Daphne began her career as an illustrious representative to the griffin council the only way she knew how: by putting her foot in her mouth.

“All?” She stared around at the small group gathered on the large dais-column. Three elder griffins, Runar, and one puny human. “This is it? The whole Lore Council?”

“Wordsmith, meet Vyth.” Eydis indicated towards the silvery gray griffin, who bent his head towards Daphne. “And Mynna.” The white griffin also gave a small bow. “These two and I are all that remain of the Lore Council.”

“All?” Daphne repeated weakly.

“All.” Eydis’s eyes were narrowed, but her tone was soft. “What didst thou expect?”

Daphne’s right hand started moving automatically towards her pocket where the Prism lay, cold as ice. At the last minute, she reached instead for Runar, steadying herself with a hand on his golden wing.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize — I mean, I knew it was bad, but I never thought…”

She trailed off helplessly, looking to Runar.

“Daphne has visited our world before,” he said smoothly. “She remembers a time before the plains fell silent, when the Eloquent Water still flowed across the surface of Euloban. We must forgive her shock.”

“Thou hast been here before?” Vyth asked. His rough, gravelly voice was surprisingly comforting.

“A few times,” Daphne replied. “I… travel a lot.”

“I do not remember thee.” Vyth was staring at her intently. “Didst thou visit our halls?”

Daphne shook her head. “I stayed on the plains, mostly. And the Under Library. But I heard a lot of stories about the mountains and the Lorists.”

“She knew my father,” Runar began. He took a deep breath. “And… Amelia.”

Mynna, the white griffin, clacked her beak sharply but said nothing. Vyth made a strange hissing noise.

“I knew her a long time ago,” Daphne said hastily. “I don’t — I can’t imagine how things went so wrong. I’m sorry.”

“How did thou know her?” Vyth demanded. “For how long?”

“I met her… in the library. I think.” The Prism had woken up and was buzzing in Daphne’s pocket, sending cold waves through her jacket. She braced herself against Runar to keep from shivering. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

“Thou visited here,” Mynna said. Her voice was so faint and frail that Daphne had to strain to hear it. “Where didst thou visit from? Where is thy home?”

“Um…” Daphne swallowed. “Far away.”

The white griffin’s eyes seemed to pierce right through her. “Dost thou come from the same place as the thrice-cursed Amelia?”

Daphne froze. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go, and Mynna’s gaze was pinning her to the ground anyway.

She swallowed again. “Yes.”

Vyth hissed, and Mynna’s beak snapped again. Daphne even felt a stream of surprise from Runar across their emotional link.

Eydis, however, raised her wing for silence.

“The Wordsmith has endured much,” Eydis said. “Runar pledged her goodwill to me upon our meeting. I, too, have fought by her side and found her trustworthy. We must hear their full tale. Only then can we take thought for how to proceed.”

She nodded towards the younger griffin.

“Begin, Runar.”

Daphne tried to send a wave of apology to her bond-friend, but then realized there was no need. He was sending his own wave of reassurance back to her. Whatever shock he’d felt at this new insight into Daphne’s origins, he was quick to release it.

“I know thee,” said the whisper in the back of her mind. “That is enough.”

Runar gave a small bow to the council. Then he launched into the tale of his adventures with Daphne, starting with the Rabid Daydream battle by the dried-up Pool of Eloquence.

He told of Mark and Daphne’s partial victory over the creature, and how he had helped them finish the job by completing the Word of Truth. He told of their journey to the Dalamelle of Triunity. His whole being glowed as he spoke of the fight with the Windling — how he had carried the Reader into battle, and how Daphne had summoned a high-level chain from Eloquent Water to vanquish the monster.

Then Runar began telling of his journey alone up the prose-shaft. He said he had climbed atop the nearby boulder to survey the Silent Plains and was ambushed by a Wordmage.

His voice faltered.

So Daphne took up the tale. Pressing heavily on his shoulder for support, she told how she and Mark had come to Runar’s aid. She described how Mark had taken on both the Wordmage and a fully grown Devouring Wind so she could get Runar to safety, while still protecting the secret of the prose-shaft. She explained that she had been too late to help Mark. She’d returned to the surface just in time to see him and the Wordmage snapped up by the wind-monster.

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It was her turn to fall silent. Thankfully, Runar was ready for another turn. Speaking more quickly, he told of the healing they had found in the Dalamelle of Clarity. When he got to the bit about the Phrase, Daphne heard a gasp from Vyth and Mynna’s general direction, but she didn’t look to see which elder had made the sound. She kept her eyes on Runar as he continued through to their encounter with Eydis, then the Pincher battle, and finally Daphne’s surprise fireball smackdown.

“It was unlike anything I have ever seen, or even heard of in song,” Runar finished. “Daphne pulled power out of the very stone. She called forth the Lore-light from the heart of Euloban. Eydis was there, and can bear witness.”

“I can indeed,” Eydis confirmed. “But more weighty is the witness of Euloban itself. Bring out thy status book, Wordsmith. Show the council what Euloban has given thee.”

Daphne pulled her status book from her pocket. Feeling very small both metaphorically and physically, she crossed the circle and stood before Vyth and Mynna, holding the book open so they could see her most recent level-up.

“By all the Legends.” Wonder made Vyth’s gravelly voice grow even deeper. “The Lore-light is real.”

Mynna said nothing. Standing this close, Daphne could see that the white griffin’s eyes were a vivid blue. Those eyes looked intently at the book, then resumed their piercing investigation of Daphne’s soul.

“That is the whole of it,” Eydis said as Daphne returned to her place by Runar’s side. “It is a day of great wonder for our kin. I do not hesitate to confess my bewilderment regarding our next course of action.”

