Dawn descended upon the cemetery hill in the lonely stillness. Trees stood as sparse statues scattered across the hillside. The cobblestone trail up to the top of the hill was short yet winding, giving the traveler more opportunity to second-guess their journey.

Domrik’s breath continually fogged the view of Sormera Valley. The overgrown grass glistened with dew catching the first rays of the morning light. A light fog had settled around the base of the hill, coating the tombstones in a glaze of mystery.

Death was indeed mysterious to Domrik, as were all illusions. He felt for those who had not yet developed the ability to tell illusion from reality, though he sought to remind himself that he was not yet done piercing all illusions. His reaction to the past few days proved that. Some paradoxes remained in his psyche, still undiscovered, waiting to be untangled. He was fine with that. He found the internal search fun.

A lone figure stood at the top of the hill, hunched in a thick white jacket. From a distance, the jacket bloomed from the sun just peaking over the horizon, surrounding her in a white aura thanks to the faintest of fog still lingering. Her blonde hair was tied in a bun, and the collar of her jacket was pushed up to keep her ears warm.

Domrik didn’t bother to quiet his footsteps as he approached Eleanor. The last thing the old woman needed was to scare her in a time like this. He stopped next to her, saying nothing. Their first exchange was more on the energetic level. He could feel the weight within her as it matched enough with his own. He resisted the urge to lower his head and hunch his shoulders like her. Dignity was a useful tool in times of hardship.

The tombstone at which she gazed read in golden letters: “Shawn Warvick, 3065 – 3136”

The epitaph read: “It’s never too late to smile.”

Emotion heaved within Domrik when he read those words. Shawn had had several fallback phrases when things went wrong. That was his favorite.

After several minutes of standing and staring, Eleanor croaked out her first words. “He did say he wanted to be cremated, but he never specified when or how.”

Though he knew she couldn’t see, he gave a small nod. Leave it to the Nephrinist priest to comfort herself with dark humor. Shawn had presumably died painlessly, in the initial explosion of Ridgemire Capital Bank.

“Some wishes are granted prematurely,” Domrik said, “… unfortunately.”

“And others not at all,” Eleanor added after a pause.

He looked at her, and she looked up and returned his gaze. Though her fair, wrinkled skin caught some of the light reflecting off her jacket, her brown eyes had lost some of their usual light. It was still there, but now filtered through several layers of emotion.

“Do you still feel you are to blame?” Domrik asked.

“Do you?” Eleanor countered.

Domrik opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated. He forgot occasionally that she was also sensitive to other’s emotions to some degree. He swallowed. “I see your point.”

“You know as well as I the cause of suffering. It’s the misalignment of intuition and reason.”

“And how synchronistic of us to share similar misalignments.”

Eleanor frowned and looked away, scanning the valley beyond. “Intuitively, I know I was not the cause. I couldn’t have dreamt of doing such a thing. Zandith was probably going to strike anyway. His message beforehand was just his way of introducing more chaos and confusion. And yet…”

Domrik finished for her when she hesitated. “You took actions he had told you beforehand would cause him to retaliate. Logic draws the causal connection all to easily.”

She closed her eyes and sniffed. She reached up a gloved hand to rub her nose. “What does your mirror of this conundrum look like?”

“The first part goes much like yours. I would never intend for those atrocities, yet I ask myself why I did nothing when I knew something was going to happen. Did I not inquire enough into that feeling? Was there more to discover? A clue to an action? I’ve submerged into far worse in the past.” He sighed and shook his head. “And if I truly had done everything right, would the attack still have occurred? Was it meant to occur for some higher purpose? If so, I cannot yet fathom it.”

“There is always a higher purpose, Domrik,” Eleanor stated, shooting him a glare. “Take refuge in that.”

“It’s not quite satiating,” Domrik admitted. “Some lingering details complicate the issue for me.”

Eleanor turned toward him when he remained silent. “Such as?”

He cast as sideways glance at her. “You don’t have a need to know.”

