The land of the Nine Dominions was vast, treacherous, and overall a very unpleasant place for those who lived outside of the auspices and protections of the Great Cities. During the first few years of my quest, I had the misfortune of traversing the neglected paths of the Via Emperato, a series of interconnected carriageways built by one of the long-gone empires that had once ruled over everyone. There was some safety there, as the Via was used by merchants for overland travel where the water did not go. But most would rather mind their own business than help someone in peril, a fact I had learned the hard way. Now, though, I had a shortcut, thanks to Lyra and my sword.

We approached the unremarkable jagged rock set haphazardly on the side of the road just as the sun set over the Gythnian Plains. It betrayed no sign of its real purpose: fast travel. Because this was no ordinary stone, but one of the legendary Yurnish Waystones. According to ancient records, the Waystones were used in ages past by the great mages to traverse the continent in an instant, providing counsel, protection, and an exchange of ideas. But as the centuries went by, the Arts faded, and the number of people who knew about the Waystones, let alone could use them, dwindled to a handful.

Thankfully, Lyra lived in a time where such travel was well-known. She had guided me to a long-forgotten scroll hidden in the depths of the Guardial Library, which contained the words needed to open the magical gateway. There was, of course, one catch. You could only use a Waystone to travel to another Waystone that you had previously unlocked. As our journey progressed, the number of Waystones we encountered rose dramatically, so much so that if I had wanted to, I could have made an appearance in every Great City in a single day.

“Open the Way to Guardial,” I said in a language that was old when the world was born, before placing the blade of Hauteclere through the rock. A blinding flash of light erupted and when I opened my eyes, the familiar glowing circle was there.

“Shall we?” I asked, and Lyra hummed with approval as I stepped through.

I emerged on the other side into a thankfully empty meadow. The towering city loomed in the distance. Built into the ocean cliffs, Guardial was unique among its peers for its size, for its wealth, and most importantly for its knowledge. The Grand Library was the most well-known of course, but each level of the city had its own stores and fonts of wisdom.

We had traveled a continent away in an instant, and so the sun was beginning to set by the time we reached one of the ancillary gates, which was abnormally bustling at this time of day.

“What’s going on?” I asked a weathered looking man pulling a wagon filled with cartons.

“Everyone getting ready for the Moon Fair,” he said.

“And that is?”

I realized it was a dumb question the moment it left my lips, but thankfully the man didn’t seem to care that I was a relative stranger to these parts.

“Brightest moon in a century, or so the scribes say. The king decided to throw a big spectacle. Everyone from Zankarland to Bevellar coming to celebrate in a few weeks.”

“Oh, right. That festival. I forgot it was coming up. Should be a grand time!”

I scurried away before I could make a bigger fool of myself and quickly found a serviceable inn nearby. Presumably because of the Fair, the nightly rate was exorbitant, but I paid it nonetheless and passed out on the lumpy mattress within a few seconds.

Strange visions haunted my dreams. I was no stranger to this; after all, Hauteclere was a demon sword, and despite Lyra’s mitigating presence inside, there was no denying its nature. I understood why my ancestor had decided to imbue the blade with demonic properties. My homeland had been under relentless assault by the foul creatures for years. The legendary Knights of Dendarian had done their best to push hold them at bay, but it wasn’t until their leader Glenn the Valiant had wielded the sword for the first time that the tide had begun to turn.

Still, it had not been without cost. For the demons had ripped a young girl from her home earlier that day and when Glenn unleashed the sword’s full power, poor Lyra was caught in its wake. Hauteclere had devoured the demons’ souls, but Lyra’s had remained trapped inside, her pure aura repelling the demonic core as a counterbalance.

Like most of my dreams, these faded a few seconds after I stepped out of bed, but this morning I was left with the striking image of a smile of sharp-pointed teeth. I shrugged, as I often did during these occasions, gathered my things, and wandered out into the street.

My destination was visible above, a small library perched on the third level of the cliffs, and after a light breakfast at one of the many stalls near the inn, I climbed up the rickety ladder ready to complete the task at hand.

The small library paled in comparison to its larger sibling, but there were gems here if you knew where to look. Its relative obscurity had served me well over the years, as the elder librarian had been more than willing to let me store the fruits of my travels in a room hidden behind one of the bookcases, in exchange for coin and fantastical tales.

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This morning he was noticeable absent, but the other bookminders knew me well enough to let me come and go as I pleased, and so I made my way to a corner shelf in the rear that featured treatises on trade routes, botany, and pottery. I pulled on a set of three books in a particular order and the shelf inched inward, squeaking wildly as it did.

“I’ll never not hate that sound,” Lyra chimed in.

“Well, hopefully this is the last time we will have to be here,” I replied as I stepped in the darkness.

The alcove beyond must have been carved into the face of the cliff by the sea winds ages ago when the city was young, and it served as a refuge for many others before my coming. I lit one of the candles near the front and was greeted by the collection of trinkets, books, weapons, and mementos of my journey. Most importantly, though, were the seven other Pergamon fragments, that were stored in a locked chest in the center of the room.

