minor deos serving under the Great Weaver. Of course not all of them were accepted in to the ranks of the Imperial Legion or in other cases got disillusioned with reality and sought glories in other ways.

One such were those heading into the capital to become adventurers, those who seek out the still pristine ruins of the islands, home to long-lost artifacts, baubles and treasures beyond one’s wildest dreams. While also being the home of wandering monsters who often grew to become dangers to the locals. Even in the heart of the Empire where the 1st Legion who fought against the undying legions of the Grimm Sovereign, monsters and wicked cults speaking in forbidden tongues remained under the guise of shadows, bidding their time to deliver the wishes of their vile masters.

When and before Isocrates attended the academy for the common folk of the capital, he too had aspirations to one day be a veneficiar of the 1st Legion after his father, grandfather told of him of the elder tales of great battles fought between the living and the walking dead and other monstrosities born through the final change that awaited all. Which faded with his time and his desires to bring change, to make life better for his little brother in the capital who still toiled in the very mines he glared at when he arrived to the lowest level.

These desires deepened within him when he met with Luelia once more after she disappeared from his life for many years. A young aevhen who charmed him the first time they met in this very same port as she casually called out to him in the crowd and sought his knowledge of the city and its people – which he knew very little but at that moment he filled her with small lies.

Though now he knew she was not honest with him at all as he later realized how a foreign would know about the New Dawn movement. At first, he theorized that maybe the New Dawn spread beyond the isle, maybe they were operating in the colonial cities of Vhalleryon too. But later this theory got shattered to pieces when he joined and learned that they were pretty much condensed into the capital, with maybe a few cells that operated outside its mountainous borders in the other towns.

The other revelation that happened half a year ago when she and Naghig rescued a merchant family with close ties to the movement came to him. Thanks to his studies – and latent arkhaine talent – he sensed the faint mana residue dancing around Luelia’s frail, delicate form that he only managed to pass after a decade.

He was certain she hid her real face behind a veil of inscriptions, which made him come to the conclusion as he stood on the edge of the pier, waiting that she must be the child of some patriciar or someone who clearly studied maghia way before he even was a thought in the mind of his parents. Though that was a revelation he was well aware of even when they met.

A part of him wanted to question her as when these thought danced around in his head, the venomous feeling of betrayal spread within him and tainted his mood for weeks. Though at the moment, he was glad she once again disappeared as he was sure that if they met during those days, he would have said something he would regret eternally.

In the end he realized – hoped even – if and when the time comes, she will reveal the truth to him. He also concluded that she must be hiding her identity for a good reason and not out of some wicked plot concocted by her and her family as her actions, for the most part benefitted the people of the capital to a lesser extent.

“He’s ready to meet with you.” The combination of his deep thoughts and the serene clash of the glistening azure waters below led to him jumping around as the emotionless voice reached his ears.

Facing him was an enchanting young man with an androgynous face of the same age as him. His delicate skin, features seemed to be a fusion of flesh and wood, his hair a combination of leaves and foliage of a gleaming orange golden hue. Eyes with drawn-out curves following an almond shape design, brimming with a deep maple hue. Lips appeared soft, yet there were signs of wrinkles on them similar to the ones Isocrates seen on trunks of trees. His body showed similar lines, veins running across his exposed chest on the right.

“Thank you!” As he regained his composure, Isocrates lightly bowed and followed after the Pholoiac – a folk who were uplifted from once carnivorous fauna by the Nurturing Mother, one of the major deossos. Isocrates calmly followed after him while keeping his gaze on his back, taking in the gracious movements the fauna-folk made as he led him into one of the larger shops facing them.

“He is at the back.” Then he stopped as he watched the pholoiac stand to the side while the aging deep oaken door creaked open in front of them. His slight obsession with him broke as he noticed his slim fingers that resembled strangely curving twigs still attached to a withering tree. With a second bow he thanked the pholoiac once more then before he would have entered the interior lit in warm light of firestones, he stopped as the two of them got engulfed in shadows for a short moment.

