Chapter 40

Though Arcturus was more than capable of handling the dreary work of searching through endless paperwork and applying seals in his tenure as a Lumarian paladin, the spirit easily grew weary sifting through the forest of information laid to bare before them. He found himself yawning, stretching, padding his way back to Shandalar to inquire how she was managing.

Like a fish to water, the sun-elf was eagerly continuing with her work, hardly a problem upon her face. Beside her was a floating bit of parchment, a feather dipping into a bottle of ink in the shape of a gryphon’s open beak. It would scribble away as she muttered something in the elven tongue before she would move onto the next tomb or parchment before her.

“Find anything interesting captain?” She peered briefly up to acknowledge his presence before returning to the page, “Though dreadful as Nigel’s work is, there is merit to the possibilities in theories…Take for example there is a detailed report on the realm of the deep fae- “

“I don’t honestly care what that mad man got up to.” Replied the knight, noticing the sudden tightness crossing Shandalar’s gaze. “I have found nothing of note.”

“Unfortunate. I suppose you found me in an attempt to recenter your focus?”

“One could say that.” He took a seat, “You look upon this work and see magical mysteries, intriguing theory, I just see blood, darkness and death.”

“If one lingers on the moral and emotional ramifications of his endeavors, I understand that assessment.” She grabbed another bit of parchment.

“That our kingdom could dabble with a wretched creature like this, while spouting it’s virtuous claims, it’s shaking to the spirit to say the least.”

"Know this, Arcturus." Shandalar's voice rang out with a tone of solemn conviction, her gaze steady as she turned her attention to the next parchment in her stack. "Your kingdom bears no culpability for the shadows that now enshrouded our world. This darkness is a fabrication of our own making, a bitter fruit born from the seeds of our past misdeeds. It grew out of hatred for us, a result of old wizard’s arrogance, a need for control and short sightedness.”

Arcturus shifted uneasily, the weight of Shandalar's words pressing down upon him like a heavy burden. Though her conviction was unwavering, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease that gnawed at his conscience.

"Perhaps." he began slowly, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "but can we truly absolve ourselves of all responsibility? I spoke of light in which to share with the world, uplift others into our welcoming embrace, I believed that our enemies were cruel, evil and wretched…Only to realize when looking at our reflection, we were the same.”

“Rothdell too was like that once.” Her voice grew soft, her attentions faltering, drifting off to some unseen time, “Our cruelty and disregard for those without magic was wretched. Even today, things are better, but always in need of improvement. Those that were tortured, manipulated and instilled fear never forgave that image of us.” For a moment she appeared tired, a shadow having fallen over her, “Nigel is the culmination of our crimes. Years of having his morals, nobility and kindness stripped from him, all that remaining a creature of vengeance that can only dwell on our destruction, that delights in our suffering.”

“You make it sound as though killing him would be a kindness.” Arcturus said.

“It would be an end. It would allow our kingdoms to press for peace, instead of one insisting we be destroyed.”

“But didn’t he, drain all of that stuff out of himself?” Krotos asked from below, “You know, when he went about boning himself?” The gryphon chuckled at his own joke.

“The process of becoming a lich is not boning yourself.” Shandalar corrected with a sigh, “It however is a method in how to obtain immortality, a dark, twisted way that corrupts the very soul.”

“Yea, but he did it to himself right? Like if he went and got angry, killed a bunch of babies to get revenge, I don’t feel bad for him.”

“It’s not an excuse for what he’s done.” She replied, “I can understand the pain and despair that drove him down this path. He still must answer for what he’s done, stopped before anyone else loses more in countless years of pointless war.”

“Who did you lose?” Arcturus asked, softly, catching a look he’d found in himself more than once.

She moved onto the next tomb, back straight, “Take your pick, friends, family, children. I have endured it all in this war. By now, I doubt there is a single family in Lumara or Rothdell that hasn’t been touched in some way.”

