The tablet flickered on as I slipped it inside me small bag. I made a quick sweep of the room, double-checking for anything I might need. My eyes lingered on a battered notebook near the edge of the desk, its pages filled with my research on Arcana I was researching. It wasn’t crucial for now, but I tossed it into my bag anyway—old habits died hard.
A low, rumbling growl broke the stillness.
“You planning to leave me behind?” Amon’s voice, smooth and laced with a hint of amusement, echoed from the corner of the room.
I turned to see him lounging on the couch, his dark fur blending into the shadows. His amber eyes glinted in the dim light, alive with intelligence.
“Didn’t realize you cared so much,” I shot back, shrugging into my coat.
“Care? Hardly,” he replied, stretching lazily before hopping to the floor. “But someone’s gotta keep you alive. You’re hopeless on your own.”
The air in the room seemed to shift, a faint tremor vibrating through the floorboards. I paused, glancing at Amon, who had stopped mid-stretch, his ears swiveling.
So that was the usual tremors. Nothing new I suppose.
We stepped into the hallway, the faint scent of burning ozone lingering in the air. The tremors seemed to have subsided, but the heat remained, it was the usual with this damn planet.
I made my way down the creaking stairs, Amon padding silently beside me.
Outside, the city of Musspell was alive with its usual chaos. The streets were crowded with merchants hawking wares, street performers drawing small crowds, and the ever-present hum of conversation blending into a cacophony of life.
However the people were mostly engrossed with the start of their festival.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I pushed through the crowd, the heat pressing down like a suffocating blanket. Amon padded ahead, his sharp amber eyes scanning for threats—or perhaps just a clear path. His tail swished irritably as a pair of children stumbled too close, nearly tripping over him in their excitement.
“You’re attracting attention,” Amon muttered without turning back, his voice barely audible over the festival’s din.
“I’m just trying to get through this mess,” I replied, brushing past a merchant shouting about his rare gemstones.
After what felt like an eternity of weaving through the throng, I finally spotted the small, unassuming sign hanging above a narrow doorway.
The writing was something that I couldn't understand. Probably Risese, I didn't know how to read it but could make do with a dictionary and a few hours.
I stepped inside, the noise of the festival fading into a muffled buzz behind me. The interior of the shop was dimly lit, the air thick with the musty scent of old paper and leather bindings. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each packed tightly with books, scrolls, and other artifacts. It was an oasis of calm compared to the chaos outside.
The clerk behind the counter was hard to miss. She stood at the same height as Orvox although her form was more leaner a byproduct of his physical training perhaps, her Formorian heritage evident in her broad shoulders and striking reddish skin. Her elongated features were both intimidating and elegant, and her sharp eyes flicked toward me as I entered.
"You here to browse or buy?" Her voice was deep and steady, tinged with a faint accent I couldn’t place.
I gave her a small nod of acknowledgment, trying not to be overly obvious as I took in her towering form. "I’m looking for a couple of things—history books, particularly about the early days of this planet, and a copy of the holy book of Gringol."
Her eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Gringol, and I tensed, wondering if I’d said something wrong. But she simply reached beneath the counter and retrieved a thick, weathered tome, setting it down with a heavy thud.
"Everyone wants this lately," she muttered, brushing off some imaginary dust from the cover. "Religion of the people, so it’s always in stock. As for history..." She paused, gesturing to the far corner of the shop. "Second shelf, bottom row. Plenty to choose from. Anything specific?"
"Just the basics for now," I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Something to get me up to speed."
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She nodded and turned her attention back to the large ledger on the counter, apparently deeming me no longer worth her focus.
I moved toward the indicated shelf, Amon padding silently beside me. His nose twitched, and I caught a faint whiff of something—spices, maybe, or incense. The shop was full of subtle distractions. Still, I found the section she’d mentioned, crouching down to examine the titles.
Most of the books were dense and uninviting, their titles written in Risese script. My fingers traced the spines, lingering on one that looked particularly ancient. The edges of the leather cover were worn, but the gilded lettering glinted faintly in the dim light.
"That one’s a good place to start," Amon said, startling me. His voice was low, his ears flicking toward the shopkeeper as if he didn’t want her to overhear. "It’s got the early stuff you’re looking for—founding myths, old treaties, that kind of thing."
"How do you know?" I asked, pulling the book free and holding it up.
He didn’t answer, just gave me a sharp look that said, Trust me. I sighed and added it to my growing list of mysteries about him.
By the time I returned to the counter, I had the holy book and two history texts under my arm. The Formorian clerk glanced at my haul and raised a ridged brow.
"Light reading, huh?"
"Something like that," I replied, sliding the books toward her. She rang them up efficiently, her long fingers moving with surprising delicacy over the worn spines.
"That’ll be thirty-two aurs," she said.
I fished a handful of coins from my pocket and set them on the counter, hoping I wasn’t short. She counted them quickly, nodded, and handed me a small slip of parchment as a receipt.
"Good luck," she said, her tone neutral but her gaze lingering. "You’ll need it."
I didn’t ask what she meant. Instead, I slipped the books into my bag, adjusted the strap, and headed for the door.
Outside, the heat and noise hit me like a wall. Amon followed close behind, his tail swishing irritably as we re-entered the throng.
