Cyran, watching me, moves to stand across the way, leaning against the thick trunk of a tree.
“You’re welcome to join me,” I offer with a gesture beside me as I pitch my knees to rest the book against my thighs.
Somehow the fabric alone is enough to stop the creeping curse. I fold my arms across my chest and the relief from the curse feels a lot like finally regaining blood flow to a limb that’s gone numb.
Instead of any kind of answer, Cyran gives me the hundred-yard stare.
Well, I suppose that’s answer enough.
Not interested in pressing him further, I openFated Celestialsto page one. Malbolge runes fly across the page, scrambling to arrange themselves in tight rows.
Please, Aether, I beg.
Your essence begins to fade.
The realms are doomed to fall.
You’ve had your taste of blood,
Now kill the rest of your demons.
Aether? Again?
Is this a prayer to the old gods?
I heave a defeated sigh.
The lines fade from the page, one slowly surfacing in their place.
What you need, you brought with you, trapped in obsidian.
“What?” My scrutinous glare turns scathing.
My mind whirls, trying to make sense of the words.
My eyes shoot wide.
Is it referring to the glamouring ring or the soul crystal?
Either way, how in the hells does itknowthat?
The answer strikes me harder than any slap.
This book isn’t spelled to regurgitate information written in its pages. And the depth of my mistake screams through my bones.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no…”
This can’t be possible.
It shouldn’t be possible.
I curl my fingers into tightened fists to keep them from trembling and away from the book.
I’ve brought a fuckingsophontinto the living realm.
Swirling common tongue script takes over the page—not the typical clawed runes of Malbolge. A response to my thoughts appears in dark lettering.
Yes, you have. Thank you.