“Thats quite the noble sentiment.” He spoke softly, “I thought you mentioned your sect of magicians was supposed to suppress your emotions.”

For the first time since their acquaintance, the elf fell into a contemplative silence, her demeanor shifting to one of solemn introspection. With a deep intake of breath, she seemed to withdraw into the recesses of her own thoughts, her gaze distant and unfocused.

"Those whom I have trained, my kin, my offspring." she spoke with a solemnity that echoed through the chamber, "they are more than mere words to me. Each one was a part of my essence, an integral thread woven into the fabric of my being. But this war... it has exacted a toll upon me, stripping away layers of my identity until all that remains is but a shadow of what I once was. I must see this through, endure whatever hardships must come, every soul that touched upon mine is counting on me to persevere.”

Truth was found in those words, hard and eroding away in the spirit. In her he saw part of himself, similar experiences shaping them both. It was why the gryphons of Lumara changed their names after going to war, insisting that the person that went there never returned the same. He sighed and began to flick through several tomes when she confirmed they had yet to be searched.

“I think they’d be proud of you; I do hope what we find can achieve a small matter of victory.”

“One can only hope. Though I fear with one stone uncovered, something greater will be lurking beneath the surface. Though it can never truly be over until Nigel is put to a final rest.”

“I assume a smite to the skull won’t do any good?”

“No more than a slap to the face.” She shook her head, “They possess a magical phylactery that houses their soul. Until that is destroyed, they will continue to regenerate at that location, even if their entire body is obliterated.”

“Then it would seem, we’ve just got to find the blighted thing.”

“May the gods guide your luck on that. Our foe is not some common goblin or worg, you can imagine his most treasured possession would be impossible to reach without great effort.”

“I’d imagine such an effort would be worth the price.” He replied grimly, “For many souls could sleep soundly with his death.”

“That they would indeed. For everything he touches withers and decays.” A heavy sigh passed her by, “Even Nivra.”

“Nivra?” He blinked, recognizing the name. “As in, Nivra Graysword our princess?”

“One and the same.”

Threads pulled together, recalling catching sight of the raven-haired woman through his visits to the castle. Now he recognized the formal gait in which she strode beside her black and white gryphon bodyguard, the one with silver tipped wings, this gait resembled Shandalar herself! “You were her teacher?”

She nodded, “Your king was looking for a tutor for his daughter, believing she was to be a weak, fragile thing.” She set aside a tome, grabbing another, “It was logical, especially when one wishes to spy. She was a brilliant student, capable, dependable, a prodigy, Cornellius knew not what he had.”

“Truly?” He had heard those whispers as well, especially after the queen had hurled herself from one of the many towers. “If what you say was true, why didn’t you kidnap her? The chance must have presented itself numerous times.”

“I was never allowed much alone time with the daughter as it were. The king would always have us escorted by a personal retinue of hand-chosen soldiers of his. As for the why I have not tried to kill him?” She held a hand to her chin. “The same reason. He usually has guards around him, or enchantments and wards to protect him. Trust me, if it were so easy I would have done away with him myself.” She went back to searching for a few minutes, before holding up a document.

“And…what happened to her?” He noticed the mage’s eyes avoiding him.  “How did Nigel get to her?”

“When her brother died in the war.” Shandalar replied, shifting in her seat. “After that the young girl grew discontent with my teachings, angry, as one can imagine, more so when her mother tossed herself from the towers. Nivra sought out power, wished for revenge on my people for these wounds inflicted upon her. I could not provide the answers she sought.”

“In that search, she found Nigelious?”

“Since we have found out that this Nigel is indeed the Lich from my country, his teachings must have found fruit in her heart…I helped teach that girl for over ten years…When the day comes in which we must face her, I pray that I have the strength to endure the anguish that will follow.”

She didn’t need to say more. If Nigel needed to be removed, there was a good chance that Nivra would need to be as well.

