Adan’s food had remained untouched while Kian was conversing with the other leaders, but as the room emptied, he began wolfing his food down with renewed enthusiasm. It had been too long since his last proper breakfast.

Kian remained seated next to him, thoughtfully silent, and Hurst had taken a seat across the table from Kian as well. Adan looked around and saw Layla approaching, gently leading her aunt over to their table as well.

He stood up and embraced Layla as she approached.

“I just wanted to say hello this morning,” she said as she returned his embrace.

“I’m glad you did,” Adan replied, as he gestured for her to sit.

“I can’t stay long,” she said. “I have to get my auntie back to the hut where we are staying and get to my duties today. I’ve been helping the local chandler and tending the gardens in the north field with the others from the Island.”

“I’ll come see you later,” Adan said, before turning and giving Matilda a small bow. “Good to see you again, Matilda.”

The older lady looked up at Adan without saying a word. Adan saw confusion in her eyes as she glanced at him for a moment before looking down again.

Adan gave Layla a questioning look.

“The journey took a lot out of her,” Layla said in explanation. “She hasn’t said a word since we arrived.”

Layla continued smiling, but Adan could discern the grief behind her eyes. She was putting a good face on her aunt's deteriorating state.

Adan gave Layla an understanding smile. “Once I have time I’ll come find you and we can talk more.”

Layla nodded again, and Adan thought he saw her holding back tears. “That would be nice.”

Adan reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, which she returned before letting go and turning to leave. She escorted her aunt out of the hall, leaving Kian, Adan, and Hurst behind in the vast, empty chamber.

Hurst waited for many moments after Adan found his seat before finally speaking.

“You didn’t share everything that happened to you when you traveled to Undelma,” he said. There was no question in his voice. He knew there was more to their story.

Kian nodded.

“There are two ways through the Morkil,” Hurst continued. “The outer path, and the center one, which is more direct. You traveled through the center, didn’t you?”

Kian hesitated before nodding again.

Hurst let out a deep sigh. “So you’ve seen the Tree.”

“We certainly saw a tree,” Kian replied. “But I have a question for you.”

Hurst nodded to Kian, and gestured for him to continue.

“How did you get through the Morkill? Hugo seemed to think there were only three maps, one on Dias, one he carried, and the one Adan and I stole. Is there another map.”

Hurst shook his head. “I did not have a map.”

”Then how did you get to Undelma?”

Hurst crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I was led through.”

Kian paused before replying. “The Guardian?”

Hurst nodded. ”I understand why you didn’t mention him in your story.”

”Do you know what he is?” Adan asked.

“Not for certain, but he seems to be a remnant of an older age, when the Fae walked the earth in greater numbers.”

“You believe he’s Fae?” Kian asked.

“I have no other explanation. Many of the Fae were bound to certain places, charged with guarding them by the Creator, or cursed to wander alone whenever they rebelled.”

“And the tree he’s guarding,” Adan said, remembering the strange tone that emanated from the tree and reverberated through the cavern under the mountain.”What do you think it is?”

”That is more difficult to guess,” Hurst replied. “But it is very ancient. That much was clear.”

“Did you hear the sound coming out of the tree?” Kian asked.

Hurst nodded. “I have heard that sound and others like it many times in my life. That is easier to explain. Many of our order believe that the Maker created the world through song, and the Song of the Creator permeates our world and everything in it.”

“I have heard this before,” Kian said.

Hurst nodded. “The Creation is the Song of the Creator, the Instruments in his hands were the spirits that obeyed his every command, and we humans, made in His image, are the breath of his lips, the words from the mouth of the Maker himself. The Fae are the Instruments who sought to enter Creation and experience the Song as we do. I hold this belief. And we believe that there are places in the world where strands of the Song can still be heard: Remote corners, empty valleys, deep wells, and quiet forests. I believe the center of the Morkil is one of these places. But I don’t know what the Tree is, or why it is there.”

Adan’s mind reeled. He had seen the Tree is the dreams of his father, and his father had plucked the first notes of the same tone that had emanated from the Tree.

Why have I never heard of this before? He thought.

Memories of leaving the room every time a bard would start playing filled his mind, and Adan felt regret for having allowed his grief to prevent his education.

Kian sat thoughtfully silent before speaking. “Your answers have given me even more to think about. It can’t be a coincidence that the Morkil sits so close to Undelma.”

