The situation had spiraled out of hand faster than Fwen would have liked. She had been carefully laying out her plans, yet Verina was about to throw it all away for the sake of bloodshed. Her gaze turned to the Monarch, his mouth agape at the scene that unfolded before him.
“Salvage this, now,” the floating orb of Netot spoke to her. “We need to ensure that those tomes are opened by the end of the night.”
Fwen ran through eight different plans in her head, then opted to go with the simplest of them all. “Your Majesty,” Fwen called as she pushed her seat back. “Tensions are clearly high amongst us right now, and I believe it’s because we’re all so anxious to get our tomes. The magical energy in this castle is much unlike anything we’ve experienced before and it’s quite overwhelming, to say the least.”
Monarch Mivano stroked his beard. “A part of me understands the nerves. You are, without a doubt, being asked to handle something far greater than most people would even have to consider in their lives. It’s only natural to remain in a state of uncertain turmoil until you know what the gods ask of you. That said, a number of you have shown me great reason to be wary of extending out such power. I do not want to be the one bearing the guilt of what may happen by giving it to those who simply are not ready to wield it.”
“Tell him that he knows what will happen if he doesn’t,” Netot ordered.
Fwen wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she knew better than to question. “No. Instead, you will be the one to bear the guilt of what will happen if you don’t, Your Majesty. We both know that.”
The Monarch furrowed his brow and a look of subdued anger crossed his face. He placed his goblet down and stood up from the throne. Silban immediately rushed to his side and knelt while the rest of the Tomekeepers looked at one another, trying to gauge if anyone else knew what was going on. Fwen remained perfectly still.
“I can taste the fear wafting from him,” Netot growled.
“Very well, then,” The Monarch said softly. He tapped Silban on the shoulder and gestured for the Tomekeepers to come closer. “We will descend down to the sacred vault, home of the twelve tomes of Lidaesea. Come along, and do not prove my fears correct.”
Monarch Mivano moved around to the back of the throne and unsheathed an arming sword with a white, jewel-encrusted hilt. Gold lined the blade’s edges. He turned it upside down in his hands and slid it diagonally into the back of the throne. The ground shuddered and quaked.
Fwen felt the excitement build within her, but couldn’t tell if it was Netot’s or her own. The throne began to glow with a blinding yellow light. Fwen shielded her eyes with her hand. She was just a few moments away from the ultimate power she craved. The throne spun around in a slow circle to reveal a spiraling staircase leading deep into the ground. The Monarch entered without another word, followed by Silban and the remaining Celenians.
Reveticus was the first to leave from the table. As the others started to join, an unusual feeling bubbled in the pit of Fwen’s stomach. Fear. Specifically, the fear of having to embrace destiny. If her future wasn’t what she wanted or expected, there was no way to turn back. All she could do was try her best to see her plans through.
Fwen ascended the stairs and reached the edge of the staircase. She looked down into the cavernous, inky tunnel, lit only by the miniscule balls of candlelight that bounced toward the bottom. The dark called to her. She took her first step down the staircase, and embraced the shadows.
The walk down seemed to last for an eternity, marked only by the occasional cough or scuff of a boot. Fwen guessed that the other Tomekeepers were just as nervous about slipping off of a step and falling into the pit below as she was. Netot’s orb floated next to her, it's weightless form hanging over the depths, as if mocking her. A tiny light at the bottom grew more luminous with each passing step, and the Celenians - along with the Monarch and Silban - had gathered into a waiting crowd.
Fwen reached the bottom, glad to be on solid ground once more. The Monarch waited for Zall and Ramji behind her, then pressed his sword against the limestone wall in front of them. It rippled, then dissipated to reveal the obsidian door of a vault.
“Obsidian? Mined from Hilaster’s Peak, no doubt,” Fwen heard Zall mumble from behind her.
The vault opened with a loud whoosh of air that shot past the group. Inside, a massive library composed of mahogany bookshelves stretched from the floor to the vaulted ceiling and as far back as Fwen could see. Circular shards of crystal floated around between the bookshelves and against the walls in matching intervals to provide a source of light. In the library’s center was a rounded platform centered around a stone statue of all twelve gods.
As the group moved further into the library and toward the platform, Fwen caught sight of a handful of glass cases running along the room’s sides. Weapons and armor of previous Tomekeepers, like the axe of Quifad and the helm of Binavi, were nestled safely on the other side. It was a whole sanctum dedicated to the Tomekeepers of the past.
“Do you feel it? That intoxicating pull of dark magic?” Netot asked her.
‘I feel more than that,’ Fwen thought in response, concerned the others would hear her if she answered aloud. ‘It’s like I can feel everyone’s magic. The flow of different forms of power.’
