29 – Research
It turned out that Grace could read faster than a normal person, but more importantly, she remembered just about anything she ran her eyes across. While it was helpful, it was also a little irritating when Ward would start to read a page and make it about three sentences into the first paragraph before she’d say, “Turn the page.” This went on for a while, and Ward got frustrated to the point where he tried to tune out, but Grace couldn’t read the words if he didn’t focus on them at least briefly.
After nearly an hour with the religious text from an organization called The Order of Arcadian Transference, Grace sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know about this. It’s filled with parables and anecdotes—stories that, frankly, mirror most of the major religions of Earth. Nothing seems grounded in practice, but I just read a section that mentioned ‘anima hearts,’ which is a first.”
“What?” Ward’s interest was piqued, and he scanned through the page. “Where?”
“Here,” Grace pointed and traced the words as she read, “it says, ‘…no grasping talons of the nether creatures could restrain his spirit, for his anima heart burned with such light that the shadows recoiled, their forms unraveling as if cast into the noonday sun. With each pulse of his heart, the air trembled, and the weight of his will became more than they could bear. Thus, with his foes scattered and wailing in the void, he stretched forth his hand, and the gateway to salvation opened before him…”
“Was he dying? Is this the story of someone moving on from this reality?”
“It’s more like a salvation story. A ‘savior’ type who defied death to deliver his people. Honestly, I don’t know how much help anything we read in this book is going to be. I guess it’s helpful in that those are the first written words we’ve found that mention an anima heart. Still—”
“I think our time is better spent looking at bloodlines. I mean, if anima and anima hearts are the purview of obscure religions, at least in this town, we might have to study that topic as we progress through the, uh, Vainglory worlds.”
“Right. So, let’s look at that one.” Grace pointed to a much narrower book with gilded lettering on the binding that read, “Cooper’s Anatomy of Bloodlines.”
Ward nodded and picked up the book, flipping through it. He wasn’t sure what language it had originally been written in, but it looked like flowery English to him, thanks to Grace’s gift of tongues. To his surprise and delight, it was broken into clearly titled sections, each one outlining, as far as he could tell, a different bloodline. “What the hell?” he muttered, flipping through several pages until he came to a section labeled “Lycan.” With a mouth rapidly drying, Ward began to read through the lengthy entry:
> I once believed, as many do, that the lycanthrope was a creature of singular identity: the werewolf, a beast bound to the moon’s sway and the haunting cry of the hunt. This belief was shattered one fateful night in the catacombs beneath Tarnish, for as you know by now, I make my living and fund my writing career by delving into the depths of Vainglory’s challenges. In those catacombs, I encountered not a wolf but something far more cunning, far more insidious—a wererat. It was not the creature’s appearance, though grotesque, that struck me. No, it was its behavior: the way it slinked and chittered in the darkness, its small, needle-like teeth bared in a grin that bespoke malice rather than mindless savagery. Where the werewolf is a force of nature, the wererat is nature’s guile—a predator not of strength but of wit and shadow.
>
> That night, as I escaped with barely my life intact (and a ragged scar across my calf as a permanent reminder), I began to question the nature of this bloodline. Were these creatures not kin to the wolf-beast? Could they not, perhaps, share a common source, some primal origin that transcends their outward forms? My inquiries led me to stories from across the many worlds—tales of werebears in the snowbound reaches, weretigers stalking the dense jungles of Springsea, and, though I confess to skepticism, whispered accounts of weregators in the sodden ruins of the Gravelwash Estuary.
>
> What I have come to believe is this: the lycan bloodline is not merely one beast but all beasts. It is a primordial force, an echo of nature’s will, lying dormant within the blood of those it chooses—or curses. Its manifestation depends on the host, their environment, and the stories buried deep in their blood. A human born in the highlands, with the cold winds in their lungs and the roar of the bear in their spirit, may find the bloodline awakening as a werebear. Conversely, a child of the city gutters, surrounded by filth and the relentless struggle for survival, might awaken as a wererat. The bloodline adapts, as all predators do, to its surroundings.
>
> Ah, but not all who carry the lycan blood are doomed to the transformation. For many, the beast slumbers, an uneventful inheritance that passes from one generation to the next, unseen and unnoticed. In fact, most who have this animal nature in their blood will never even realize it. It’s only those who find a way to awaken the bloodline and bring it to the fore who might experience the pull. Such awakening can happen naturally—a response to a threat combined with the proper stimuli. Some, however, seek to force the awakening, engaging in rituals or magical stimulation.
