The room was simple, tall bookshelves stacked top to bottom coating either wall, a clean and organized desk stacked with neatly filed papers, books, and scrolls at the far end of the room, facing Trenton, a glass well, with a staircase leading down wound around it, placed center of the room, looking down into an unfathomable library whose borders extended far beyond what Trenton could see at a glance.
Sitting on the edge of the desk, hands folded gently over his lap, was a well dressed elf draped in fine silks, messy white hair falling loosely about his head. He stared out the large dark window covering the back wall of the room, watching and appreciating the gentle rap of the rain against the window. There was a subtle candle light illuminating the room, casting long shadows all about. If Trenton looked closer, he might’ve noticed something odd in these shadows, but of course, he didn’t, his mind far, far away from the idea of potential danger.
“Please, sit,” the man said, his deep, silky voice like that of a friend’s, soothing Trenton at the slightest touch.
Trenton did so, silently taking a seat in a spatial chair, which simply appeared the moment the man spoke. For a time, they sat, Trenton unsure of what to say, and the man in no rush to make his intentions known. This whole time, Trenton had always been told to find Era and speak with him. Surely he would know what was going on. Surely he would have the answer. But now that Trenton was there…he was at a loss. Despite all the focus he put into ensuring he made it to the Academy alive, he never once considered what he was actually doing there.
“...it’s quite a lovely night, isn’t it? Although, I suppose I may be biased. I always was fond of the rain. Your tracks simply disappear, and pursuants are hesitant to continue chase. It saved my life many years ago…but I suppose you aren’t quite so lucky? Yours is a prize too tantalizing to yield, no matter the cost, it would seem, even if they haven't the slightest of what exactly it is that they hunt…” the man took a big breath in, exhaling calmly as he began to shift towards his chair, slowly turning around with his head tilted low to the ground, too low to see, “...I have but one question for you before we continue, Trenton, a question I’ve been waiting to ask you in person for a long time now,” Era raised his chin, carefully lifting his eyelids in toe.
The legends spoke of a man with beautiful eyes, entracing orbs of unfathomable brilliance, a sight most would die to glimpse even once in their lives. But this, this was something else entirely. Era’s eyes shone with every possible color in the spectrum and somehow even more still, his cornea made of an infinite number of slightly tilted stained glass-like shards interlocked tightly by each other, each capturing and refracting the slightest flashes of light forever back, coalescing at the center of his eye in what Trenton could only approximate to be his pupil, a ball of pure white light, which bore into Trenton’s skull.
It was beyond dazzling, an inscrutable work of art too grand to possibly encompass in word alone, like a god descending from the heavens, like the world in it’s every infinitesimal fold, like the appellation of this world and the next. For a moment, Trenton stared agape, unblinking, almost missing Era’s next words.
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“If I told you your death could mean the salvation of thousands, millions of lives, would you accept your end, head held high knowing full well you may never see light again?” Era asked.
Trenton blinked a couple times, rending his mind back into his control, “...I…I…” Trenton looked down at the ground, avoiding Era’s heavenly eye’s. Would he? It was a difficult question to answer, impossible, almost. Of course he didn’t want to die. He hadn’t fought this hard, this long, just to give up because someone challenged his motive. And yet, from somewhere deep within, the desire to help, to save, to sacrifice no matter the cost, bubbled to the surface, gripping and strangling Trenton’s self preservation until only a pure heart of bespoke iron remained, a will of unquenchable fire.
“Yes, we would.”
Era folded his hands together, eyes opening slightly wider and digging even deeper into Trenton’s soul, “Whose words were those? Yours, or his?”
“Mine and mine again. I paid the toll before, I would gladly do so again.”
“What toll?”
Trenton opened his mouth, ready to speak, to explain, but no words came. He knew he was correct, that his statement was undoubtedly true, of that he was absolutely certain, but what it meant, or why he thought it eluded him “I…don’t know.”
“...I see. Then I accept your answer and offer one of my own in tow,” Era lifted his right hand, tenderly peeling down the skin on his right cheek and eyelid, “These eyes are a rather special boon among the world powers. Only one may bear them at any given time, a single child, picked by indeterminable methods, being granted their brilliance the moment they’re born, assuming no other possesses them at such time. They’re remarkably rare, a fortune above fortunes. It’s actually where my name comes from, Era. You might’ve assumed it a title all this time, but in truth, it is my birth given name. In the past, it was a popular folktale that once an era a child would be born with eyes of brilliant glass, thus the name. At the time, it was considered a gift from the gods, but although I do not know the true origins of these eyes, I know above all that they are by no means divine. I’ve scavenged many document’s this past millenia, founded the source of all academic knowledge within his building, dedicated to myself to the study of the world we lost so long ago. And in all my time, I’ve only ever found one document pertaining to these eyes. It spoke of them as not simply largesse, rather a sacrifice of sorts from a being known only as Magikus. But again, the origin of this sacrifice, what it was and why it was made, is beyond me. All I know is that it was one it did not make lightly, for it was a gift of unimaginable potential and unimaginable danger. The essences and constructs which so define our world, Trenton, things long thought to be unknowable, are laid bare before me. I see you for what you truly are, the make of your soul and body. And in truth…I’m not certain what to make of it. Yours is a soul with no cohesion, a melody with no rhythm, a battleground under constant fray. How many dozens of hands lay claim to that burning sphere of magma within you, I’m uncertain. That you’ve managed to stay stable all this time with so much strife within your core is beyond remarkable. But I can tell you one thing of which I am absolutely certain: you are no human, Trenton.”