Every new morning starts with the end of another nightmare. In one, he is a butterfly burned into nothingness by what he could imagine to be a god; in another, he is that god who burns the butterfly. In one dream, he is a peon before someone so mighty he cannot comprehend their existence, and in another, he is that creature of power most supreme.
”Who am I? And what will I become?”
Am I the butterfly who will find itself among the ashes of the ruined city? Or am I the god who uses their supreme powers to lay waste to all that lies before me? Is it what I already am, or is it something that I might become? This or that: the butterfly or the god.
But each dream ends with rain as he wakes up to another morrow beneath the world he would love to return to. The rain is warm; it is sticky… it is red... How he had begun to wish that instead of these dreams and nightmares, he would have the same ones that he used to have all those years ago. He would have much rather spent another delirious moment of pain strapped into a bed while faceless figures with rapiers in their hands would impale him and, in whispers, demand he tell them a truth he doesn’t know…
He would have much rather spent another eternity falling down into nothingness… Into that oblivion, he had begun to believe the Atheian, Mu’u Tou’t, meant during their rant. It was so similar to the ritual. This vision of nothingness that they had shared with him. It was something he had gone through already; it was something all priests had to go through. It was something no priest could ever forget. But most priests would come to realize that this abyss they fell into was something none would want to enter for all eternity. No one should want to exist in something like that. Even the idea of existence within it, whilst lacking the ability to sense and think, felt horrifying, but at the same time, he couldn’t claim that some would not find some sense of comfort in the idea of total inexistence.
Some things ought to be forgotten. We all have memories we could do without. Is it not a privilege that most have to forget? Is it not painful to carry the burden of memory at all times? For aren’t there some memories so horrifying, so dense, so heavy, so… crippling… that their weight makes life worse than what oblivion could ever be?
Be it that you are a man who walks in the rubble of a ruined city, one brought to its knees by a siege that could have lasted for months or even years. This man walks within the city, looking at the neighborhood where they once lived, unable to recognize the buildings that once were; he has only the memory of them; the bricks that build that memory now lie under his feet. But isn’t it the buildings and their destruction that horrifies the man who now walks down this street… It is the memories of those happy moments that have become ruined as well. Right across from his house, there once lived a young family, a simple one who lived in a small room, cramped together; life is tough for them, but they have each other, and they are happy. The man remembers them well, for he has seen the wife of the family around the street with her child; the man has even shared a beer or two in a nearby pub with the husband of this family. And now that the man looks at the building and its rubble, among them, he sees a woman mauled by the stones and bricks that now lay on top of her. In her arms, she holds her child, no less broken than she. The vision is silent even with the horrors that have filled the world around them. The man stands there and stares at these visions. Never will he forget this. Never will he forget this moment; not the moments that led to this one, not the bad nor the good that has happened before this moment, nor the moment that then came after. A scream breaks this faux silence. Running steps, the man can hear from behind him, and he turns around, only to see the husband, who has now returned home; he drops his spear, throws his helmet away, runs to his wife and daughter, and weeps the tears no one should ever need to weep.
This is the true moment of horror that the man looking at the things that he has seen will never forget. The faces of those who were left behind tend to their ruined world, with the ruined people that now inhabit their ruined memories of a ruined dream they had.
One tear at a time, warm rain begins to fall and blood wets him and the streets. This too, a nightmare that Kanrel has had.
However, he hoped and believed that he was no longer experiencing a nightmare. He was in the City of Last Light, on his way to the restaurant, where, apparently, Y’Kraun found himself working these days in the company of his wife.
Roaming the streets of a city instead of the corridors of the Sanctuary or going in between a cave and its vicinity to practice magic was by all means much different than what he had been used to in recent times. This felt like a break from a string of stress-induced situations and from the mundanity of working toward something particular. This was a different kind of mundane. Leisurely walking down the street, where most other people would look at him twice before turning away, wondering what they had seen and why it happened to be so… hairy… Of course, this seemingly leisurely experience had a goal to it, an intention: a meeting between friends who hadn’t seen each other in more than a year.
The restaurant he soon reached was the same one he and Y’Kraun had visited right before Kanrel sought entrance to the Grand Library, the place where Y’Kraun laid his eyes on his wife-to-be.
Back then, it had been a fairly successful enterprise, since many of the students and even faculty members of the Grand Library would, during lunchtime or whenever possible, eat at the restaurant. Their troglobites are quite good, or so many have heard, and some even have had the pleasure, or displeasure, of experiencing. Kanrel shuddered as he stepped through the door and met the somewhat busy atmosphere of the restaurant.
