”Where are we going now?” Kanrel asked as Vaur’Kou’n led him down the corridor, soon taking an abrupt turn to the left. It was a corridor they had once visited before, but that was months back when the captain showed him around the Sanctuary.
”To do what we all have to do… Which is ridiculous if you ask me. We have better things to do. You doing your reading and learning and whatnot, and me herding you around like the serf that you are.” He mumbled back, and they went down a staircase, and by now, Kanrel could guess what he had meant.
The tunnel went on and on with lanterns placed on either side in equal intervals. There wasn’t even a singular spot of darkness; not a shadow that cast itself upon its walls; there’d be one only right beneath them, for even above them, there were blue crystals. When they had first come down here, they hadn’t gone till the end, only until they could see the two Atheians that stood guard at the end of it, at the edge of darkness. Now, they went beyond that point, toward the awaiting Atheian whom they would release from their turn in the tunnel.
The one they would release seemed rather tired. Their expression told it all. He had stood there for two hours by now; the lantern in their hand remained well-lit, but there seemed to be no light in their eyes as if all of this had been a form of suffering—or just very boring. Kanrel didn’t recognize them, but the pained Atheian seemed rather thankful as Vaur’Kou’n took their place.
But then there was the other Atheian, who seemed rather amused by the situation. And they were someone Kanrel knew to be aware of and even be wary of.
”It is as I hoped it would be.” Mu’u Tou’t said and smiled as their previous company departed, ”It is so… difficult to find a place where we might converse in earnest, without guile or blatant lies, which we use to withhold a mask, a wanted understanding of ourselves.”
”Here, there isn’t a need to be polite; here, at the edge of darkness, a simple shove might end a life.” They spoke and shifted their gaze from Kanrel to the almost solid darkness that was just a meter or so away.
Vaur’Kou’n snorted, ”You dare speak to him in such a manner when he is in my company?”
”I never knew you to be so… foolish.” He added.
Mu’u Tou’t’s smile widened. ”Times have changed; one man’s foolishness has become another’s bravery… You should know this by now, old friend.”
Vaur’Kou’n rolled his eyes. ”Indeed, times have changed; you seem to no longer know your place.”
”But I will forgive you—just this once, though.” He said and peered at the veil, ”But if or when push comes to shove, we both know how that would end." Vaur’Kou’n then locked his gaze with Mu’u Tou’t and asked, ”Have you ever touched it? Have you ever… felt it? Here, you may only hear the whispers, but at least they reside at the edges of your hearing; but for others, they are at the edge of one’s mind…”
”Friend, or whatever you claim to be or once was, say what you wish to say, but remember, the Darshi is part of my mission, and I always complete a given mission with utmost perfection…”
”I don’t make mistakes unless I can rectify them in an instant.” Vaur’Kou’n finished and observed as Mu’u Tou’t’s smile perished.
”Very well.” They replied, then moved their gaze to Kanrel, ”Tell me, what is it that you claim as your goal here? Speak.”
Kanrel had peered at the veil throughout their exchange, but now, finally, he managed to pull his gaze from the abyss; finally, he found that he had a reason to look at something else.
”A way back home, simple.” Kanrel replied, the honesty leaving a bitter taste. He could have lied, of course—easily—but what point was there in deception when the truth already felt so heavy?
Mu’u Tou’t shook their head. ”Then why are you reading about the walls? Why do you take an interest in the devices that we know how to make? Do you plan to steal our technology and use it to your advantage when you finally, if ever, reach that home of yours?” They asked.
Kanrel blinked. ”I just find it interesting. I am a scholar, after all. Such things are what someone like me would most desire. It might not be useful to me in any way; it is not like I could easily replicate any of the things that I have seen here.” He explained.
Mu’u Tou’t raised their brow, ”Perhaps it is so, but you should know as a ’scholar’ what such knowledge could mean. And it doesn’t matter if you can’t replicate something easily, as your statement in itself would mean that you plan to at least try…”
”Darshi, you should spend your time here quietly; lock yourself in your room and do not enter our library, not even once, not even in passing..."