>
> Those awakened find their lives irrevocably altered. Their senses sharpen, their strength grows, and the beast within begins to whisper. The greatest challenge, then, is control. Many succumb to the bloodline’s call, becoming little more than feral shadows of their former selves, slaves to the pull of the hunt. Yet a rare few—those with an iron will or remarkable training—master the beast, turning it from tormentor to ally. These are the lycan-blooded who stand tall, feared yet respected, their duality a source of strength.
>
> There are those who use other bloodlines to balance the powerful urges of their Lycan nature, awakening and strengthening a counter bloodline to contend with the beast within. Such a path is fraught with peril, however, for some bloodlines will amplify the beast rather than temper it. As you know, I have delved into many an ancient challenge, and I’m well aware of the “refinement” potions that promise to call forth the bloodlines that lie hidden in a person’s ancestry. Walk that road with caution, for once embarked, it may be that the only pathway to sanity is forward, deeper into the blood.
>
> It is this scholar’s well-informed opinion that once a person with a lycan bloodline has begun to awaken their heritage, there are but two possible outcomes: enhanced control and harmony with their inner beast, or a loss of self and, inevitably, torment and doom.
Ward sat back, releasing the book and clenching his fists as his frown grew so heavy that his jaw popped as he ground his teeth, exhaling a slow, rumbling growl through his nose. “Wonderful,” he grunted.
“Ward, take what this man wrote with a grain of salt. It’s all hearsay. It reads like an old-timey travelogue. It doesn’t have any practical details. If he’d ever met a werewolf or other creature besides running from one wererat, he’d have useful information. What’s going to happen to you tonight? How will you know what kind of were-creature you are? Is it a good sign that you didn’t murder anyone as you ran through town? Does the full moon mean anything to you? Does silver? This feels like something written to scare rich girls before they sleep at night but not to provide any real answers.”
Ward grunted and nodded, picking up the book again and flipping through the pages until he recognized another heading: Celestial.
> The celestials are revered across continents and cultures, the mere mention of their lineage evoking awe and reverence. To claim descent from the celestial is to claim a fragment of the angelic. These individuals are said to possess a radiance that cannot be extinguished, a light that shines brightest in the darkest of times.
>
> My studies, arduous though they were, led me to the observation of a supposed celestial child in the city of Argenta on Brighthome. The boy’s silver eyes shimmered as though the moon resided within them. More remarkable still was his ability to heal wounds not with salves or sutures but with a touch, as if channeling the very essence of life. Such accounts align with the broader narrative of the celestial bloodline as one of compassion and intervention. However, do not mistake these beings for benevolent deities—they are as fallible as any mortal, and their powers, though perhaps divine in origin, are limited by the vessel that contains them.
>
> Be warned if you harbor a hint of the celestial in your blood: the light may blind, and the purity may alienate. Those who walk among us, too perfect for the world, often find themselves hunted by those who envy or fear their gifts—or seek to oppose them.
“Jesus,” Ward grunted, reading the final “warning.”
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“Do you think her eyes are that way because of her bloodline?” Grace hummed softly, clearly lost in thought, as she tapped her finger over the description.
Ward nodded, picturing Haley’s silvery eyes. “Maybe. Maybe her, uh, death woke it up a little. The hemograph says she has ‘celestial echoes,’ which sounds like more than ‘traces,’ don’t you think?”
Grace nodded. “Find the entry for infernal.” Ward knew what she was thinking. If celestial had to do with the “divine,” what would Cooper say about “infernal?” If the choice for Haley was between evil and good—Ward shook his head. Divine didn’t necessarily mean good. This wasn’t Earth, and they weren’t talking about modern religions. If you looked at religions throughout history, there were plenty of examples of “divine” beings doing awful things. He found what he was looking for near the back of the book:
> Infernal bloodlines, my dear reader, are the most insidious of all, for they are born of shadow and fire, their veins coursing with the essence of the damned…
“Oh, goddammit.” Ward thumped his fist on his forehead, his heart suddenly aching with worry for Haley.