Light built in the mage’s eyes as she scanned the latest page she was on. There was a flicker of recognition, “Krotos, come swift, I do believe I have found what we have been looking for!”

Relief washed over Arcturus like a cool breeze on a sweltering day, easing the tension that had knotted his muscles and weighed heavy on his spirit. It seemed their search was finally at an end.

With a sense of urgency, Krotos wasted no time in ascending the stairway, his movements swift and agile as he scrambled ahead. Meanwhile, Shandalar remained focused on her task, her voice commanding as she issued instructions to her feather and quill in the fluid cadence of the elven tongue.

Arcturus leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued by the sight before him. His eyes scanned the series of notes spread out before Shandalar, each one depicting flying ships, dragons soaring through the skies, and the intricate details of a manastone from various perspectives. The notes were inscribed in a script unknown to him, some ancient dialect that spoke of mysteries long forgotten.

It was then that the ghostly form of Arctic Wind returned, noticeably without Veledar at its side. She coiled through the air, flapping her wings, only stopping when she came to peer over the sun-elf’s shoulder at her tome.

“Let me guess, we’re not yet done.” Krotos replied with a flat squawk; as the dragoness eyed him the gryphon laughed with an amused trill, a drastic shift, “Of course, I always welcome beautiful dragonesses.”

“Where is Crimson Sky?” Arcturus steeled himself, searching the apparition from snout to tail. Before she even responded he was already trying to feel the emotion of the dragon.

It was a strange amalgamation, a great fog of excitement, fear, and delight. He could feel the stone beneath his paws, taste the metal tang in the air, if he lingered, he could even drift away and picture himself as the dragon, taking a hiding spot within his scales.

“He is after the book.” Replied Arctic wind, dragging Arcturus back to reality. “I have made a copy of myself and projected it here, as we speak your dragon is busy disarming traps …He is currently, showing off and bragging at his skill.”

“That sounds like him.” Laughed the knight, his unease put to bed.

“So, what new terrible secret have you found now?” Krotos padded his way over. “He seeks to slather all the gryphon feathers in oil?”

“I wouldn’t say that, though I have found information on the uniter.” She procured a series of scrolls, stuffing them into her pack. The containers which bound them were adorned with numerous runes. “With these plans, my colleagues will be able to gleam a weakness that is to be sure.”

“Wonderful, that means we can leave?” Krotos chirped, gesturing back towards the exit, “Sorry Arctic Wind, hate to tease a girl and leave her hanging, but this place gives me the creeps.”

“Most mortals seem to have the same reaction.” The construct nodded in understanding, “You do not offend me.”

Arcturus could see the look in Shandalar’s eye, searching across the tome, the thirst for knowledge reflected within. “What’s that have you found?”

Across the pages sprawled a tapestry of wonders, each image more fantastical than the last. Dragons soared through the boundless skies, their majestic forms twisting and turning amidst the clouds, while below, the world took shape beneath their very claws.

Arcturus traced the intricate details with a sense of awe, marveling at the power and majesty of the creatures depicted upon the ancient parchment. It was clear that these dragons wielded immense magical abilities, their prowess augmented by the enigmatic mana stones that adorned their forms.

As his gaze lingered upon the images before him, Arcturus couldn't help but wonder at the possibilities that lay within their grasp. With such artifacts at their disposal, the dragons could shape the world to their desires, bending reality to their will in ways beyond comprehension.

“Something connected to the uniter.” She gestured to the floating castle upon the page, circling it’s many intricate spires. “A dragon that built it.”

He did a double take. This great weapon that they were searching for wasn’t of Lumarian design? It was a relic from a foregone era?  “And what purpose would this serve?”

“Nigel.” The reply came laced with unease, even for the elf. “He was researching this, he would not waste his time on trivial manners, even in the pursuit of knowledge.”

With a steady hand, Shandalar traced the path of the magical current across the ancient parchment, revealing the intricate connection between the mana stones. Each thread of energy wove a complex web, converging upon a singular focal point—the heart of the Uniter itself.