As he looked up, he stared at the belly of a dragon with magnificent prismatic hues and quickly recognized it from the metal ornaments fitted onto its muscled legs and arms that it belonged to the famed Draennith Praetoriir. “Hurry, others too search around the docks.” With that the door closed behind him after he finally broke free from the momentary stupor induced by his wonder of the majestic beast of the skies, and entered.

Inside he stood frozen in place as the stench of rotten fish, fauna native beneath the waters – specifically the ocean separating them from Vhalleryon. As he looked around, he noticed numerous baubles clearly bought from the underwater kingdom of the Haebriath Ocean occupying the western part of Elhyrissian.

His eyes mostly locked onto the curving spheres, pearls of bright yet deep shades of blue, orange and even mauve with strange glyphs graved into their reflective surfaces. As his gaze moved on from the baubles, he also noticed even stranger goods looked strange adjacent to the pearls. A wheel that clearly belonged to a ship with hard edges, clearly signaling that it once belonged to a sea faring vessel of the Empire, ancient plates of armor he saw during his studies drawn excellently into their coursebooks.

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What led to the strange expression on his face born from the confusion that ailed his mind at the moment were the strange fetishes of some eerie dark stones depicting figures straight out from nightmares. A partly white statue that he thought for a moment to be marble depicting an eerily handsome figure that he could not identify as male or female with half their lower body turning into wriggling masses of snails with raging maws beset with razor sharp teeth.

Another a mound of eyes glued together, each with detailed pupils of myriad kinds wandering in all directions which he thought for a moment may depicted an unknown servant of Septurrion himself as he found the Deos of Seeking Fate and Hoarder of Knowledge to be quite weird in his appearances himself. But the more he looked at the small statue, the more an uncanny, unknowable fear gnawed its way into him.

And the last one stood out just like everything in the shop. A statue the size of his arm, hewn from a golden stone with an exceptional luster that did not hurt his eye – opposite to that – it practically caressed his eyes, instilling a sensation akin to being well-rested after a long day.

The statue itself resembled an aevhen figure of unparalleled beauty – which for a moment made him think it was maybe a depiction of Terrianis himself – yet the figure bore no scales on his body, instead celestial wings of enormous size grew from his back and these seemingly were made of a white marble like stone that paired well with the golden that made up the rest of his body and the skirt that covered his lower body.

“Ah excuse me, I forgot to cover those fetishes.” Isocrates jolted at the dry voice of the elderly haebrian whose once deep blue skin now lost its shimmer, his seaweed like beard that covered most of his face including the wide mouth and thick lips that coiled into a strange, yet kind smile.

“Who are these?” Isocrates asked with a tired tone as a strange longing took him over, forcing him to divert his gaze once more onto the eerily beautiful fetish.

“Not sure. Those two stranger ones” The elderly haebrians’ bulging, watery eyes focused on the collection of eyes and the strange amalgam of an androgynous figure with snail like appendages below their torso. “According to some old friends who brought them years ago, they belonged to kin of mine living in the darkest depths of the ocean, where they allegedly listen to the whispers of some outlandish realm beyond any we know of.”

Then his gaze moved towards the golden one, but instead of looking directly at it, he stared above it. “That wicked one, at first, I thought it may have belonged to a forgotten cult of the minor deos of beauty, but it has a wickedly captivating presence.” For a moment he went silent and seemingly wrestled with an urge that ailed Isocrates too.

“If not for Dyfed I may not be alive.” He added at the end with a dry chuckle at which Isocrates gulped as he now forced all his muscles away from the fetish.

“But those aren’t why you came here. Come I made some tea.” He gestured towards the back and the two walked behind the counter and entered the door to the left. Even as they climbed the stairs, Isocrates felt the urge to turn around and stare at the golden fetish.

The urge faded when he stepped in after the haebrian merchant into a small, but cozy room lit only by the firestones – small rocks with an enchanted crystal of amber hue and look containing gentle flames – which rough surfaces had deep pulsing wounds emitting a homely light and warmth. His gaze once again wandered around the room, noting the shelves filled with small figures carved from crystalline stones he used to fish out from the river.