"Your kind has no place here.” They said through gritted teeth. Their eyes had flared by now; a fire burned within, one of complicated hatred toward him. One that Kanrel was unable to grasp or fully understand. To them, he should be nothing more than a roach, one so powerless that it should never be able to endanger or cause fear in such a creature. Of course, he did not belong here. He didn’t even want to be here.
”Why are you afraid?” Kanrel asked, without really thinking if he should ask such a question or not.
Mu’u Tou’t’s eyes widened, the fire in their eyes perished, and they looked away; their gaze locked with the abyss as they stood there in silence for a moment. It was as if they tried to find something within that darkness; their eyes scanned it so wildly, then their gaze focused on something, perhaps a decision they had finally managed to make; their brows quivered as they turned back to Kanrel, then they asked, at last, ”And what have you seen within the globes?”
”What do you mean?”
Mu’u Tou’t scoffed, ”If you tell me what you saw in them, then I shall share with you what I saw…”
Vaur’Kou’n snorted, ”That is ridiculous. You know that the globes give you no perception of the future; what they show you are hardly real in any way; they are only as real as your own fears and desires…”
”Really? Then am I wrong to let this fear dictate these actions of mine when said fears could so easily come true? It is what I saw long before its arrival… I saw it with my own two eyes; I saw how it destroyed our sanctuary and brought our kind to the brink of destruction once more…” Mu’u Tou’t spat out their words; their face had become a mask of fear and anger.
Vaur’Kou’n scoffed, ”And I saw only poverty and slavery. Yet here I am, rich and free.”
Mu’u Tou’t grinned, ”And did you not take every action you could to become free, to become rich? Was it not your fear and desires that made you the man you are today?”
Vaur’Kou’n had no reply; he just stared at his ’old friend.’
Kanrel was left stuck with this thought: Was it fear and desire that had made him the man he was now? Had fear shaped the path he now walked? What about Yirn? Was his desire to destroy what he saw as unjust the reason behind his actions?
A chill ran down Kanrel’s spine, and in silence, they spent the rest of their time together in the tunnel until Mu’u Tou’t got released by another Atheian less than an hour later.
But before Mu’u Tou’t left, he spoke, ”Darshi, I am sure that we will converse again… And I do beseech you to take heed of my words… Do not become what I fear you might already be.” Their voice was gentle, and they even faked a smile. ”I don’t hate you; I only hate what you might cause.”
When they departed, Kanrel felt that he could finally breathe. He could finally think through the conversation they had had. In silence near the edge of darkness, he let his mind empty itself upon that abyss.
As a priest, he was prone to belief, even in things like prophecy, when a rational mind would always tell him that such things would and should never be possible. In his youth, it had been because of pure belief, but now, he found Mu’u Tou’t’s words to be more than eerie; even when it would be unlikely, the possibility of what they saw could still happen; perhaps just not quite how they saw it.
During the time spent within the visions that the Voice gave him, everything had become so confused and difficult to fully grasp. Had the Angel of Time truly seen all that could happen? Were things predetermined to a point where one could say which possibility was most likely?
Would he, or another Darshi, become the ending from and for below?
Weeks went by in repetition, much of the time spent looking for a specific book instead of reading, as there were thousands upon thousands of books within the library. And not even Vaur’Kou’n as his guide could they find the correct ones as quickly as Kanrel wished. At least this lack of reading gave time for Kanrel to further teach his rather bored guide most of the theory of magic he had devised.
Within the silence of the library, one can find many interesting—often old, sometimes quite new in the grand scheme of things—topics of interest to pursue, be it someone’s short stint of study into the benefits of abstaining from the very use of magic, mostly as a form of meditation, to combat the constant desire that one might have for the use of it; to perhaps prolong one’s ability to enjoy it, these studies, sadly, were found to be useless, as the author failed to find a way to push further an Atheian's threshold for magic in general. This would mean that no matter what, one would always reach their ceiling in ability; one would always be left empty and unable to reach a greater pinnacle of magic.
