Airi peeked through the window of a motorcar. What used to look like the library, appeared to change into a city of tall, crystalline structure in shades of deep pink to purple. Everything around the crystals appeared to erode or decay, be that scaffoldings constructed to study symbols carved into them, local flora, or multilevel highways built around them.

"These, are the crystals of Erysium. They were transported here from their homeland, to be studied, but it proved to be a burdensome effort. Everything in vicinity of Erysium is a subject to accelerated ruin." - The archivist explained as he steered the wheel. - "The ships that transported them, malfunctioned and died, potentially irreversibly, what lead to the formation of the graveyard known as the Hermits' trail. We've also tried to use teleportation circles, but their energy often faded and spells misfired, moving crystals to random locations, often in deep space..."

As the archivist explained, the car's engine started emitting smoke and making a loud, rattling noise. The machine gradually slowed down, until it stopped.

The archivist exited the vehicle and didn't bother to check what was under the hood. He just called Airi, saying - "We will have to walk."

Airi was anxious. - "Is it... safe?"

"No, not really, but Erysium affects living beings at a slower pace, so we should only experience minor inconveniences like hair loss or flaky skin."

"...I don't want my hair to fall out!"

"You'll grow them back. I promise."

"Mmm, no, no, no. I won't go!"

"You have to."

"Why!? This is my expedition!"

"The circumstances had changed. To secure our future, you have to learn."

"It's not fair!"

"The life isn't fair. You should already know it better than most of us."

"I won't move!"

"If you can't make hard choices, then you'll never be ready to face Horegon."

Airi hesitated for a second. - "...then promise me that what I learn here will help to destroy them!"

"Look around you! This power, when controlled, could guard all of the realms!"

"I don't care! I only want Horegon to die!"

"...yet you can't stand a few of your hair to fall out? Where is your resolve!?"

Airi put her foot down, angrily puffing her cheeks, but said nothing.

"Good." - The archivist commented. - "The center is not far to the north. Once we're there, you'll know."

Airi reluctantly followed the archivist, who tried to set a fast pace. They had to climb down a collapsed section of a highway, all the way to the fundaments, then walk until arrival at the bottom of a colossal crystal. A large section of it had been removed and replaced by a wall of disintegrating, rusty lockers. Many of the doors loosely hung down, no longer guarding the contents, and inside them was mostly dust.

The archivist removed what appeared to be a rough shape of head or helmet, sculpted out of Erysium.

"Touch it." - He asked.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Airi extended her hand, then rested it on the scalp.

"This, is a skull of a Deathless." - The archivist explained. - "They're an order of knights and kings who attained the first step to immortality with the use of Erysium, but at the same time, they forsook their mind and soul, subjecting them to eternal decay into despair and madness. Every Deathless resides on a throne connected to their ship, where they become one with its body. No other crew is necessary or wanted. It's possible to read their memories, but doing so might allow the Deathless to consume your mind and replace it."

Airi retracted a hand, scared.

"Good, be scared. For this one, is still alive, just the same as its brethren and sisters." - He then placed the purple skull back in the locker. - "You, with your knowledge, are incapable of accessing even the surface of what resides there, but Deathless were once an empire that ruled the vast majority of the planes, which fell, in pursuit of false immortality. Their flagship, named Galhaadar, is a tomb of once their greatest ruler, currently a ghost of what he used to be, as grim and silent as many of his vassals."

The archivist closed the locker and continued. - "Deathless are a very territorial, but small faction and it's impossible for them to increase their numbers. They're spread across the realms, ceaselessly guarding the secrets of their old kingdom. Galhaadar was the first who obtained the status of one of the twelve, precisely for their invention of phylacteries, which are the basis of modern replacement bodies. The records here describe the process of their assemblage. I urge you, when I am no longer here, to aim to construct yourself one. It'll be an arduous process, requiring vast expertise and materials from the outer planes, but it's the only way to escape death, and death is the only way to escape the witch and the fastest way to free yourself from a prison dimension."

