Andrian huffed a chuckle, but the younger man had a point. They’d settled into a routine since their arrival in Eyarfell three days ago. Mariah would wake them in the morning as the sun was cresting the horizon and drag them out to train. Long runs up and down the cliffs of the city, followed by sparring in the cliffside field they’d gone to that first day with Signe and Callamus. It felt good to be physical again, to get back into training and fighting and returning to some semblance of normalcy.
And watching Mariah spar…gods, he’d work himself to exhaustion just to see her move.
In the afternoons, after rinsing the sweat from their bodies and changing into fresh clothes, they’d taken to scouring the libraries tucked in the dark corners of Eyarfell’s cavernous temples.
Librarywas a loose term. The room they were seated in was hardly more than a crumbling cave, rusted metal racks lining the walls filled with dusty and decayed scrolls and tomes. Eyarfell wasn’t a place of amassed knowledge and learning; not like Verith’s libraries or the archives supposedly hoarded by the Vathan king. This was a place of spiritual learning, and the onlydocuments believed worthy of saving were those that spoke of prophecy and the gods.
And, somehow, some old priest’s shits.
Andrian sighed and tossed the old journal aside, reaching for another from his waiting stack. Mariah watched him, brow lifted but said nothing.
“What do you think we’ll find,nio?” he asked quietly. Matheo may have forgotten, but Andrian knew their purpose here: either find information on the godkiller weapon or find the weapon itself. “Why do you think you’ll find it in an old scroll? The Luexrithians are very different from Onitans.” He would know. He’d grown up hearing stories about his mother’s people—how they didn’t tell stories or pass knowledge by writing it down on parchment.
Their stories, their wisdom, was held in memories.
“Idon’tknow.” She frowned, flipping the page of the journal she had open on her legs. “Rulene said something about how the things I seek lie to the north. I don’t think the knowledge is here, but…maybe the weapon is.”
Andrian drummed his fingers on the worn stone table. “And you think there might be a mention of it somewhere in all these diaries and prophecies?”
Her tight nod was her only answer.
Matheo clapped, jolting forward in his seat. “The weapon! That’s right. I remember now.”
Mariah gave him a deadpanned look. “Please don’t tell me you were serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
Andrian smirked. “Well personally, I think if I read one more vague prophecy, I might become a prophet myself.”
“Good,” Mariah said, gaze not lifting from the journal. “This court could use someone with a little foresight.”
Matheo grumbled, Mariah’s mouth twitched, and Andrian turned back to his tome with a smile on his lips. Papers rustled as Matheo dragged the next scroll to him, unrolling it with another groan.
They slipped back into their comfortable silence, broken only by pages flipping and the occasional long exhale or rustle of clothes.
“Wait.” Matheo straightened, planting his feet on the ground. “This one is actually interesting. It mentions the sun and moons and shadows?—”
Mariah was out of her chair in a flash of movement, snatching the scroll from Matheo. Her back was to Andrian as she read the ancient parchment, but he saw it.
The way her shoulders tensed. The way her spine went rigid. The way her shoulders rose and fell as her breathing quickened, deepened.
When she sank back into her chair, face pale, he shot from his. Andrian stalked around the stone table and rested a hand on her shoulder. A silent question.
She handed the scroll to him without meeting his gaze. He scanned the faded, scrawling script, unease sweeping over his chest and settling in his gut.
Wrought together by determined love,
Torn apart by vengeful fate.
The sun casts the darkest shadows,
But the moon shall light the way.
The lies that built the world will crumble,
As the severed power wanes.
The cosmos fear their strength and might,
