“What have we done?” says my father staring at the gloves on the kitchen counter of our cabin, “What have you done?”

“I’m pretty sure that I just traded my soul, except unlike your stories I traded it to an angel, so I’m guessing I’ll be safe,” I say trying to break the tension, wondering why these harmless looking gloves elicit such disdain and fear from my father.

“Don’t you dare take a totalion lightly, much less their king! That whole race was created by Angtos to convince humanity that the heavens were on their side and lead them to rebel against the tyranny of the celandil. The totalion were created as a ruse. They are devils in angels’ clothing!” my father yells, only to try and regain composure. He takes a few deep breaths and paces the kitchen a few times, before reassuming his place at the table.

“Angtos, so I’m guessing that’s the name of my accursed grandfather,” I say picking up the gloves to try and read some of the constantly shifting script.

“Yes, and those are his hands, his spell book, or what my mother told me, these are his essence reservoir. Then again, I abandoned many of her naming conventions, as they didn’t make sense until now,” says my father removing the gloves from my hands and putting them back on the table, “I thought I had disposed of these horrible relics from the past. These gloves took part in mutating human babies into monsters. They birthed the teratolion, glirdon, dracaquan, and totalion. They destroyed the forests of Nursil and left a desert. They even took part in the formation of Unadeam.”

“Honestly, if I can tap into even the smallest part of that power,” I say looking at the gloves with new reverence, “I could rescue Uzuri tomorrow. Also, what’s an essence reservoir?”

My father lifts his sword and summons a bag to his side from across the room and says, “These are my spell book, or essence reservoir. From my perspective I can deposit some of my own power into objects to use for later, that way I am not constrained by only my body’s limits. My sword acts as a conduit for many of my spells which I keep in this bag.”

My father removes a scroll and unfurls it to show me that it bares celandilic script. The script was painted on the scroll in a decorative fashion and merely said, “ignite my sword with the flames of the sun.” My father gestures to me and quickly rerolls the scroll. He gets out of his chair and the scroll floats into the central circular hole area in the cross guard and unfurls violently. The blade erupts into a similar flame to what Argentum summoned around the floating boulders.

“The manner I write on the scrolls is an artistic practice that I learned in Visgal with some of the scribes there. The artistry involved in writing beautifully and with purpose helps me be meditative and in turn was the only way I could focus enough to force my power into the words I wrote like my mother before me,” my father explains extinguishing his blade, and placing it gently on the table next to the gloves.

“So why unfurl the scroll like that in the blade? Is it a part of summoning the spell’s power?” I ask looking at the scroll on the counter and touching the sword which is surprisingly cool to the touch.

“Yeah… no, not at all. I was a stupid kid and thought it was cool and threw off my opponents. All the theatrics are completely unnecessary,” my father says smiling to himself and looking back at his sword. He runs a hand over the metal of the blade, and the blade reciprocates his touch as it appears to gleam a little more brightly in the light of the candles and fire.

“I know it may seem odd, but a celandil’s spell book can take in a piece of themselves after so much use,” says my father picking up his sword again, and unraveling the leather on the hilt. My father tenderly unfolds the leather to reveal white letters that dance on the inside of the wrapping.

“This is the last remaining piece of your grandmother’s spell book, which was actually a book and where I developed my vocabulary for these items,” says my father, and as he finishes unfolding the leather an energy of peace raptures the entire room. I could almost feel a loving embrace as I stare at the dancing lettering.

“I saved what I could of her essence reservoir, when she was burned at the stake for witchcraft,” says my father now carefully refolding the leather and rewrapping the hilt of his sword, “The people of Visgal were so kind to her and sought her out for all sorts of problems. Until, one day several celandil desperate to reestablish the old order came to our village and… she wished to protect the village from those celandil… My mother revealed herself and paid the ultimate price. If it wasn’t for my adoptive father I too would have burned, but that’s a story for another day.”

“What was her name?” I ask, knowing if I don’t ask now, I may never know, as my father rarely opens up about his family, or even stories directly involving himself.

“Felarbha,” my father says hugging the hilt of his sword to his body.

“Felarbha,” I repeat, trying to remember that embracing peace that erupted from that small piece of her essence reservoir. I have never met her, yet I feel like I know what she was like just from that small interaction.

“I’m worried about you communing with those gloves,” says my father looking at his father’s essence reservoir, “I worry that he’ll corrupt you like he did with the world.”

“You’ve said he freed humanity from the tyranny of the celandil. He can’t be that bad, can he?” I ask, returning my gaze to the gloves on the counter.

“I can grant that the celandil overstepped their religious responsibility by living by the philosophy that the only way to protect humanity was to control it. This philosophy lead to their tyranny and enslavement of humanity,” says my father looking away from the legacy of his father, “but there had to have been another way to free humanity and change the celandil than what your grandfather decided to do.”

“He decided the only way to free humanity was slaughter, didn’t he,” I say looking at my father, who covered the gloves the best he could with his blade.

“Your grandfather decided to forcefully fulfill religious prophecy and convince humanity that both heaven and hell sought the destruction of the celandil as his method to free humanity. Humanity was frozen in fear to dare to go against their oppressors. Oppressors they thought were their god’s way of protecting them. However, with the right push they became my father’s loyal army,” my father explains now getting up from his seat to stand closer to me.

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“So many humans cast their lives aside in a crusade to free their fellow man and to purge the world of the celandil, as they fought alongside what they thought were angels and demons. Even after the government and power of the celandil were toppled, they continued their crusade until what was left of the celandil were ruins and scattered bands clinging to life, hunted for sport,” my father continues. Putting his hands on my shoulders, we both now look at the relics on the counter. I was hanging on to his every word, as I learned the world’s history, and the history of my very family.