About half of the tables were full; a waiter went to and from the kitchen, carrying plates and trays filled with more plates and some cups, cans, and bottles of what might be water. A waiter he recognized all too well; never before had Kanrel seen him move so fast. To Kanrel, Y’Kraun had always seemed like someone who wouldn’t run unless they very much had to. So, of course, he supposed that this was one of those moments when the Atheian had to be swift in his actions.
Kanrel stood there for a while, observing him as he went from table to table, then to the kitchen and soon back; and when he came out of the kitchen for the third time, He finally noticed Kanrel, sitting by the door. He slowed down and came to a halt, holding in his hands two bowls of what might be mushroom stew. He blinked and stared at Kanrel, and then a slow smile conquered their face that had been covered with a focused expression only moments before. Y’Kraun then scanned the room and noticed an empty table; with their eyes and hairless brows, he nudged Kanrel to go and take a seat. Kanrel smiled back at his friend and did as he was expected to. He found a table, one meant for four, and took a seat; from his table, he continued observing Y’Kraun as he went on with his work.
Y’Kraun placed the two bowls in his hands before the customers who had ordered them, and wished them a good lunch; he bowed out and went once more into the kitchen; he returned after a minute or two, this time, not wearing the white apron he had worn. With a smile on his face, Y’Kraun walked to Kanrel’s table. ”May I take a seat?” He asked in Atheian, and even before Kanrel could muster any reply, Y’Kraun sat down and conjured a solemn expression to hide away his own excitement.
Kanrel couldn’t help but scoff, ”You look good… I guess…”
”I never imagined seeing you do actual work; your mother must be proud.”
Y’Kraun rolled his eyes and shook his head. ”Well yes, before I had no say in the work that I had to do…”
Kanrel blinked for a while. ”Right, a fair point.” He apologized. Kanrel almost slapped himself; he had completely forgotten what Y’Kraun had been all his life before he was allowed to go to the City of Lost Light…
Y’Kraun chuckled, ”Don’t worry about it. Those days are far behind me now…”
”And besides, you’ve spent years in a cave, barely communicating with other people, and then a year in a library, presumably in the company of books; by now I would guess that your mind must be so filled with useless information that you can barely muster words to express yourself in a normal manner.” Y’Kraun spoke, a slow grin forming on their face as they went on.
Kanrel shook his head. ”Speak a little slower; I understood maybe half of that.” He lied and soon looked around the restaurant again. Y’Kraun shrugged, and they sat in silence for a while.
”Where is Gar?” Kanrel asked after a while, ”Also, how’s your wife?”
Y’Kraun smiled as if he were the happiest person in existence. ”I thought you’d never ask.”
”My wife is wonderful! A month back she gave birth to our firstborn, a little lad with the most beautiful eyes—well, second beautiful eyes; my wife’s eyes are still, and will always be, the most beautiful!”
”Honestly, she is the best thing to ever have happened to me. There is finally someone who understands me. A gentle soul who, with their presence, cleanses me from the pains of my past; she nourishes me with her existence. She completes me.” Y’Kraun’s eyes at times wavered as he spoke, and all this time a bright smile that reached his eyes filled the conversation; it made the room brighter than it was before. To see someone so happy… if only Kanrel could truly feel it as well.
Y’Kraun grinned, rather suddenly, ”And Gar? Who cares about that bastard anyway?”
They both could hear a loud snort not too far away from them. ”Nice to hear that… friend.”
Y’Kraun’s grin widened as he looked to the side, ”Always a pleasure to shower you with compliments you could very well do without.”
Kanrel glanced at the person Y’Kraun stared at. Gar was there, with his hands akimbo and his judgmental gaze set on Y’Kraun. ”Indeed, there never goes a day by where my ears aren't poisoned by your words—and less so my eyes.” Gar added and mockingly covered his eyes with his left hand.
Then, he let his hand fall to his side; he finally met Kanrel’s gaze. ”You’ve not changed that much.” He pointed and came a little closer and even leaned forward. Gar then shook his head in disappointment. ”Within your eyes, I can’t say that there now lies some secret wisdom, nor is there some greater intellect either. Instead, you’re just the same.” He shook his head again. ”I think we ought to give up; you’ll never be as great a being as I am.”
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Kanrel scoffed, ”I can’t just stretch my limbs to become taller, nor will I ever be able to eat enough to surpass your weight; thus, I shall remain a lesser being all my life… Forgive me, oh you gargantuan being of mild or even lesser wisdom.”