The twelve types of magic vibrated through her in their own unique patterns. Every particle in her body buzzed rapidly, victims of the intense energy around her. She spotted Tuvhe alone at the group’s fringe and made her way over to him.
“Laying out more plans, Tomekeeper?” Netot inquired.
‘Crafting back ups, if need be,’ Fwen corrected.
Fwen sashayed over to Tuvhe and peered over his shoulder. “It’s all so beautiful, isn’t it? The magic in the air and the pieces of our past assembled before us?”
Tuvhe shuddered slightly as the chilled air of death crept up upon him. “I see what you’re trying to do, Fwen. It may work on Kliev, and many others, but rest assured when I say I will not fall for your ways.”
Fwen circled around him and stared him down with a look of displeasure. “Hmph. I thought the Adjudicarum were supposed to be men of chivalry. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Fwen departed to the other end of the statue as the Monarch made his way to the front of the group. He turned at the statue’s base and looked at each of the individual Tomekeepers. Tuvhe could feel Silban’s gaze burning through him from behind, but opted to pay him no mind.
‘The only one here worthy of judging others is myself,’ Eslen crowed. ‘And you, keeper, by extent. The rest will learn very, very soon.’
Monarch Mivano tapped his sword against the base of the statue, which lowered with a resounding clunk. Hidden inside were twelve crystalline chests, each containing an ancient-looking text. Tuvhe felt his chest tighten. Seeing the tomes in person was like living in a vivid dream. The Celenians formed a line, grabbed a chest and met up with each of the different Tomekeepers. Coltiel brought Tuvhe’s chest up to him, grasped tightly in both hands.
“Please form a circle, Tomekeepers,” the Monarch instructed. “We must perform the unsealing ceremony.”
The group spread out into a circle in front of the statue as ordered. Tuvhe analyzed the expressions of the other Tomekeepers: fear, worry, excitement, and malice. Coltiel opened the chest and pulled out Tuvhe’s tome. As he placed it in Tuvhe’s hands, the latter couldn’t help but feel that the book itself was eerily light. Despite its immense size, closer to an atlas than a normal book, it weighed no more than a singular piece of parchment. It was almost as if its physical form didn’t truly exist. The ice-colored leather-bound surface was worn, the etchings on it faded by time. Tuvhe cracked the book open and peered down into it’s pages.
Blank. Every single one.
“I see the concern on many of your faces,” the Monarch stated. “Worry not. Only by assembling all twelve Tomekeepers and using their combined magical energy can the tomes be read. Please, place your hand on your tomes and channel your powers.”
Tuvhe held the tome in his left hand and placed his right on top of the yellowed pages. He felt an instant connection to the deep magical energy surging within. It beat against the barrier of the tome, like a caged animal longing to be released.
‘Say it,’ Eslen commanded. ‘Now.’
Tuvhe took a deep breath. “Xera.”
A ribbon of light poured out of the pages and into the middle of the circle, followed by more as the rest of the Tomekeepers followed suit. The ribbons blended and swirled, creating a whirlpool of colors that rose into the air. Suddenly, it sputtered and the ribbons unraveled into threads.
“What happened?” Yonni asked.
“It would seem that we were unsuccessful in our attempt to unseal,” Ramji noted.
“I’ve never heard of this happening before,” the Monarch stated. “Not once in all of the unsealing ceremonies thus far has it been unsuccessful.”
‘Fraud,’ Eslen called out from within Tuvhe’s mind. ‘Lying filth.’
Tuvhe looked around to see who Eslen was referring to when Silban let out a guttural howl from behind Reveticus. The latter stumbled forward, then swiveled in surprise.
“No,” Reveticus muttered. “I was trying so hard. No! It should have been me!”
Silban grabbed his head and fell to his knees. His wings stretched out to their maximum length. “Make it stop!” He begged. “Please! The voices. The pain. I can’t handle it!”
Yonni moved to help, but the Celenian beside her held out an arm.
“The pain! Someone plea- Tomekeepers!” His voice shifted into a higher, metallic pitch. Golden light flooded his eyes. Tuvhe knew Silban was no longer in control of himself. The sheer magnitude of magical energy that flooded the room dulled all of Tuvhe’s senses. Ghantei had arrived. “You have gathered. Welcome, all. Let us break the cycle once more.”
The tome flew out of Irada’s hand and onto the floor in front of him. The pages fluttered, then the gray ribbon materialized once more. It slithered into the whirlpool like it had before, this time joined by the golden thread of Ghantei’s light. Irada couldn’t believe it. It was stunningly beautiful, yet utterly horrifying. The whirlpool flattened out into a wheel that snapped and popped.