There were, of course, books of magical devices, which did help Kanrel grasp how they worked much better than just looking at one and trying to figure out how they worked through that. People seemed to invent many things, most such things quite useless, in his opinion, because who would ever need a machine that creates ice? Sure, he saw its usefulness in the preservation of some things, like meat and so forth, but when such a device was quite clearly JUST for the creation of ice, then what was the use? Just small cubes that the inventor of said device would place in their drink to make it ”nice and cold” because it just ”tastes better like this.”
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Such a device would, again, use the seemingly meaningless scribble of engravings and crystals to empower a box, usually made from stone, to create a space within the box that would at all times be cold enough to freeze water—not instantly, of course, but in a few hours or so. Through this, they also found that many different liquids have different freezing temperatures, but to the disappointment of the inventor, such a finding had already been found way back in the times of the Old Empire. But at least he could now, always, drink his water extra cold.
The engravings on the walls of the city are, indeed, very different from those that are used in everyday magical devices, such as lanterns. Thus, how they work and what they do can be easily understood if one just learns this different language they use, one that has its origins in what the Kurikulai used. But if one learned the Atheains used, they still wouldn’t be able to understand the engravings on the walls. The two systems, although similar, weren’t exchangeable.
It took a while to find a book that better explained how things worked, and basically, it was much simpler than what Kanrel had at first thought. The engravings were, quite simply, just a command of what a given magical device ought to do—like a code. And the crystal was there as a way to activate said code so that the device might work. This made Kanrel wonder if the use of engravings really mattered. Couldn’t he just use one of the many human languages instead of the Atheian system and then attach a crystal to it?
It also made sense why many of the members of the council weren’t so eager to learn of Kanrel’s theory of magic… They already used it, in a way. But only for these magical devices, and he didn’t even know just how similar these two systems were in practice. Even then it felt quite disappointing. Kanrel had all but invented something someone else long before him had invented. Such was the cruelest realization of many inventors and scientists long before him; he wouldn’t be the first to find nor the last to find out that his discovery was naught more than a rediscovery.
At least, in this case, it was used for something else. He kept making notes about magical devices and how they worked, and when he would get out, he would test if he could use his own language instead of the Atheian one when creating a lantern, for example.
But what interested him the most were magical devices from the Old Empire. But sadly, there wasn’t as much written about them, as most of it was just memories of those who had lived there, as not many of such devices were brought with them. Only some necklaces and rings, a few of which were carefully described in a book Vaur’Kou’n found for him:
”A ruby necklace, owned by a wealthy crystal miner; engravings placed onto the ruby itself, using the general system of engraving, instills warmth to the body when empowered.
A golden ring, owned by an established family of scholars, has engravings placed on the inner part of the ring, using a general system of engraving, shrouding the user with complicated placements of light and shadow, forming an illusion of invisibility, which doesn’t work when in movement.
A small, black dagger, owned by a landlord whose family owned a large estate during the times of the Old Empire; engravings placed within the key itself, using a general system of engraving, force a short-lived transformation, about a minute or two, when stabbed to, usually the arm of the target; great for when in need of heavy lifting or a few extra hands. Warning: Do not use on other creatures; the effects might be dangerous to the user, and transformation might be a failure as well as permanent.”
Kanrel stopped reading for a while. He sat there for a while as memories emerged and suppressed feelings forced themselves to the top. He reread the passage a few times, again and again. Not quite understanding what he read; not understanding how a device, which Yirn had used in a way it wasn’t supposed to be used, had found itself in the hands of a fool, who then stabbed it at their own heart. Had Yirn seen someone transform in such a way before? Had they too become such an eldritch creature? Did that other person survive? Or were they too subdued by those around them? Was their transformation short-lived or permanent?