Gar cackled and took a seat as well. The three eyed each other in turn.
”Awkward,” Y’Kraun pointed out after a while.
”Precisely.” Gar nodded along.
”Exactly what I expected.” Kanrel added.
Y’Kraun cleared his throat. ”I don’t have much time at the moment; I’ve got to go back to work in a few minutes, but I do wish that we could catch up sooner rather than later. There is much that we ought to go over…”
”As well as some plans for the future that I have.” He then added with an awkward smile.
”So, perhaps we can meet later today at your place?” Gar asked, ”Kanrel gets to see your wife and your kid as well as where you now live, and we get to have a long conversation about the things we’ve been up to and what Kanrel has seen and learned within the Sanctuary… as long as they are, of course, details that he is allowed to share.”
Y’Kraun smiled and got up. ”Most certainly. I’ll get off work in four or so hours… And you in about the same time?” He asked Gar, who nodded.
”And what might I do in the meantime?” Kanrel asked, but Y’Kraun was already off and on his way toward the kitchen. Gar sighed, ”He’s a busy man nowadays. Not the ever-relaxed Y’Kraun he used to be… It seems that getting married and then soon finding out that he’ll become a father has matured him up a bit… as well as made him work harder and harder.”
”I see. It must be difficult for him.”
”It is. But he isn’t one to ever mention a thing about it. Life is expensive here, and it is much more expensive for someone in his situation.”
Kanrel thought about it for a while, then nodded, ”I don’t know much about how things are here with such things, but when compared to life above, I can see some similarities. There, too, things would be difficult for someone like him as well.”
Gar raised his brows. ”I thought you didn’t have any serfs in your lands.”
Kanrel blinked. ”Oh, you were talking about that… I was more so thinking about his lack of wealth, lack of education, the fact that he has a child and that he lives in an expensive city.” Kanrel pondered for a while again, ”Does his past as a serf make much difference to how he is treated nowadays? Shouldn’t that really be in the past and not something to be held over him?” Kanrel asked.
Gar shook his head. ”Well, he will always be treated differently by those who aren’t as understanding; everyone has their own prejudice. And his past is the reason why he has little to no education and even less wealth.”
Kanrel nodded. A silence ensued. Soon, Kanrel could see Y’Kraun come out of the kitchen; they once again wore their white apron; they went from table to table, partaking in small talk and asking if he could help or bring anything else to his customers.
Gar cleared his throat. ”You could come with me to the library… There are some things I want to talk about with you when fewer prying ears are around to listen…”
Kanrel accepted this offer, and they left behind the restaurant and Y’Kraun, who didn’t even have time to bid them farewell.
They entered the already crowded library, passing students, teachers, and professors, most of whom carried books or at least notebooks. Wherever Kanrel went in the City of Last Light, he attracted the curious eyes of those who had never seen a creature like him but had definitely heard of him. At least within the Grand Library, most were well aware of ’Kanrel the Darshi’ as he was known.
Kanrel half expected that they would go to the higher levels of the library, to seek a place where they could converse in peace, but instead, they turned to the right, the other wing of the library, where Kanrel had never visited before. They walked down the corridor, now amongst fewer and fewer students and more professors and teachers. There was office space, rooms meant for professors, and much wider spaces with tables and such spread around for teachers.
They came to a halt after walking past multiple such rooms and past a set of stairs that would go up a level, where, no doubt, it would be just a continuation of what could be found on this level. Maybe the offices would be nicer, maybe the professors who worked at the higher levels would be more important, maybe they would have better qualifications or something like that. But that was, again, just what Kanrel assumed. For, if knowledge itself was placed upon a hierarchy within the Grand Library, then so would be those who studied and studied them.
What they now stood before was indeed a door, another somewhat complicated magical device of stone and engravings, which then would allow one to form something like a wall that could not be opened without activating it with some magic. Gar did just that; he then waltzed inside his little office…
Kanrel followed ahead but was instantly struck by this new sight of his friend. It was a mess. Papers and books everywhere; where there was a chair, it was instead made into another surface on which more books and papers could be stacked upon each other, just another place to store what could easily be managed and sorted in a way that would be logical and easily accessible. But of course not. It could not be so.