Irada sensed a hard tug on the front of his body, then the ripping of what felt like his soul. An orb emerged, the same color as the magical ribbon that fed into the wheel. He noticed Heivara’s absence immediately.
Orbs emerged from the rest of the Tomekeepers and settled onto their respective tomes. Pillars of light grew, and with it, the shapes of the gods themselves. Irada watched in awe as the light molded and bent into the featureless body of Heivara. He reached out, and she reached back.
Silban stood, wheezing heavily, while the rest of the Celenians and the Monarch knelt. The light-mold of Ghantei’s body stepped forward from the tome and stopped when she was under the wheel. It gave one last pop, then finished spinning.
“Tomekeepers,” Ghantei announced. Her voice was calm and sweet, like the most relaxing of musical pieces to Irada’s ears. “We are finally here. You have been selected by your respective gods - my friends - to help them achieve a task of utmost importance. Every century, we choose and gather and assign. It is the completion of these tasks that allows us to slowly recreate our physical bodies until we are one day whole again. With our arrival comes that of the astral nexus, a point where the realms converge temporarily. Failure to complete your task by the peak of the next astral nexus means that there will be too much magic in this realm. If the realms converge in this state, they will all cease to exist.”
The group let out a collective gasp. Irada felt his heart drop and his hands shake.
“The next astral nexus will occur on the sixth moon of the eighth month, fifteen years from now,” Ghantei continued. “Please, Tomekeepers. We cannot let the realm and those within die. My friends, I ask that you help your Tomekeepers and assign them their tasks. May we all walk in the light together.”
Heivera’s light-mold bent over and picked up the tome, then placed it back into Irada’s hands. He felt her warmth coursing through and around it.
“We are together now. Fully as one,” Heivara told him. “Now that we have made the connection, my whole pool of knowledge and magic is at your disposal. Please do whatever it takes to complete the task I have for you.”
“Of course,” Irada said.
Heivara’s light-mold formed an orb in her center and melted into it. The orb lifted and dropped into the tome with a flicker of ethereal dust. Irada watched as the orbs of the other gods followed suit. The eyes of each lit up in the statue beside them until all twelve were illuminated. Complete, the statue released a flash of white that filled the library. Irada blinked away the flash and looked down into the open pages of his tome. Scribbled in elegant handwriting across the pages was a singular sentence: Train the Golden Wing.
‘Hey, Heivara. What does that mean?’ Irada wondered. ‘Who is the Golden Wing?’
Heivara’s orb poked out of the tome. “I cannot tell you, Irada. That is for you to learn and achieve when the time is right. Any additional information in the matter could sway your actions. Just know that I chose you for a reason, and that I trust your heart.”
“Then I’ll make you proud,” Irada replied.
Verina stifled her laughter beside him. Irada thought she was laughing at him at first, but when he turned, he saw that she was in her own world.
“This I can do,” She said aloud to herself.
Verina closed her tome and tried to fight back a malicious smile. She hated that she had let doubt begin to creep into her mind. Istio had always had her best interests at heart.
Fwen inched over to Verina and opened her tome carefully, ensuring that no one else could see. Emblazoned across the pages in dripping black ink were the words “End it all.” She shut it immediately after.
Yonni let out an audible noise of disgust from across the circle. “What? No. This has to be a poor attempt at a joke, Drinex.”
Verina glanced at Fwen, who nodded. She took advantage of the chaos and slinked behind everyone, then worked her way around to Yonni’s position. I’el had started a private discussion with the Princess.
“I don’t understand, I’el,” Verina heard Yonni complain. “I don’t want to bear the Monarch’s child. That’s a gross abuse of power. It’s my body. No one and nothing gets to tell me how to use it.”
I’el clasped her hands around Yonni’s. “Maybe it’s all just a weird misunderstanding. Perhaps it isn’t something we should take at face value. Mine is to ‘craft the alliance’, whatever that means. What alliance? With whom? Why? There’s too many questions to answer right now, but I’m sure it will become clear for both of us. We have plenty of time, after all.”
Verina weaved between the crowd on her way back to Fwen. If what Yonni and I’el said was true, then they were both assigned with potentially world-changing tasks. That would make her job that much more difficult, but she relished a challenge. Her palms itched and a familiar thirst gripped at her throat.
“Vull!” Silban called out from his side of the now-fractured circle. “Share your task with us so we can ensure it’s not built around our betrayal.”
Verina stopped, and her eyes flicked back and forth between Tuvhe and Silban. The former swept his hair back. “That’s a lot of courage from one so freshly chosen,” Tuvhe said dryly. He pulled out his tome, opened it for the others to see, and read the words aloud. “Reveal the truth.”