“When father was satisfied, he abandoned humanity to its own devices which left humanity and the new races of man to a world that was created on so many lies. Humans, teratolion, and glirdon, fought amongst themselves for land and power, while the dracaquan and totalion escaped to places that humans and the other races could only dream of occupying,” my father says finishing his story.

“If everything was in chaos with humanity when grandpa died, then how did humanity become united like Argentum said?” I ask looking back at my father.

“That was unfortunately my doing,” my father admits, and I can hear him begin to cry, “I’ll do my best to make the story brief as this is the story of my life. However, in short, the world had tentatively formed factions that did come into conflict, but once the initial wars had ended humanity and the other races had found their share of land and influence.”

“Sounds like you weren’t even involved,” I say now looking at my father’s sword closer noticing that it too had celandilic script that became visible in the glimmers of light reflected off its surface.

“Well, no true governments had formed, humanity was tribalistic, and as the technology of the celandil required their magics to function, they were plunged into a dark age picking up the pieces of what once was,” my father says again walking around the table and this time wandering over to the cauldron filled with soup from the previous night and fills himself a bowl.

“Humanity’s strength was in unity, but the disharmonious wars that had divided them had left them weak. Though, unity is surprisingly easy to achieve if given the proper enemy,” my father continues swirling the liquid in his bowl to put it down in front of me and returns to the cauldron.

“I was once an enemy to my own people, as at one point I believed that I was protecting humans in hunting my own. It’s Ironic, that I would begin to hunt my people to gather them after I had killed so many. I was once a butcher of the remnant of my kind, but eventually became who they would look up to as a savior of sorts,” my father says now sitting down at the table with his own bowl of soup, “The more I gathered, the more noticeable we became, and despite my alliances with the more bestial races of man, we were betrayed. Our attempt to sail to freedom to find lands untouched on the sea was discovered. A giant gathering of a damned race, was enough to unite the tribes of man to fight under four banners harmoniously fighting for one goal: the final extermination of the witches and liches that plagued the land.”

“But that still isn’t completely unified, there were still four factions. Also, how did you survive when all the celandil were killed?” I ask taking a few bites of soup enthralled by my father’s story.

“A building toppled on me hiding me from most of the slaughter that occurred. When I came to under the rubble, I was able to witness that those that fought under the four banners of Tackenae, Visgal, Othenel, and Nursil that had so thoroughly surrounded my people, gathered for a meeting of sorts as they set fire to a giant mound of corpses that were once my friends, family, and comrades,” my father says tears falling into his soup as he recalls the painful memories of his past.

“These newly burgeoning countries agreed to be at peace with each other as they inhabit their own quadrant of what they assumed was the totality of the terrestrial world. They called this the Black Alliance as the colors of their banners and the blood of my people when mixed made a dark color and they felt this color represented their newly found peace,” my father says breathing heavily, and taking a deep swig of his soup. His gaze wasn’t upon anything in particular, and appeared almost blank, but an overwhelming focus could be felt in meeting his eyes. It looked like he was staring back hundreds of years, but he could only glance and helplessly grasp at horrific memories that he helplessly desired to mold into something more hopeful, or crush into the oblivion of the forgotten.

It seems like every word he says now is a strain on his very being, but he continues, “eventually a palace would be constructed in the ruins of what once was the celandil capitol and this place would be the unifying power that all four future countries would owe allegiance. But, enough with history! These things are in the past, and probably have little to do with the world as it is now.”

We hear the door slam open, and we both snap toward the sound, alert and ready for anything.

“Skath, your alive, I was so worried!” says the voice of my mother running toward me. She lifts me from my chair and embraces me with a strength that is herculean.

“Mom… can’t breathe… spine breaking,” I squeak as I struggle to break free of her grasp.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I’ve been running the forest all night, and even forced a few friends in the village to tell me what they knew,” my mother says in tears only to embrace me even tighter in her grasp. My feet wriggled helplessly beneath me. I feel like if I don’t get air in me soon, I’ll pass out.

“Lucky, I found Gareth, who with a bit of convincing,” my mother says finally dropping me to the ground. I take a deep breath, and see her pounding her fist in her hand, “was more than willing to tell me… that you’ve made a new friend. I’m so, proud of you sweety!”

“If you want some cakes, or sandwiches you can help yourself,” my father says pointing to the pantry, “Argentum dropped them off last night.”

“I do love the ones glazed in honey, and I thought we agreed to not talk about you know who in front of,” my mother says pointing to me, as I’m still panting on the ground.

“I thought it was time to introduce Skath to some family,” says my father gritting his teeth as if saying that was difficult, “Skath has been in the dark about a lot, growing up, and as he is nearly a man now, his Amolacrimae coming up in less than a year and all, I thought it was time to let him meet at least Argentum.”

Finally catching my breath, I watch as my mother opens the cabinets to help herself to some pastries and wonder how two physically opposite individuals ever got together. My mother is a giant of a woman, with muscles that most men would envy. My father, though muscular in his own right, has a slimmer build and stands several heads shorter than her. I resemble the build of my father, and my mother claims that I was so small and easy to birth that she hadn’t noticed when I popped out when the day came for my delivery.

A tired washed-up mythic warrior, and an energetic woman who could kill a man just with a flex of her bicep, a weird pairing in my eyes, but they do love each other profoundly. I hadn’t even noticed my father start playing, but I hear my father strumming his lute and begin to sing for her. She sits down next to him, her head resting in one of her massive hands as she uses the other to brush aside her long dark hair to see him more easily. She hums beside him, slightly off key, but she hangs onto every note my father plays. I find myself listening as well, my eyes heavy from several days of nearly dying and making pacts that I don’t even notice I was being lifted and cradled in my mother’s arms as she takes me to my bed.