This was like taking a step into someone else's mind, a clear view of their habits. Perhaps one could make a conclusion based on what Kanrel saw now: the owner of this room wasn’t very organized; they were someone who had lots of different ideas and interests, and they probably didn’t have much time to clean or organize their working space, and perhaps even their own mind…
Kanrel stood still for a while and studied this view that transpired before him. But he did not place judgment upon it; only that it was different from how he himself did things. This mind was someone else's; he had his own. He didn’t need to claim this for himself and change it. It was perfect as it was. To someone else, it was orderly; to him, it was chaos. But one man's chaos was another's order.
Amusing.
The stone door formed itself together once more; bricks placed themselves upon each other, making the wall whole again and leaving no one the possibility to view what happens inside of someone else's order.
”Sit,” Gar urged Kanrel as he went around the books and papers that were seemingly everywhere; Gar found his chair on the other side of the table that had piles upon piles of random things on top of it; he then sat down and met Kanrel’s gaze.
”Oh…” He mouthed and blinked for a while, ”Where, indeed…” He scratched his head and then pointed at one of the two chairs that served as shelves for books. ”Just move those books to the side—doesn’t really matter where—and take a seat…”
”I apologize for the… mess?” He began, but he trailed off as if unsure what to apologize for; he then scoffed, ”Yes… A mess, indeed.”
Kanrel did as he was told and took a seat. ”Well then… What did you want to talk about?”
”No, wait! Let me guess… You want to ask me about the Sanctuary and what I learned there?”
Gar smiled, ”Well yes… But I would assume that you’re about to shatter my dreams with phrases like, ’I really can’t tell you much,’ and ’I don’t know how much I can tell you…’”
Kanrel gave no reply; he decided to let his silence speak for itself.
Gar sighed, ”How dull… Well, what can you tell me?” He asked instead.
Kanrel thought for a moment, ”They didn’t seem to like me being there that much, but I survived and learned what I wanted to learn nonetheless…”
”So, now you know what lies past the Veil?”
Kanrel shook his head. ”I do not. On the contrary, now I feel that I know even less about the Veil and what it entails… The answers I received… Well, they were more like a fragmented collection of knowledge with all the important parts missing and hidden behind more walls and held by people who really don’t want to share what they know…”
”It only made this much clear: I must enter the Veil myself.” Kanrel continued.
It was Gar’s turn to shake his head. ”I had feared as much… Can I talk you out of it?” He asked. They stared at each other for a while. Gar sighed, ”No?”
”No.”
Gar scoffed, ”I’m honestly not that surprised. This outcome is what I had most expected. After all, it was always the obvious outcome…”
”But even then, even if you must enter the Veil, I will demand one thing, and one thing only…” His eyes met Kanrel’s; the ocean, that is what it was. One, not so calm anymore, one filled with emotion; one so adamant, no man could deny them nor the words that would follow, ”It is the same one that I had made some years back… Try to live among us… So far, you haven’t tried such a thing; you’ve only locked yourself away and allowed only a few to find their way to you…”
”Only then will I allow you to court further with death. Only then will I fulfill the promise that I made back then… Only then will I help you, even if it means your death.”
The two looked at each other in the silence that followed. The waves crashed into the ocean of Gar’s eyes. There was a storm there. In the end, Kanrel sighed and even smiled a little. ”My destination is inevitable, but I will try; at least this much I owe the two of you.”
Gar nodded, ”Good.”
The atmosphere released itself from the knot of seriousness, and Gar smiled, ”Well then… Now you, can finally help me with this mess of mine… Look around; you see papers and books, but do you know what they are about?”
Kanrel sighed, ”I knew this was coming…” He muttered and placed his gaze on one of the papers; he squinted his eyes and read aloud, ”… the language has some inherent poetism within it, but what I find most curious is the use of euphemisms…” His voice trailed off, and he met Gar’s gaze once more; the Atheian had a wide grin on his face.
”Must we? Really?”
Gar’s grin widened. ”There are many hours ahead of us before ol’ Y’Kraun can free himself from the chains of work. To honor him, of course, we must.”
Kanrel sighed. He wanted to ask a question but did not; instead, he kept it to himself: Is this the living you were thinking of? But the answer was obvious… of course, it wasn’t what he meant, but at the same time it was. This, the somewhat dull jump into the study of language that Kanrel had taught Gar, was part of life as well. It was Gar’s passion, after all. And for those who could feel such emotion, passion was life itself.
He scoffed to himself as he prepared himself for the coming hours; he was reminded of a poem he had read long ago that suggested that one ought to ”be drunk.” Be it on wine, on poetry, or on virtue… perhaps anything and all that one could wish to be drunk upon.
This is what Gar wanted to be drunk on. This was his passion.