Was it his hatred toward the Priesthood and the Kingdom the reason for all of this? The truth that he had claimed to know was one meant to ’set them all free.’ Yet, all that was found at the end of the things that he had done, all the wrongs he had committed, only led to his own demise. A death so disgraceful none would be able to recognize him as he were. They would only see a mass of gray and black, with twisted arms and a ripped-apart head, cut by the Herald herself.
A friend he had been. Even in his death, Kanrel had hoped, he had wished, that he might return to him. Even now he missed him. Why did all these feelings have to be so complicated? Why was it so difficult to manage them? Why were they so… muddled? It all hurt. Still, it hurt. Years had gone by, yet the wound still burned. It was bitter, this feeling—this regret he had. What if he could’ve saved Yirn from himself? What if all that he needed was someone to take hold of his hand and pull him from the depths of hatred onto a shore where he might’ve found understanding, trust, and love?
Long ago, he had forgiven Yirn, even when he wasn’t really in the place to forgive him. It wasn’t him who had been murdered; it wasn’t him who had lost a child. He had only lost a friend, who had been the cause of much terror and grief. He gritted his teeth and continued reading:
”A key, owned by the son of a famous locksmith, with engravings placed all around the surface of the key, using a general, although altered, general system of engraving, has the ability to open any and all locks.”
There seemed to be one great difference between the devices created during the Old Empire and those created here: during the Old Empire, they didn’t have nor did they use crystals in the creation of magical devices… How did they activate them then? Was the crystal a great advancement in the creation and efficiency of magical devices or something completely and utterly useless? Again, this is something that he would have to test later on.
Kanrel kept on reading but could feel someone’s gaze. He lifted his eyes from the pages of the book and soon met Vaur’Kou’n’s gaze.
”Finally.” He muttered, ”Took you long enough.”
Kanrel blinked. ”What? Is it late already?”
”No. I was just curious.”
”About what?”
”You know…”
”Know what?”
Vaur’Kou’n rolled his eyes. ”The devices, you monkey. Are you going to try to construct one?”
Kanrel thought for a while. He could lie but chose not to. ”Yes. There are, indeed, many things that I would like to try. For example, I wonder if the use of the Atheian system of engraving is needed at all.”
Vaur’Kou’n raised their brows. ”Could you do it quite ’easily?’” he asked.
Kanrel shook his head. ”I doubt it; so far I’ve only dabbled with such things..." He said and then added, "You know, I once managed to completely disable one of your lanterns.”
”How did you manage that?”
”Well, you see. There is this code I created, which basically nullifies magic with which—" Kanrel stopped.
”Go on.” Vaur’Kou’n demanded, ”This is the first time you’re about to tell me something even remotely interesting, so don’t stop; dazzle me.”
Kanrel swallowed. ”It nullifies magic with which it comes in contact.”
”Interesting. Show me.”
Kanrel cursed himself. Ever the fool he was. Why would he ever feel so comfortable as to share something he should never share with anyone?
He gritted his teeth, scanned around the room, and found a lantern that hung from one of the shelves; he used a simple code to levitate it to them. The lantern and its crystal shone quite dimly. He placed it on the table, near his notebook; he opened an empty page on it and began to write. He recreated the code he had used before, one that entailed all the things that he knew that magic could do. The shapes and forms, its attributes, and all the things that magic could achieve. From creation to destruction to everything in between. Another long code, this one even longer than the previous one, and when he was done, he met Vaur’Kou’n’s gaze.
”Could you promise me something?” He asked, in his eyes there was an empty look.
Vaur’Kou’n tilted his head. ”Depends.”
Kanrel sighed, ”Never share this with anyone, for it might cause harm so great that what Mu’u Tou’t saw within the globes could become a reality.” He whispered, even when he knew that there wouldn’t be another Atheian close enough to hear his words.
They stared at each other for a long while. Then, after a minute or so, the Atheian scoffed, ”Perhaps it would be better not to know…” He mused, ”But you and I both know—I must know.”