”I agree,” Hurst said. “But I have no notion of what the connection is.”

Adan cleared his throat. “I must confess, all this is new to me. I’ve never heard of the Song. I’ve heard mention of the Fae before but I thought they were simply referring to spirits.”

“They are spirits,” Hurst replied, “but they have taken on human form and live as humans do, only with the knowledge of beings far more powerful than us.”

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Hurst stood abruptly from the table. “I have something to show you both, something that every newcomer to this place has never heard of until they see it.”

”What is it?” Asked Kian, rising from his seat.

Adan stood up as Hurst began walking toward one of the side doorways. The two of them followed the bard as he meandered among the empty tables, leading them toward a door that sat opposite to the door they had entered by.

“There is a reason why we bards knew about this place long before Hugo began his invasion. This fortress is the home of something we hold very dear and until now, have protected very carefully.”

Another empty doorway led to another passage and a set of stairs, but these stairs led them down underneath the main hall. Lit torches sat in sconces on the wall, bathing the dark passage with orange light. The rough hewn walls and the sandy floor gave Adan the impression of a natural cave that twisted and turned underneath the citadel.

The passage zigzagged back and forth until Adan had lost his sense of direction. Thankfully, there was only one path, with no diverging caves or branching forks. Hurst remained silent as he led them on.

When at last they rounded a bend, Adan saw bright firelight ahead of them, illuminating the outline of an archway less than ten paces away. Intricate patterns had been carved into the columns of the archway, like vines of stone climbing up the sides surrounded by symmetrical shapes that Adan didn’t recognize.

As they passed under the arch, Adan looked around and his mouth opened in wonder.

They stood in a large, circular cavern with high ceilings, lit by blazing braziers that sat in the center of the floor. The bright flames bathed the smooth walls of the giant cavern in yellow, and also revealed the presence of eight other men in the chamber, most of them bards. The strangers stood close to the walls, gazing at them and leaning forward as if studying them.

Adan squinted, trying to discern the cause of their fascination. Understanding dawned as he began to make out carvings in the smooth rock wall.

Every inch of available space had been carved into the shapes of men and women, monsters and serpents, and images evoking vast cities, looming forests, and treacherous oceans. The hand chiseled shapes were still clear and sharp, formed by the hand of a master artisan rather than an amateur mason. The lines and curves had been chiseled carefully down to the finest detail.

Adan had never seen a creation that displayed so much skill and beauty.

“We call it the Bygone Wall,” Hurst explained. “Created over two centuries ago, and containing the history from the First Landings on the far eastern shores of Alvaro…” Hurst pointed at the closest section of wall on the left side.

“...Past the Scouring of the Land and Luxes the Conqueror…” he moved his hand from left to right, following the progression of stories depicted on the wall.

“...All the way to the founding of Esta, our history has been preserved here.”

“Who made this?” Kian asked, gazing at the images on the wall.

“We don’t know. Whoever created this cared more about passing their knowledge down than they cared about being remembered, for we don’t know who it was.”

Adan turned left and walked to where the first story was carved. Five single masted ships were carved together, four of them sailing through high waves and stormy waters and the last one making landfall.

Adan knew this story: The First Landings of men on Accenoah.

Past the landing ship, Adan saw images of men felling trees and building structures: First huts, then houses, then towns, cities, and great fortresses of stone. Adan knew this to be the settling of what was now the far east of Alvaro.

The progression of Accenoah’s history continued in this fashion. Adan saw prominent figures he did not know, emphasized with special designs, or carved larger than other figures of men. He saw images of battles, wars among the first inhabitants and burning towns and villages. He saw images of travelers and explorers, leaving tribulation and strife behind to go find a new home further west.

The Bygone Wall stretched on, covered in more stories and accounts of history that Adan had never heard of.

Governor Fagus’s words back on Enys Island rang in Adan’s ears: “History stretches back a great deal further than the founding of our little kingdom. Chapters and chapters are full of great nations rising and falling, and we are nothing but a page in one of those chapters. We have yet to outlive the great nations that came before us. I hope we do.”

Adan’s false confidence in the strength of Esta appeared far more absurd now. He had been so sure that Esta would never fall— could never fall.

If only I knew how childish I was, he thought.

Standing in that cavern, surrounded by Accenoah’s history, Adan felt small and helpless.