“Come sit. It needs sometime to be good.” He watched the clawed hands meekly hold a thin wooden stick with the wet, stone-like nails scraping it as the haebrian stirred the steaming tea emitting a mixed scent of bitterness and sweetness that swiftly permeated the room.

Isocrates sat down in the aging old wooden chair and started tapping his finger tips on his leg. “Could you tell me the location of an old temple beneath the port?” As he spoke those words, the haebrian stopped and remained stoically still like some statue before he turned around with a pensive look.

“Did he tell you about it?” Isocrates lightly nodded his head. “I guess he suspects someone took up shop down there. But I wouldn’t be so certain of that.”

Isocrates tilted his head towards the right with a questioning look. “Why? Did the Magistratorum sealed the place off?”

The elderly haebrian shook his head and let out a sigh. “It was the Emperor and his elderly brother, the so-called Blade of the Empire that sealed that place off after they cleared it out of a cult that was taken over by some wicked spirit centuries ago.”

“Where was this place?” As he felt he already wasted some time, Isocrates dampened his curiosity and voiced his first question.

Yet the haebrian ignored it and stared at one of the closed windows looking out at the adjacent building. “Trust me boy, that place wasn’t just sealed, but they placed powerful spells over it that only the two of them could handle.” Suddenly he went back to normal and grabbed the two cups with serrated surfaces resembling walls of seashells.

Isocrates thanked him and sipped into the tea that calmed his slight nervousness. “Was it so bad?” He nodded his head while too taking a sip from the boiling hot tea, ignoring the scorching of his thin lips. “It was. After they locked the spirit in a pandorium box, they harnessed parts of its essence, forming it into a strong curse. Many other cults tried to take up shop there, but they were all driven insane within hours – I remember when I was your age boy, the screams that reached from the deep below, even through the layers of earth, the layers of concrete and marble. It was a harrowing night.” Isocrates gulped as he heard those words and a thought that Naghig may have been wrong planted itself in his thoughts.

“But if you truly wish to know where the entrance is…” He went silent and once again stared out the same window.

“Didn’t you see anyone exit from there?” The haebrian shook his head then said. “No, I spend most of my days in the shop. These old bones now got too used to the dryland. You should ask Dyfed, he spends much more time in the docks.” Isocrates thanked him then remained for a bit more, listening to the old tales of the once mariner in the naval force of the Empire.

**

Aurelithae closed the azure grimoire with a deep sigh. Light filtered through the window in a fusion of amber, mauve and crimson beckoning the coming of night and dinner. Yet her hunger only remained for knowledge – knowledge of what wicked spells were inscribed to those who terrorized the streets of the Luth-Astaril and ways to track such spells.

The chair rose under her feet per her command and rotated until she could easily stand onto her feet. A bubble floated towards her and a soft tendril pierced through her soft, gleaming temple and arkhaine glow coursed through it before it detached and headed back to its previous position above the towering shelves beset with myriad shaded grimoires, books on the history of the Empire and its prominent folk.

As she walked out from the narrow section between two shelves, she glimpsed a pale figure in flowing robes with dark corners, edges glide by without making any sound. Her head swiftly turned into the direction the figure floated by, yet she found no sign of the ghastly figure. Yet the urge remained to head in that direction, an urge she could not resist.

With slow, careful steps she approached where she glimpsed the figure and instinctively turned, expecting the haunting visage she saw half a year ago to glare into her being. But there was no sign of the gaunt, androgynous face to be seen, just a table with a heavy grimoire resting atop.

Her hands ran through the hard, leathery cover and noticed that unlike every other book or grimoire, this one lacked any glyph, rune or letter that would indicate who wrote it or what contents lied between its thousands of pages. When she opened it, eerily strange glyphs of sharp curves, engraved with force onto the page stared back at her, and as her gleaming prismatic eyes ran over them, they seemingly had a shadow of their own.

The minute Akaerith called out to her, she hid the grimoire behind one of the bookshelves and memorized the window with the mosaiced form of the Gray Monarch crafted onto it by experienced hands. Then she gracefully headed towards her Royal-Attendant while shadows hardened behind her footsteps.