“Indeed.” Vyth nodded. “With such weighty events to ponder, who can say how we should proceed?”

“I can,” Daphne stated. Truth be told, Daphne herself was surprised at the forceful clarity of her own voice. Through all the ups and downs of the last several hours — even through the delirious joy of riding a griffin — she had kept that door in her heart open, reaching out to Mark. Most of the time, she felt nothing, which was terrifying. But then occasionally, she got faint spikes of terror and nausea, like the aftermath of agony. She couldn’t decide which was worse.

Regardless, when it came to their next course of action, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind.

“We have to save Mark,” she said.

“And how dost thou propose we do this?”

Mynna’s blue eyes were staring at her coldly, but Daphne wasn’t about to back down.

“We attack the fortress. Muster the troops.”

“Troops?” This time, the hissing noise Vyth made sounded like grim laughter. “What troops? Hyddrun took all our troops. All followed him in an attempt to bring about the Wordmaster’s end. The attempt failed. We have no more troops.”

“None?” Daphne looked to Eydis, hoping for a denial, but the dark brown griffin shook her head. “I thought there was a remnant,” Daphne stammered. “Didn’t some stay behind, to guard the fledglings?”

“Some,” Eydis said heavily. “Not many. Beyond the four of us gathered here, only a score of our kin remains to guard the ancient ways.”

“A score?” Daphne’s knees felt watery. “Out of all the griffins in the mountain tribes… only twenty?”

Eydis nodded, closing her amber eyes.

“Then —” Daphne’s insides started swirling, as if circling a drain. “Then we do a strike team. A small, elite group. Not an assault, but a rescue mission.”

“Thou speaks like a fledgling,” Vyth said scornfully. “A paltry few against the innumerable forces of the Wordmaster? ’Tis folly even to contemplate.”

“Sometimes few can succeed where many would fail,” Daphne argued. “A small team that could fly under the radar, in and out —”

“Dost thou not think we have tried?” Mynna’s voice was sharp, but then she sighed wearily. “We know many of our kin did not perish in that doomed attack. The Wordmaster prefers to keep his prisoners alive, so that he may drain them of power slowly. Afterwards, in those first dreadful days, we spent many an hour devising schemes to sneak in and rescue them a few at a time. One brave band, the youngest and fittest left among us, even tried to enact this plan. None returned.”

“So that’s it?” Daphne’s heart was breaking at the grief in Mynna’s eyes, but she made no attempt to soften her tone. “Your first couple tries didn’t work, so you give up? Hide in the mountains, and leave Euloban to the Winds and the Rabid Daydreams — that’s the plan of the resistance?”

Vyth hissed like an overheated locomotive. Mynna seemed speechless with rage.

It was Eydis who spoke, regarding Daphne with surprising tenderness in her squinty amber eyes.

“Euloban perished long ago,” she said softly. “It grew sickly when the Wordmaster rose to power, years before Runar was born. We, the resistance, labored tirelessly throughout the land but the blight of the Wordmaster’s poison spread relentlessly. By the time Amelia arrived, the waters had already vanished beneath the surface. The plains were already silent. The Euloban we knew was already gone. Has been gone.” Eydis paused, seeming to gather her strength before she continued. “Hyddrun believed Amelia was a portent. He thought her appearance marked the coming of the end: a conclusion to the age of battle and the start of a new age for Euloban. He was proved right… though not in the manner we all hoped.”

She hung her head, unable to continue.

“Euloban is dead.” Vyth’s gravelly voice held no emotion. “Hyddrun’s assault was not the start of the resistance but its end.”

“We are not soldiers, child,” Mynna said gently. “We are survivors. Our only hope is to preserve the ancient ways for as long as possible until we, too, perish. It is a despairing hope, and it may seem cowardly to thee, but it is all we have.”

Silence hung heavily in the vast room. Daphne had that strange sense again that the emptiness was pressing down on her. It had been comforting before, but now, she felt like the Hall of Parables was slowly squishing her. They were being buried alive, drowning in the space left by all the friends they’d lost.

“What of the Lore-light?” Runar asked. Daphne nearly jumped at the sudden sound of Runar’s voice beside her. He continued, quiet but steady. “Euloban is not dead. It is still speaking, and still giving gifts. Daphne and I were visited by a Phrase. The Wordsmith pulled living story from the stone. Are not these signs of a turning tide? If Euloban is still telling its story, shall we not attempt to join the tale?”

Mynna and Vyth remained silent. After a few moments, Eydis raised her head.

“It has been a long day,” she said. “We have much to ponder. Let us adjourn, and take the night to rest. The morning oft brings renewal of wisdom.”

Daphne wanted to protest. She wanted to scream at these feathered kittens until they agreed to go rescue Mark. She wanted to jump on Runar’s back and fly off to save Mark herself.

But Runar was sending very clear messages along their emotional link, accompanied by a single compelling word:

“Wait.”

Eydis hadn’t said ‘no’, after all. She had said ‘not now.’

Tomorrow, they would try again. And the next day, and the day after that. Daphne felt Runar’s determination flowing in perfect sync with her own. They would hound the Lore Council every waking minute until they found a way to help Mark.

The golden light was nearly gone, signaling the approach of evening. The council dispersed without a word, flying off through the eastern windows towards the Nest Cove.

Daphne was shaking as she climbed on Runar for her second ever griffin-flight. It was hard to enjoy it or to feel much of anything. Her status book was glowing hotly in her left pocket, while the Prism was a bar of ice in her right. And in between, of course, was the hollow ache of knowing Mark was gone, and in pain, and needing her.

I’m coming, she thought as Runar soared into the night, sending all the encouragement through the heart-door that her deflated soul could muster. Hold on, Mark.

I’m coming.