Kian had stood beside Adan, wordlessly admiring the carvings as they strolled. Now he turned and looked at Hurst.

“Is there anything in this wall about the Undelmans and their history?” He asked. “Do you know where they came from?”

Hurst’s brow furrowed. “Not exactly. They worship Sithril, and seek to communicate with his spirit, and Sithril was a man who lived once, but the Undelman’s themselves seem to have come from nowhere, although their practices go back centuries.”

Hurst led the two of them further ahead, passing centuries of history until they had passed more than a quarter of the wall.

They came to a place where a tall man was carved, almost life sized, standing over the body of a beheaded drynth with a broadsword in his hands. Many smaller figures of men were carved in the background with swords lifted in the air. Adan knew at once who this man was: Luxes the Conqueror, slayer of beasts and monsters and leader of the great Scouring of Accenoah. Adan’s lack of education was no match for the reputation Luxes had among the Estans.

“After Luxes and his followers had eradicated most of the ancient creatures that roamed this land, he sought to live peacefully in the western part of Accenoah, but Sithril, one of his close friends and fellow warriors, became bored and restless. He had become accustomed to the glory of battle and the adulation of the people who they liberated.”

Past the carving of Luxes was a smaller depiction of another man standing near Luxes’s followers, looking at an altar of stone. This warrior was thin and squint eyed, and his carved face held a cunning look.

“During the Scouring, Luxes and his followers were forced to fight with the Collvei, the original inhabitants of the northwest. These people worshiped some of the monsters that Luxes sought to destroy. They believed that by sacrificing the lives of their people to these creatures, they would be kept at bay. More than that, they believed these monsters could control the weather and the health of the soil where their crops grew, so they sought to please them with offerings of human life.”

”Coralyd,” Kian said, before spitting on the ground.

Hurst nodded. “Yes. Coralyd is a Collvei word. Luxes sought to put a stop to these wicked practices. Many of the Collvei joined his ranks after he defeated their gods and won their loyalty, but a small fraction remained true to their old ways.”

The next carving showed Sithril, holding a cup and pouring something into the drink.

“By questioning the Collvei warriors who had joined Luxes’s ranks, Sithril was able to discover a method that would summon more of the evil creatures they had fought, a ritual that would call them to whoever performed it. But the ritual required a sacrifice of many souls to perform, so Sithril poisoned the cups of the Collvei warriors who had confided this information to him. In this manner, he sought to perform the ritual, and also silence the only voices that could betray him to Luxes.”

Adan stopped when he saw the next carving. An explosion of indistinguishable shapes and patterns sat below the image of Sithril poisoning the cup. Adan saw clawed arms and beastly legs emerging from the symbol. He saw many catlike eyes and gaping mouths full of teeth.

Hurst remained silent as they looked at the strange depiction.

“What is that?” Kian asked at length.

When Hurst finally answered, he spoke slowly and deliberately. “That is the horde of hell. When Sithril performed the ritual by murdering a great number of Collvei, he did not summon the beasts he expected. Something else appeared. If it has a name, we don’t know it, and we don’t want to.”

Hurst let out a deep sigh and moved forward to the next carving, an image of Sithril kneeling over five bodies. Four of the bodies were small, like the bodies of children.

“Death followed in that creature’s wake,” Hurst continued. “No one could stand against it. No one could defeat it. The hellish entity wreaked havoc on the Luxes' followers, until finally it came to Sithril’s family. The traitor watched as the monstrous being he had summoned killed his own wife and children. But in all the destruction and killing, the horde never touched Sithril, or caused him bodily harm. He was left to live.”

The last image of Sithril showed the slender man standing on top of the altar with a knife pointed at his chest.

“In a final act of wicked despair, Sithril committed his last murder. In all of recorded history, he was the first man to end his own life in this way. When the deed was done, the thing he summoned vanished from this world, joining Sithril in his eternal home.”

Adan sighed, releasing a breath he had been holding for some time.

“This is the man that the Undelman’s celebrate?” Kian asked. ”That certainly explains much.”

Hurst nodded. “I would be willing to guess that their interpretation of these events is very different from ours. I would expect them to believe he summoned and controlled the creature from the pit. Either way, their devotion to this murderer has made them like him, or worse. And now all of Esta has suffered from theat devotion. What can we do against such demented bloodlust?”

Kian’s jaw tightened. “Kill them,” he said through gritted teeth. “Kill every last one of them.”