“Then why mention it at all?”

“So that you are not caught off-guard if I disappear.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Oh dear, what do you mean by that?”

“I have a plan, a risky one. The outcome is… more uncertain than usual.”

“Is this because of the attack?”

He paused to consider his answer. “Yes.”

“You know I don’t believe in revenge.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about prevention?”

“Be careful where you tread, because it’s a blurred line between the two. It takes a wise man to know the difference.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered. And that’s an odd synchronicity. Both words contain the word ‘even’.”

Her gaze was intense. “More reason for caution on your part. Whatever you plan to do, make sure it’s coming from the right place.”

“There are some things that need to happen until I execute the plan. I have plenty of time to assess the purity of my own motives, although I don’t think my current assessment will change much. We cannot lay back while we know others mean us harm. Active self-defense is necessary in some cases.”

Eleanor looked down at the tombstone again. “I trust that you do have pure motives. My doubts lie in our judgement of the larger picture when all we have are shards. Everyone is playing an ongoing guessing game. How can we know right action until the opportunity passes? Under certain circumstances, the logical mind can rationalize an action as correct and necessary, but when context changes, and more information is revealed, the action is shown to have been the wrong choice.”

“If we wait until we have all the data to make a perfectly justified action,” Domrik said, “we will be waiting for eternity. Even retrospective vision isn’t guaranteed to give a clear answer. There are always variables unaccounted for. We simply have to trust that as more information is revealed and perceptions are corrected, that our actions will become more right, whatever form that takes.”

“Hence faith,” Eleanor mumbled with finality.

“Hence faith,” Domrik agreed.

The library was tall and narrow, with short alleys branching off. Each alley had its own table, and Evan saw only a few people using them on the first floor. He followed Hector up the stairs to the second floor, where the layout of the first floor was mirrored.

They found Domrik and Marvain sitting at one of the far alley tables. They both wore casual clothes, which looked odder on Domrik than Evan’s mother. Evan had only seen Domrik in some sort of combat or martial arts uniform. Marvain had a stack of three thick, old books in front of her.

Domrik waved them over. “Be sure to keep your voices low here.”

“We know,” Evan said, sitting across from him. “It’s a library.”

“I mean extra low,” Domrik replied, glancing around with only his eyes at the other sections of the library. “We’re technically talking about classified information.”

“Really?” Evan glanced at Hector next to him, who’s expression remained neutral. “Then why are we in a public library?”

“This is the only place that has all the writings of Astorark in physical form,” Marvain said. “They’re almost impossible to find online for some reason.”

“Who now?” Hector asked.

Marvain blinked. “You don’t know? Didn’t they at least mention Astorark to you in literature class?”

Hector folded his arms. “I dropped out of literature. Hated that shit from the start. Always forced me to read stories I wasn’t interested in.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He was essentially a reporter back in the Old Times, except he had this compulsion that drove him to turn everything he recorded into an epic play. Most people thought he was crazy at the time, but a couple decades after his death, someone found the hundreds of plays he had written and published them. The plays all embellished the original events, but the dramatized versions stuck more than the dry reports of the time.”

“Is this somehow going to help us find Dad?” Evan asked.

“Well…” She faltered, a look of mourning flashing across her face before she refocused. “Hector showed me the pictures of the crystal Brandon had analyzed about a month ago. It has dozens of different spiraling patterns engraved on the surface, and then I remembered my reading club back in high school. We used to act out his plays for fun, and many of the props we used had spiraling glyphs on them because he always imprinted such patterns on magical objects in his stories. They weren’t just for decoration either. They always had some sort of Aetheric effect within the story, though we all wrote that off as one of his embellishments.” She sighed.

“Perhaps they weren’t quite embellishments?” Domrik offered, gazing at her sympathetically.

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “At least, they weren’t completely made up.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Brandon did verify that the engraved crystal behaved strangely,” Hector said. “I don’t remember all the details, but he was clearly confounded. And disturbed. He said even the act of engraving a crystal like that should be impossible.”