“Ward!” Grace moved around behind him and began to knead his shoulders. “Remember what we said about this book? It’s not necessarily factual. I’d say its only value is that it at least mentions the different bloodlines, so we’re not completely operating in the dark. Let’s see what ‘aetherborn’ is.”
Ward nodded, eager to turn the page away from the lengthy diatribe about the evils of the infernal bloodline. It took him a couple of minutes to find the entry in question, but when he did, he found his nerves calming as he slowly read through it:
> The aetherborn are, without question, the most enigmatic of all the bloodlines I have cataloged. To observe them is to glimpse a spark of the otherworldly—the essence of realms beyond and between mortal comprehension. An aetherborn’s mana does not merely glow; it dances, a flickering mirage of light and shadow that defies supernatural laws. Standing near an aetherborn will reveal a charged presence, as though the air itself bends to accommodate their impossible nature.
>
> Legends claim that aetherborn are children of the stars or, more precisely, the space between stars—between the material plane and those beyond the veil. Their ancestors were beings who crossed the boundary between worlds. Whether truth or poetic fancy, the fact remains: their gifts with mana and, thus, the words of power are nothing short of miraculous. They walk untouched where mortal feet would falter, and they speak words that ripple through reality itself as if carried on unseen winds.
>
> Beware the arrogance that walks hand in hand with such power. The connection to the beyond comes at a cost. Many an aetherborn has been consumed by the energies that empower them, leaving behind nothing but a shell inhabited by mad whispers and flickering afterimages of a power that has long faded.
“I’m beginning to see a pattern,” Ward snorted.
“Yes, Cooper loves his dire warnings, doesn’t he?”
“Well, if I were going to take anything away from his book, it would be that we want Haley to improve her celestial bloodline and not her infernal one.”
Grace nodded. “I’d agree with that, but primarily because of the corruption. It sounds like a celestial bloodline would help purify her spirit or soul. Are they the same thing, I wonder?”
“We’ve had that talk,” Ward sighed. “We don’t know.” He pointed to the thick religion text. “And books like this aren’t going to give us the answers we want.”
“Well, if infernal bloodlines are a tenth as bad as Cooper makes them sound, I think a generic bloodline potion is too risky for Haley. We have to find a way to help her awaken the right one.”
“Yeah, whereas I’m already fucked.” Ward folded his arms, straining the seams on his jacket as he quite literally pouted.
“No, you’re not! For one thing, you already seem to have some good control over yourself. You got stressed and growled, sure, but you’re not ripping people’s throats out or howling or sprouting fangs. I mean, yeah, you did that, but it was when you first took the bloodline refinement.”
“Yeah, but what happens when the moon comes out?” Ward gestured to the pile of books. “I think what our time here has shown me is that I’m not going to find the answers I want here. I mean, not in this library. All this did was stress me out. Should I take the second bloodline potion or not? If you listen to Cooper, I probably should. He said the only way to avoid doom is to really awaken the bloodline and gain control over it.”
“That’s not all he said.” Grace continued to rub her thumbs into the meat of Ward’s shoulder muscles. “He said that another bloodline could help balance out the lycan one. We already know you have traces of aetherborn, and that sounds pretty good overall.”
“And ‘unknown,’” Ward sighed. “Don’t forget the unknown one.” He pushed the Cooper book aside and picked up another one that had interested him—The Secrets of the Blood. He began to thumb through it, and Grace leaned over his shoulder, reading along with him. To his delight, she didn’t push him to hurry up, and Ward took his time, reading through several sections until he came to a general passage about improving bloodlines:
> Bloodlines aren’t unlike other attributes that your trusty hemograph can quantify for you. They can conflict with and balance each other, and they all have qualities that might be just the missing piece of the puzzle in your desire for power. Most people have more than one bloodline in their ancestry. It’s simply a matter of teasing it out of the hidden structures in one’s blood and marrow. Whatever the case, whatever ancient secrets lie in the mysterious red soup that flows through your veins, it’s rarely a mistake to bring them forth. Humanity is a bland course watered down by thousands of years of safe interbreeding. Dig deep! Find the primordial sauce that will add flavor and character to your recipe!
“This guy was a character,” Grace said, leaning her chin on Ward’s shoulder. “What was his name?”
Ward flipped to the front pages but couldn’t find the author’s name mentioned anywhere. “I don’t know, but at least he had a positive outlook.”
“Does he have sections on different bloodlines?”