‘Interesting,’ Istio commented. ‘I wonder what dear Eslen is trying to show us.’
“The truth, Vull? Does that mean that you’re hiding something?” Silban pressed.
“Lay off him, Awn,” Qio interrupted. “He clearly needs to find out what this ‘truth’ is. Don’t you have more important matters to tend to? Your fraud of a brother, for example?”
“Everyone, please!” Utic yelled from the center of the circle. Verina never even noticed him move. In fact, he had been silent and, by extent, invisible the whole banquet. She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face.
Utic didn’t want to listen to the infighting any longer. It was hard to hear the other Tomekeepers tear each other down over dinner, and the tension had only increased since then. There was a need for someone to step in and defuse the situation. If he could handle his siblings, he could handle the other Tomekeepers.
“I suggest we share our tasks aloud with one another,” He voiced. “If we are to stop this astral nexus from destroying our world, doesn’t it make sense for us to work together? Our tasks could be aligned or even in a specific order.”
“Not happening,” Zall muttered.
“Agreed. To share would only allow others to use it as a weakness against us,” Ramji counterpointed.
“I have no intention of putting my Kingdom in jeopardy,” Silban argued.
“I couldn’t read mine if I tried,” Kliev stated. “Vision’s too blurry.”
“Sorry, pal. Not happening,” Qio said.
Utic felt disappointment build with every response. “Look, everyone, I understand the desire for secrecy. These are your tasks from your god or goddess. But what we need to be fully aware of is that it’s more than us we need to worry about now. Think of all the innocent people we serve that could be hurt, or worse, if we don’t accomplish what’s been delegated to us.”
“Tell us yours, then,” Fwen encouraged. “Perhaps if you share, the rest of us may feel better inclined to.”
Utic felt his face grow hot as everyone in the library focused on him. He saw Yonni give him a smile of encouragement from behind I’el. With a crinkle of pages, Utic opened his tome.
“Truth be told, I was hoping that if we all shared, I would be able to get a better grasp on what mine means,” He confessed and showed the inside off to the Tomekeepers, Celenians, and Monarch gathered around him. “It’s not a lot. It just says to ‘be the first.’ The first what?”
“I can answer that,” Verina’s voice drifted from the circle.
Utic took a sharp breath as he felt the plunge of a blade enter through his back. It pressed forward and ran him through. He looked down at the tip of the crimson dagger and tried to reach for it, but his body was in too much shock to move. Everything slowed around him. Drops of blood splashed across the pages of his tome, a punctuation to emphasize the end of his journey.
‘I’m sorry, Utic. It had to be done,” Verna said, voice heavy with regret. ‘I hope that you understand.’
Utic felt the blade withdraw, and he fell to both knees. The heat of his body seeped out of the wound, replaced by a bitter void. His vision tunneled, and his strength gave.
“Arrest her!” Utic heard the Monarch yell as his head hit the ground. He rolled onto his back.
Verina jumped over his body and rushed the Celenians that marched forward to attack her. “Pahszaraa!”
Spinning green blades embedded themselves in her foes. Utic’s hearing started to muffle, and he missed her next incantation. A volley of acidic-looking bubbles shot from her hands and into the crowd. Monarch Mivano cried out in pain as he took one directly to the left side of his face. Silban and his companions leapt forward and engaged in battle, but Verina was too fast and too skilled with her blades to be bested. She weaved through them and into the stairwell, where she ascended out of view.
“After her, now! Show no mercy!” Reveticus shouted to the rest of the Monarch’s guards. A sea of golden armor had formed around Mivano. Utic felt his conscience slip and his eyelids grow heavy.
“No! Please. Stay with me,” a familiar voice begged. He opened his eyes and saw Yonni above him, silhouetted in the crystal’s glow like the angel he knew she was. Tears formed in her eyes. He tried his hardest to comfort her with a smile.
“Don’t worry about me,” He said through pained breaths. Each word took more energy than the last. I’el dropped next to Yonni and wrapped his torso in a tight vine, while Kliev and Tuvhe tried their best to support. Utic reached into his tunic pocket and, with the last of his strength, pulled out the gift he had desperately wanted to give Yonni earlier that night.
“Utic, please. We’re trying. Just hold on,” Yonni pleaded. It was too late.
“At least I. Got to show. You. The. Stars.” Utic pieced together. He placed the turquoise water lily, edges stained red, in Yonni’s hands and gave in to the darkness.
Thus began the final centennial cycle, the war that tore apart a world, and the end of all things.29Please respect copyright.PENANAWgyHaDINBP
29Please respect copyright.PENANAvcGpk1LTpN