"Now..." - The archivist combed through his long beard, his falling hairs were stuck between his fingers. - "...only the records of Salvation remain."

[ . . . ]

At last, Airi and the archivist arrived at the final wing of the archive. They passed through a corridor with smooth, white walls, where shelves in the shape of honeycombs were situated. On each, were rolls of stainless manuscripts.

At the end of a hall, two statues of eldritch, angelic entities were standing, each with gilded accessories. Their entire body was smooth, round, and curvy, and lacked detailed organs, such as eyes, fingernails, or hair.

The archivist explained as they walked past. - "They're the Salvation. Creatures made of light, with only one mission, to bring redemption to us, sinners. They're religious fanatics, who purge those sins in a holy flame. None seems immune to it, so it equals death. Their true origin is unknown, but they came from beyond the boundary of the unknown, through a dimensional rift."

The archivist and Airi crossed an archway and entered a hemispherical room with seven other statues at the wall, and one in the center.

"Who is that?" - Airi asked, pointing at the middle figure.

The white shape had a torso consisting of two floating pieces, both in triangular shapes, connected by cables of light, with a long cape behind the chest section. Its head was like an oscillating pulsar, surrounded by a double, crossing golden halo. It had six wings, with feathers of concentrated aqua blue light, resembling jets in the shape of knives. Its both arms were three thick lines of light, passing through three golden bracelets below the armpit and two at the wrists. The entire figure was surrounded by golden orbs, with long stripes of black fabric hanging below them.

"It's their patriarch." - The archivist spoke. - "One who led the initial invasion, and was defeated by the witch."

"...so, their faction is without a leader?"

"No, he was merely an inferior, an admiral of the reconnaissance unit. There is no end to Salvation, unless we manage to close the rift. Every time they're defeated, more of their ships come, with improved weapons and sturdier shields."

The archivist seemed to ignore the statues and gestured Airi to keep on moving. They approached the wall and although there was not the slightest sign of the door, it opened, revealing a larger room, parallel to the last one, but with thrice as many statues. On its floor, were four golden rings. The archivist approached the middle one and a cylindrical platform emerged. He pressed a large round button on the front and a model of ship materialized, floating in a forcefield.

"Currently, this ship is their biggest threat. It's called 'Paragon'."

The ship had a smooth and sleek shape, as curvy and round as most of Salvation's people. Its three engines were surrounded by two gold rings and the front was in a pointy, slightly oval shape. Behind the oval, the ship's hull was getting thinner, until its width returned to standard size at the rear. Below the ship, were two guns with golden barrels and slanted muzzles.

"What's so special about it?" - Airi asked.

"It's immune to most of the magic, including heresy-class spells, and its 'golden spears' melt through the nightmares. The witch's wishes can't affect Paragon, she has to send conventional fleets to deal with their endless onslaught. Currently, it's a stalemate, but that's only because her forces are focused on Möbius Syndicate."

The archivist stopped abruptly, checking his hourglass. - "It's time." - He muttered to himself, then turned to the child. - "Airi."

"Mmm. Yes?"

"You know enough to prove to anyone that you're from the archive. I'm sending you to the Academy, warn them that they are Jesters' target, and return safely."

"...but ...you always told me that I'm not ready to leave."

"You are not, but we're in great peril."

"I... I can do that."

"Good." - The archivist took out a gun, then aimed it at Airi's skull. - "This, is a goodbye."

"Wait!" - Airi shouted in panic. - "What are you doing!?"

"This is the fastest method of travel. You'll wake up in an old replacement body of mine."

"Please... no!. What If the phylactery is damaged!?"

"Airi, I'm sorry, but I'm willing to take that risk."

The trigger was pulled and Airi's skull burst, splattering brain matter and blood on the white floor.

"Oh... did it work?" - The archivist looked at the smoke coming from a barrel. - "I hope so, losing another apprentice like this would be a shame.."