“And that crystal was Zandith’s?” Evan asked. “Did Zandith figure something out about those spirals?”

“Clearly,” Domrik said, nodding to Evan. “He went great lengths to retrieve it.”

Evan unconsciously rubbed the spot on his lower belly. It didn’t hurt anymore, but he thought he felt a faint tingle.

“I’m sorry,” Domrik said, turning to Marvain. “Do you have a favorite we can start with?”

“There’s a lot to choose from,” she said, unstacking the books and opening one of them to the table of contents. She scanned down with her finger until she stopped. “The Expeditions was always a club favorite.”

Domrik tilted his head to look at the page. “I haven’t heard of that one.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“It’s a fairly short one,” he said, staring away in remembrance. “The Edge of Me.”

“The one with the crazy man walking around the village talking to himself?” Marvain narrowed her eyes. “That one?”

“I’m sure it was entirely made up,” Domrik said, shrugging. “They were far more superstitious back then. They wouldn’t have let someone like that roam around, let alone turn him into a sage.” He gestured to the open book. “What made The Expeditions a club favorite?”

“Oh, it has a bunch of dark themes to it, as well as mystery and fantasy,” she said, flipping through the pages until she arrived at the correct spot. “Some people say The Expedition was the world’s first murder mystery.”

“Can we get the abridged version?” Hector asked. “I’m sure we don’t need to suffer all the cryptic rhymes to get the gist of the story.”

She glared at him, offended. “Yes, Hector, I would be happy to dumb it down for you.” She dramatically cleared her throat. “Most historians believe that this particular epic was inspired by a set of diaries Astorark found in some fisherman’s shack. I would venture to say so myself, as the writing style is a bit different than most of his other plays. The diaries were also supposedly in ancient Sylgan, so the Traspian translation sounds a bit strange at times.”

“Traspian?” Evan interjected. “Why don’t you just call it Ered? It’s the same language.”

“He wrote these before Trasp was renamed to Eredore,” she said. “Anyway, the story takes place in ancient Sylga, about the same period as Astorark. A fisherman was with his son when they got caught in a ferocious storm. Their boat nearly capsized a few times, and at the end of the several days’ storm, all their ores were either broken or lost at sea. All the fish they had caught were gone. The fisherman, Vidda, was ready to die so that his son, Sushna, could have a chance at survival, but then they both spotted something in the water.

“They are being approached by fish larger than anyone had ever seen. They were each longer than his small boat, had shiny gray skin, and a hole at the top of their heads to breathe.”

“I’m assuming this is where the fantasy comes in?” Evan asked. “A creature that big wouldn’t be able to sustain itself for very long. Plus a hole to breathe? It’s hard to believe there could be a fish without gills.”

“We must admit there’s enough for them,” Domrik replied. “The entire surface of Lativa is ninety percent water. Remember, Lativa was the name of a Sylgan water goddess? I am intrigued by how we haven’t found creatures of such size yet. They should be everywhere in the ocean, yet the largest ever found is only as long as the average man is tall!” He stopped when he noticed Marvain’s glare. “Sorry, continue.”

“They were frightened at first by the fish, and even thought they were going crazy, until the fish started jumping over the boat. After cowering in fear for a dozen jumps, they realized that the fish were just playing with them. They seemed to be intelligent. Vidda then spent over an hour pointing in the direction of the shoreline, hundreds of miles away, trying to get them to help.

“When he noticed the creatures gravitating to one side of the ship, he realized they were interested in his Aetherite. He had only three crystals left, and he didn’t want to give them away, as they were the only source of light and heat for the two humans. Desperate, he threw one into the ocean in the direction they wanted to go, and the fish raced after it. The one that got to it first gobbled it up in one chomp.”

“They ate Aetherite?” Evan whispered intensely, eyes wide.

His mother silenced him with a hand. “Then, suddenly, the giant fish, called shingagi at this point in the story, decided to help the two sailors back to shore. On the way back, Vidda noticed that each of the shingagi had spiraling markings on their bodies, as if they had been branded. This is where the story connects to Brandon’s crystal.