“Open,” I said, tapping the sword against the top of the weathered box. The blade’s utilitarian magic did its thing again, and the lid complied, creaking open.

“I still think you should have just found a key,” said Lyra. “What a waste of mana.”

“Keys can be lost,” I replied. “I would never lose you.”

“Fair enough.”

I pushed aside the rest of the chests’ contents and pulled out a pile of rolled-up scrolls. It had taken the better part of the year hunting down each of the fragments, and I cursed the crotchety wizard who had torn up the Pergamon in the first place. But that was all in the past.

I slotted the newly acquired piece in the gap left by the other fragments. It lined up perfectly, completing the meandering trail through the Melinian Forest. Melina had the dubious distinction of being the absolute worst place in the entire eastern half of the Continent. The Great Cities had at several points in the past century launched expeditions to burn the entire forest down, but had been dissuaded when the scouting parties were devoured within hours of venturing inside.

“Are you going to need my services to fix the map?” Lyra asked, sounding bored. “Or were you going to use that glue you found in the Shukart last month?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I said. “That glue is incredibly smelly. And I suspect that the unification requires a bit of magical intervention.”

“For you, I’ll do it. Have you mastered the pronunciation?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been practicing my Nidian. I think I’ve got it.”

“Oh, I’ve heard you muttering to yourself, when you think I am meditating,” she said. “Please make sure you don’t roll your r’s. We do not want to open a Riftway here.”

“Hey, that only happened one time and-”

“Mati,” said Lyra firmly.

“OK fine. I will concentrate. Ahem. Here it goes.”

I swirled Hauteclere over the fragments in a deliberate circle, channeling my mana reserves into the blade and inward to Lyra. A white ring appeared, matching my movement, crackling like miniature bolts of lightning.

“The transmutation circle is ready,” said Lyra. “You’re up.”

I swallowed hard and began.

“Things that were lost, now found. Fragments that were torn apart, now together. Knowledge that was scattered, now collected. Let that which had been sundered, be whole again. Unite!”

I shouted the last word so loud the monks in the abbey down the road must have heard, and when I did, a blinding flash of light erupted above the Pergamon that forced my eyes shut. When I opened them again a few seconds later, there, sitting below me, was the completed map. Where before its hand drawn markings had been dull and faded, they now shown brilliantly against the parchment, as if the Forest depicted was alive.

“That’s cool,” I said. “And kind of eerie. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

I held up the map, turning it over several times in my hands, to see if any other secrets would pour forth, and a little dragon appeared out of a pit that was marked halfway along the trail.

“Never,” said Lyra. “My grandfather had many scrolls in his personal library, but the few that he let me see looked nothing like this. This type of magic was ancient even when I was alive.”

“You think there is actually a dragon hiding there?” I asked, pointing my finger to the pit, somewhat afraid that the pictorial creature was going to emerge from the parchment and bite me.

“If there is, I will relish the challenge of exterminating it from the face of this earth!” said Lyra with aplomb.

“Umm, OK?” I said. “You don’t normally get so charged up about-”

“You know how I feel about dragons,” she replied.

“I do. We haven’t talked about them in a few months. I’m sorry.”

The memories of a particular late-night talk when we were traveling down from the Jurten Pass surfaced, during which Lyra had revealed that the great dragon demon had menaced her village for her entire childhood, killing many of her friends, destroying the village’s crops, and other things she wasn’t willing to reveal.

“If it’s still there, I’ll kill it,” I whispered. “So it can never frighten another helpless girl again.”

“I’m far from helpless,” said Lyra. “But thank you. I know your heart is with me. Now, let’s head down to the market to get some supplies for the journey.”

I nodded and stuffed the rolled-up Pergamon into a small pocket sewn into the inner lining of my vest, before taking one last look around the haven that had served us well for so long. There were too many things in here to bring with us on the final journey, but there was one item in particular that I knew I needed to take.

I left Hauteclere (and Lyra) near the chest, walked over to the bookshelf in the corner (that I had once spent the better of an afternoon hauling up the Twisting Stairs), and withdrew a small tome with a faded red leather cover. Inside, where there had once been pages, was a cut-out rectangle, large enough to hold only a few trinkets. I grabbed the silver locket that rested inside and stuffed it into one of my pockets. This would be my first gift to the soon-to-be corporeal Lyra, that I had purchased years ago at one of the Floating Markets.

Underneath was my most-treasured possession, other than the sword. It was a black-and-white sketch of a young woman, with a faint smile. This I had found in the ruins of an old village, somehow it had miraculously survived the destruction all those years ago. I wasn’t 100% sure it was Lyra, and I had never told her that I had found it, one of the few secrets I kept. This too I brought with me, for when the moment finally arrived.

I restored the book to its place on the shelf, grabbed my sword, and walked out of the alcove, ready to complete my destiny.