"So, what’s next?" he asked, his amber eyes gleaming with curiosity.
(Cut)
The sun had started to dip below the jagged skyline of Musspell by the time I found a quieter corner of the city—a small plaza shaded by a canopy of scraggly trees.
I sank onto a worn bench, pulling the ancient history book from my bag.
Amon leapt up beside me, lounging in his usual way but keeping his eyes on the passing crowd. "You’re really going to read that here?" he asked, sounding more amused than annoyed.
"Best time," I muttered, flipping open the cover. The pages smelled of age and dust, the Risese script flowing in intricate patterns across the yellowed parchment. Thankfully, the book came with a translation guide, although it was clunky and added an extra layer of effort to the process.
I skimmed the first few sections, which focused on the planet’s founding.
Musspell was a planet who's surface, largely covered in toxic wastelands and jagged terrain, had been colonized millennia ago by settlers desperate enough—or perhaps ambitious enough—to tame its dangers.
Three powers had emerged to rule the planet, each holding sway over a different aspect of life.
The first belonging to the King or more correctly the Royal Family of the Planet and the Empire. The Ferysac Empire stretched across the habitable zones of Musspell, its ruler known as trelzur.
His line had ruled for centuries. The book described the monarchy as both a stabilizing force and a repressive regime, depending on who was asked.
The King’s reach extended into nearly every aspect of daily life, from the bustling trade hubs to the tightly controlled agricultural zones that fed the population. His power was enforced by an elite guard known as the Ferysian Legion.
The second was the Church of Gringol was the only officially recognized religion on Musspell, its teachings deeply intertwined with the planet’s history. As the church was one of the first and oldest organisation on the planet it had the highest authority and fame. Their God was Gringol the God of Life and many other things. Although the history books didn't really go in much detail.
Festivals, like the one happening now, were as much religious observances as they were public celebrations. According to the book, questioning the Church’s authority was tantamount to heresy, a crime punishable by exile—or worse.
The third power was the outer guard. Honestly nothing much was written about them. The Outer Guard was tasked with patrolling these regions, ensuring that the toxins didn’t encroach on the cities and that nothing—or no one—emerged from the Wastes unaccounted for.
--
I paused, letting the weight of the information settle.
“Not exactly light reading.” Amon said, his amber eyes scanning the crowd.
"It's not much the academy had much more reading for the first semester." I replied absent mindedly. Even now looking at Amon was hard.
Looking at him reminded me of many memories I didn't want to relive and a sense of regret overwhelmed me every time.
I shook my head, banishing the creeping sense of regret before it took root. No time for that now. Closing the history book with a quiet thud, I slipped it back into my bag and pulled out the holy book of Gringol. Its cover was thick and ornate, embossed with symbols I didn’t recognize.
Amon watched me, his amber eyes flicking between the book and the bustling plaza. "You’re actually going to try reading that thing? Bold move.”
I didn’t dignify his comment with a response, instead flipping open to the first page. The text inside was dense and archaic, written in Risese script far more elaborate than the history book’s translation guide could easily handle. I squinted at the looping letters, trying to make sense of them, but they danced mockingly across the page, refusing to yield their meaning.
The translation guide was worse than useless. Its clunky, literal explanations left me more confused than when I started. After several minutes of struggling, I closed the book with a sigh and rubbed at my temples. “This is impossible. How does anyone understand this?”
I tossed the translation guide back into my bag with a frustrated huff. The holy book of Gringol lay unopened on my lap, its ornate cover mocking me with its intricate symbols. It felt less like a sacred text and more like a cruel puzzle designed to waste my time.
"This is impossible," I muttered, leaning back against the bench and glaring at the sky as if it were to blame. "How does anyone understand this drivel? No wonder they make it a religion—you’d have to pray for a miracle just to get through a page."
Amon chuckled softly beside me, the sound low and almost taunting. "Maybe you’re just not enlightened enough. Want me to take a crack at it?"
"Very funny," I shot back, closing the book with a decisive thud. "I don’t see you helping with anything except commentary."
"I’m moral support," he replied with a lazy swish of his tail. "Not my fault if you’re hopeless."
Before I could fire back, I felt the weight of someone sitting down beside me on the bench. The sudden intrusion jolted me, and I turned sharply to confront whoever thought it was a good idea to join us uninvited.
The words froze in my throat as I took in the figure beside me.
He was slender but solid, with a wiry frame draped in a worn, patchy coat. His face, gaunt and pale, was illuminated by a wide, manic grin that didn’t quite reach his sharp, hollow eyes. His hair was an unruly mess, sticking out at odd angles as though he’d been caught in a storm—or maybe caused one himself.
“Move, and I’ll blow us all to hell,” he said cheerfully, his voice lilting with unsettling enthusiasm.
The grin didn’t falter. Neither did the small, intricate device cradled in his lap, wires sparking faintly as his fingers toyed with it.
For a moment, the world seemed to go still. Even the heat of Musspell’s oppressive air seemed to recede, replaced by the cold, sharp edge of danger.
Amon stiffened beside me, his amber eyes locked on the man with an intensity I’d rarely seen. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, but I forced myself to stay still, swallowing the rising panic clawing at my throat.
The man’s grin widened further, impossibly. "Let’s have a little chat, shall we?"