“Both sailors made it safely back to shore with the help of their new friends. Grateful, Vidda worked hard over the next week to earn as many extra shards as he could, then he traveled out to the deep sea, hoping to encounter the creatures again. Within only a few hours, they appeared, and he gave each of them a smaller crystal. Some ate them gladly, while the others ignored the ones they were tossed.

“They ended up helping him catch fish, and he caught twice as many as he had ever caught before. He ran out of nets for the trip. His profits increased, and with them his ability to supply the shingagi with Aetherite. He did this week after week. At some point, he bought a bigger boat. His competitors were astonished when he starting bringing in record catches and stealing their customers. They asked what he did to catch so many fish, but he refused to tell anyone his secret.

“Jealous, they had their sons convince Sushna to take them out to sea and show them how his father did it. They went out using Vidda’s smaller boat, without his knowing or permission. At first, Vidda was angry at his son for not asking him if he could use the boat, but as the days passed, he grew worried. He took his bigger boat and went out to where he normally met the shingagi. What he found horrified him.

“His smaller boat was there, but it was completely empty and caked with dried blood. He realized with anguish that Sushna must have forgotten to take Aetherite with him, and the shingagi, expecting a payment, were outraged when none was given. He fell into a fit of rage, and moments later, the shingagi themselves appeared. He roared at them for murdering his own son, despite that he knew they couldn’t understand him. They only understood Aetherite.

“He fired Aether bolts at them to scare them away, then he had the true fear of the shingagi instilled in his heart when they retaliated. The bolts were bigger than his own body, and his hair temporarily caught fire despite the humidity. Then the shingagi started fighting amongst themselves, and Vidda used the opportunity to row back to shore.

“He ran to the other fishermen and begged them to mount an attack on the shingagi before anyone else was killed. He led them to the empty boat at sea, and tried to tell them what he thought happened. Instead, they accused him of murdering their own sons in order to keep his secret safe. He fought with them, tried to get Aetherite to throw into the ocean, but they tossed him overboard instead.

“He managed to swim to the small boat, but when he looked into the water, he saw shingagi coming, but they didn’t look the same as before. They were twice as big. He tried to point them out to the other sailors, but there was no need. An Aether bolt exploded against his chest, startling the other sailors.

“There was no warning, only carnage. Of the five ships that came, only one managed to escape back to shore, and only because they had an Aether mage on board to help shield them from the attacks. They almost didn’t make it back, as the crystals he used ran out of charge with two kilometers left to go.

“The play ends with a well-known phrase among modern sailors: When out at sea, beware the shingagi.”

The group was silent for several moments afterward, each taking their time to process the story. Hector was the first to break out of his reverie. “Surely, this is just an embellished story. It sounds like something used to frighten children.”

Marvain gestured to the open book. “Spirals on the creatures, spirals on Zandith’s crystal. Both are Aether-related. This can’t be a coincidence.”

“But what could engraved spirals do?” Evan asked.

“Brandon mentioned to me that during his encounter with Zandith, he was put under a kind of hypnosis. Could it be mind-control?”

“But there was no mind-control in the story,” Hector pointed out.

Domrik spoke. “It could depend on the combination. It could be a language to them.”

“A language that Zandith knows how to read?”

Domrik shrugged. “Apparently.”

“But how did he get access to their language?”

“We can’t assume this is the only encounter humans have had with the shingagi, maybe there were more that weren’t recorded and were more… peaceful?”

“If so, Astorark makes no reference to it in any of his other works,” she said, casually riffling through the massive book. She closed it and put her elbows on the cover, rubbing her face. “Ugh, I know that story wasn’t much help, but we have to start somewhere.”

“I would have started with Shadow of the Phantom Scythe,” Domrik said.

“The origin of Zandith’s persona?” Marvain moaned. “He can wait until later. We’re trying to find Brandon, Domrik.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “Maybe Zandith has Brandon.”