"I need more information on this." Shandalar declared, her voice tinged with determination. "We must uncover the truth behind this dragon and his connection to the mana stones and the Uniter. We cannot afford to leave this finding unexamined."

Arcturus felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach, a sense of foreboding creeping over him like a shadow. The implications of their discovery were troubling enough, but to think that even the lich's insatiable thirst for vengeance remained unquenched sent a chill down his spine.

“You are in luck guests.” Arctic Wind said with pride, rolling a paw to her chest, “I can bring you to the stone that details more about this dragon.”

She fluttered about in the air, summoning stairs of hardened light with every gesture of her paw. One right after the other they exploded into existence, wavering there with anticipation, whispering for them to come. They reached down towards the lower levels, where one such beacon of safety dwelled, bravely keeping the shadows at bay. There they could make out a stone, surrounded by various equipment for study.

“Be careful however.” Arctic Wind warned.

“Why, because the stairs are made out of literal light and lack railings?” Krotos poked the nearest with a talon, finding it refused to yield to him.

“Because the shadows beyond will eat you.”

“Wait what?” He shrieked, ears splayed as he looked in horror to his two companions, “It can’t be serious, can it?”

“Ah yes, shadows.” Shandalar replied without a hint of fear, pulling out a crystal that once tapped produced the light of a flame. She tied string around the gryphon’s neck, securing the crystal with it. “There, that should be sufficient.”

“Like hell that it is, gods above, we’re not going down there.” He lashed his tail, head snapping to the beacon down below and the unphased mage. “You think a little crystal and light will keep them at bay? Come on Arcturus, tell her we aren’t going.”

Living shadows? He’d faced such things at the hand of the magisters. A special type of undead that could dart about, lurk within inky places, and lie in wait to drain you of your lifeforce. Numerous times the shouts and screams of soldiers came to his ears, being twisted and morphed into more of the spawn in which to smite.

“How do we know the stairway is safe?” Arcturus asked Arctic Wind.

“It can’t be, it’s just of light.” Krotos chirped in relief, starting to pad his way towards the exit, “Let’s go grab the dragon and shove off, we tried- “

“I have been helpful thus far; I am not instructed to deceive you.” Replied Arctic Wind.

“Unless you were summoned to do that exact thing.” Krotos countered, thrusting a wing to her, “Then lie about being unable to deceive. This is far as we can go, might as well-”

This was getting them nowhere. The paladin focused on Veledar, feeling the overwhelming excitement within his chest. He must have been close now, on the cusp of reuniting with his book. Even the air around him tasted sweeter as a sense of calm washed over him. “Alright, Crimson Sky is fine, we can trust her.”

“I was on the edge of my paws.” Sighed Arctic Wind, doing a loop around the stairs.

As Krotos whined and protested with his clacking beak, Arcturus’ shield was blessed by Shandalar to produce a bright light. The man grabbed the distraught gryphon by the chin, bringing order to his chaos. “Chin up Krotos, stick close, we’re going down there.”

“Yea, I figured you’d say that.” Krotos’ ears stitched themselves to his neck, “You seem unwilling to recognize your own mortality.”

“As Shandalar says, we have lights to shield us. Something down there lies in wait; it is our duty to recover it.”

 “Perhaps yours but not mine, my duty is to be alive.” The gryphon shook his form, pinning his feathers as he stared down to the darkness below, “Besides, you don’t know what batshit insanity could be down there. It could be anything from a harem of sexy demons to flesh tearing monsters, hell maybe, there’s an entire army down there waiting to pounce all over us and fuck us in the ass.”

“He has quite the colorful way with words does he not?” Shandalar rose a brow.

Arcturus sighed as the gryphon lingered upon his gaze, the fear palpable, he tapped the yellow beak, “I thought you wished to do what was required to bring light to Lumara’s misdeeds?”