“Let’s see,” Ward slowly turned the pages, giving Grace time to see all the text. “Will you remember all this?”
“Yes, as long as I keep it fresh in my mind. In ten or twenty years, if we don’t talk about this topic regularly, I’ll struggle to recall it all.”
“Pretty damn cool, Grace.”
Grace pressed her cheek against his jawline, basically hugging his face with hers. “I know you’re stressed out, Ward, but we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
Ward felt a flush of warmth in his chest, and he leaned into the touch. “Thanks.” As much as he’d complained about her when he’d first been saddled with her, Ward was finding that it was nice to know he always had someone with him, someone going through everything he was going through. He turned the page again and froze; a hand-drawn image of a hulking beast that couldn’t be anything other than a werewolf dominated the page. He began to read the text on the opposite page.
> The lycan is perhaps the most famous of the primordial bloodlines. The most common, most well-storied being the werewolf. The werewolf stands apart as a paragon of strength, resilience, and tenacity. Unlike the grim tales that often accompany their kind, a lycanthrope who has embraced his or her heritage can transcend the crude imagery of a mindless beast. Indeed, the lycan bloodline has the potential to elevate its bearer into a figure of legend—a protector of the weak, an untiring sentinel, and a being of indomitable will.
>
> Lycanthropes often stand as a bulwark, protecting the civilized from the terrors they’ve grown too soft to face on their own. True, the lycan will always reflect the nature of the man or woman who has unleashed their bloodline, but there is nothing inherently evil about the melding of man and beast. As noted, those lycans who learn to control their nature generally exhibit more heroic natures than villainous.
>
> Control, then, is paramount, and it is achieved through two primary methods: the refinement of one’s bloodline and the cultivation of one’s anima heart. As has been proven through countless studies, a strong anima heart lends to the will of the bearer and will is the key to control of a lycan’s inner beast. Bloodline refinement, often facilitated through alchemical elixirs or ancestral rituals, allows the lycan’s dormant potential to bloom fully, granting the bearer not only greater power but also a deeper connection to their primal nature.
>
> The anima heart, then, is the bridge between man and beast. A strong anima heart can anchor the soul, preventing the bloodline from overwhelming the mind. Beyond the cultivation of a strong anima heart, other practical methods can lead to enhanced control—meditative focus, controlled transformations during periods of low stress, or even combat training designed to harness the lycan’s unique traits.
>
> It must be said that the lycan is a creature of balance. While solitary predators are known, the bloodline that awakens the predatory nature in the man—or woman—thrives on the presence of bonds, whether to family, allies, or a broader cause. A lycan driven by purpose is a force of nature, whereas one adrift risks being consumed by the ferocity that makes them strong. In this, the lycan serves as a metaphor for human nature: strength is greatest when tempered by love, and power is most enduring when used for the benefit of others.
“I like this, Ward,” Grace breathed, tracing the final lines with her finger.
“Yeah,” Ward smiled, gently setting the text on the table. “Whoever this author was, I like him a lot better than Cooper.”
“I think it was a lady.” Grace reached out to trace the title stitched into the leather.
“Why?”
“Just a hunch. She was careful to say ‘men and women’ a couple of times, and, well, just the tone makes me think it.”
“She mentioned anima hearts.”
Grace nodded, squeezing his shoulders. “Yep! Another clue for us! It sounds like it’s accepted that someone can ‘cultivate’ their anima heart, so wouldn’t it stand to reason that you would do that by, I don’t know, gathering anima?” She moved around the chair to lean against the table and look Ward in the eyes. “Are you going to drink the bloodline potion?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ll wait until morning, you know, to see if I do something crazy tonight, but I think I will.” Ward pointed to a section of the text they just read. “Bloodline refinement leads to more control, not less.”
“That’s the takeaway from both Cooper and this anonymous author, yeah.” She smiled. “I feel like we have more questions than when we started, but I also feel like we didn’t exactly waste our time here.”
Ward yawned and stretched, grunting as his neck and shoulders popped several times. “Yeah, but we need to get to the next world. I’m sure there are more books on this planet, but I think it will be a lot faster to move up to the next world than to try to find the better books on this one.”
“Have you had enough research for today, then?”
“Yeah.” Ward pushed his chair back, standing with a final nod. “Let’s go buy a new jacket and then find Haley. I am starving.”