A shiver passed through the other three members of the group.

“I sure hope not,” Evan said, looking nervously at the others.

Domrik tapped on the table with his fingers. “Don’t you find it strange that Shadow of the Phantom Scythe was the last epic he ever wrote?”

Marvain shook her head. “I don’t see any significance in that.”

“None?” Domrik asked with surprise. He looked at Hector and Evan. “What about you two?”

Hector adjusted his position on the bench. “The story has to do with a serial killer who was never found, correct?”

“Even the strongest who took up the search for him vanished, hence his title.”

A chill ran down Evan’s spine as he had a realization. “Are you saying that the Phantom Scythe was real back then and took out Astorark?”

Domrik raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t know what happened to him, I’m just saying it’s weird.”

“Maybe he stopped intentionally to further scare his readers?” Marvain suggested. “He was known for his quirky antics. Plus, he wrote these over twenty-nine hundred years ago. Zandith is just using the title to spread more fear.”

“And it’s working,” Domrik replied.

“Well, we can at least search for Brandon,” Marvain stated, looking at Hector. “Any progress?”

He frowned down at the table, rubbing his chin. “Not since you asked me this morning. I’m thinking searching for Zandith might get us closer to Brandon. He did ultimately help to stop the attack. I’m sure Zandith isn’t pleased about that.” He blinked, and then narrowed his eyes at Domrik. “You said Judy was still alive, didn’t you?”

“That’s what I got from… Adam,” he muttered, scanning the others with an apologetic look.

“He said she’s somewhere underneath mountains, correct? If she’s still alive, and Zandith has a mind-control crystal, that could…” His eyes went wide as he held his temple with his fingertips. He slammed his hands flat on the table, making Marvain and Evan jump. “That has to be it! All those years ago, when she was so close to having a neuroscientific breakthrough, she just disappeared! It had to be Zandith. She would’ve never done that of her own volition.”

“So looking for your lost spouse,” Domrik said, pointing at Hector, “could help us find your lost spouse.” He pointed at Marvain.

“Put poetically,” Marvain pondered, “perhaps.”

“Could you find her?” Hector demanded. “Do you remember enough of her?”

Domrik sighed, closing his eyes in contemplation. “Possibly, but it depends on how much her energy has changed.”

“We’ve it narrowed down to a mountainous area,” Hector said. “That’s gotta make it more probable.”

“It does, but I will need some time to locate a specific area. Do you have people searching in the mountains for Brandon?”

“Not that I know of, but I can put in a word with the senior officer. Not sure he’ll love the idea, but I have to try. Do you have time now to start… locating?”

“Yes, my schedule for the next few weeks has nothing, for obvious reasons.”

“Good,” Hector said, standing up from the bench. “I will talk with my senior officer and see what he thinks.” He left the table and went down the library stairs.

Marvain opened the book again. “I will reread the Shadow of the Phantom Scythe and let you know if I find anything significant. Domrik, we’ll see you again tomorrow?”

Domrik got up from the table. “Yes, we can meet here again tomorrow.”

Evan reached out to Domrik. “Wait.”

Domrik paused, waiting.

“I want you to teach me how to defend myself,” Evan declared.

Domrik glanced at Marvain, who returned to him a surprised look.

“It doesn’t matter what she says,” Evan added. “I have enough money to pay.”

He received her perplexed gaze with neutrality, waiting to see how both of them would respond. Marvain held up a finger with uncertainty. “Actually, I’d like some training too. I had very basic training decades ago, but I’m rusty now.”

Evan stared at his mother, dumbstruck. He expected her to be scared for him, as she had been scared for herself these past few days. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it himself.

“Of course!” Domrik said emphatically. “I have time the day after tomorrow for that. You should be sure to get good sleep tonight. And it will be free of charge, since you’ll need the accelerated version.”

“You are too kind, Master,” Marvain said, bowing her head.

He waved a hand. “None of that. It’s Domrik for now as it will always be.”