”I can’t make a promise I can’t keep…” He then said, and a slight smile found itself upon his face as he leaned back on his chair, ”But I suppose I could pretend that I never saw anything… You know, I’m good at things like that… Lying, and so forth.”
”So the real question really isn’t if you can trust me or not, nor if I can keep a promise or not…” His smile faded, and he leaned closer as he asked, ”Kanrel, can you trust me?”
Kanrel thought about it for a while, and the answer was no; he couldn’t trust him. He had no reason to trust him. But at least Vaur’Kou’n wasn’t likely to want his death; he simply wasn’t interested enough to want his death.
So he made a decision he would regret. He focused his gaze and his mind on the crystal that shone dimly on the table. He visualized what he wanted to do, knowing all too well what would follow; he released the code. A wave of nausea struck him. The world around him began to spin, the shelves of the library merged together, and everything went black, yet he remained awake; a burst of blue light exploded within that darkness, and whispers swirled from all around, like the collection of a thousand voices emerging into one point, and injected itself directly into his mind: ”Death, Ignar, what could I know of death? Aren’t I immortal? So tell me, how are you going to kill a god?”
The whispers and the light became one; the shelves of the library returned, and the world still spun but soon returned to something normal; the crystal lay there before him, dormant, empty, without the dim light it once used to offer.
Kanrel’s mouth felt so dry as he picked it up; his hands shook as he tried to turn the light back on, but it refused to do so. He gave it to Vaur’Kou’n, who hesitantly accepted it.
He peered at the crystal and rotated around; he too tried to turn it back on, and as he realized what had happened, he dropped the crystal, and it hit the table, causing a quiet thump as it hit its surface.
Vaur’Kou’n’s gaze remained pointed at the crystal. ”We will not speak of this again. This never happened. I saw nothing.” He said and then looked at the notebook where the code was written, ”Burn the page; never share it with anyone else. Not for your safety, but for the safety of my people.”
Kanrel did as he was commanded; he ripped the page on which he had written the code, he burned it, and in an instant, it flared and turned into ash.
Vaur’Kou’n got up. ”We are done for today. Go get some rest.” The Atheian stormed off, and Kanrel was left sitting all alone in the middle of the shelves of the library. His body shook as he had to deal with the aftereffects of using such a code.
He felt disgusted with himself. He felt bare and hollow. He felt so cold even when it had been so warm moments before. He felt afraid, not because of what he had seen moments ago; he felt fear because that is what he had seen in Vaur’Kou’n’s eyes.
He got up and, taking support from the objects around him, his legs felt so weak as he navigated through the library, his heart pounding for no apparent reason. Why did he feel so afraid? Had he not spat his fear out? Had he not entered shadows and found that he had control over them? Did he not control his own fear?
It was clear he knew it by when he had reached his own little room. He opened the door and shut it behind him. All that he had ever done, all that he shall ever do, all of it, everything, was dictated by two things: his desires and his fears. Either of which he argued to be his own morals.
Was this not what led all men? Was this the nature of a man? Had Yirn been the same? He clearly had the desire to destroy that which had subdued and punished him and the other Nameless throughout history, and he only had this desire because he feared it would all happen again—not because it would happen, but it very much could. This too was a part of human nature: this cycle of repression. Of anguish that we must place upon those we blame for the general issues of the world.
If tomorrow I find that I feel like shit and this feeling persists for weeks upon weeks, am I to be blamed for it, or shall I just blame those who are easier to blame? Was this the truth Yirn claimed as his own?
His legs gave out, and he found himself on the floor. He knew that in this situation he ought not to blame himself or the people around them at the time; he ought to only blame Yirn, but even then he found that he couldn’t claim that there wasn’t some truth in his beliefs. By now, he had seen too much. He had seen in the Sharan a mirror of humanity, and now he could see it in the Atheians as well. They were all the same, even if the species was different. Even then they all did things not out of empathy and care for the people around you but instead out of the aforementioned feelings of fear and desire.