Krotos groaned, tossing his head, “Of course I do.”

“Then I ask of you to take heart. For down there, we will need your eyes, ears and beak if we get into trouble.” He gave a smirk as the gryphon’s paws shifted, “Besides, if we go off without you, you’ll be left alone.”

Opening his beak, Krotos rose a wing. For a moment silence gripped him before he closed it with a clack fire, swelling to prominence in his gaze. “I’m starting to hate the both of you.”

** * * * * * * *

Arctic wind brought them descending into the inky black, only supported by the radiant, golden stairs of light. Every step came with reserved breath, not helped by the occasional clicks and grinding steel that sounded from the darkness. Several times the ghostly apparition warned them to mind their step, reminding them of the living shadows that awaited to drain them of life’s vigor.

“I wish she’d stop saying that!” Krotos had fluffed up, only stopped retreating by a swift grab to the back of his neck. “That sort of attention isn’t what I want!”

“Here I thought you wanted everyone to gobble you up.” Arcturus countered.

“Yes, but I’d rather other things be gobbled, not my flesh and bones!”

“I’m surprised master did not tell you.” Arctic wind circled the stairs with an amused chuckle, “Perhaps he hasn’t lost his sense of humor.”

“Just keep your head steady, do as the apparition says.” Arcturus tapped his sword, “Stay close and you’ll be fine.”

“So, you think your big sword can protect me?” Krotos trotted to Arcturus’ side, pressing up against him. “Hold me Arcturus, protect me! Don’t let those nasty shadows get me!” His ears stitched themselves to his neck as he snapped to movement in the dark, “Look I saw that one move!”

It all looked the same. Arcturus desperately looked, finding no validity to his claims. “Perhaps you’re mistaken?”

“Who has the better eyes.” Squawked the gryphon. “You heard the dragoness; they’re waiting out there to suck us dry! It’s the price I get for being so hot.”

He shoved the gryphon off, “Come now, if you don’t steel yourself, you’re going to alert whatever you’re scared of with this ruckus.”

Krotos perked up, eyes wide with horror, “I hadn’t even thought of that.” He slunk along, pinning his feathers, drooping his head, “Easy for you to keep courage, you’re wearing armor.”

“How about Shandalar, she finds courage without armor.” He gestured back to the mage, but a few arm lengths behind them.

She was currently holding a hand aloft, eyes steeled forward. If one knew any better, they might think she was on a leisurely stroll through a field. “Long as we stay in the light there is nothing exceptional to fear, so truly, take a deep breath and continue.”

Krotos hissed, “She has fingers that when she wiggles them, create fireballs, walls of ice, or control the fabric of reality. While I’m only equipped with talon, beak and wing.”

“Did you not describe yourself as having magical talons?” Arcturus rose a brow.

“For other things Arcturus.” Purred the gryphon, running a wing underneath his chin, “Unlocking things, sliding underneath doors, teasing wonderful ladies and men…but not for spells and killing! AHHHH!” He shifted to the other side of Arcturus, “Get it Shandy, with a fireball, Arcturus, smite it!”

“Again…Nothing dwells there.” Shandalar stated calmly, “I believe you have a phobia.”

“Of course I have a phobia! Undead beasties, metal fucking dragons, living shadows! How can you two be without fear?”

Arcturus rested a reassuring hand on the gryphon’s shoulder, “I’m not without fear. I’m quite aware of what the shadows can do when they reach the living. It guides my actions, steels my resolve to make sure that doesn’t happen to anyone else.” Fingers crawled through feathers, up towards the gryphon’s cheek, “Are you not a guard? You must have gotten into fights, seen murders, had your talons dirtied, how does this frighten you?”

“All manner of the mundane! Gryphons, humanoids, those I can deal with it. But we’re squawking about powerful magics, undead, horrors that no good gryph or human should ever have to deal with!”

“There are worst things than that.” Shandalar seemed unphased, a rock in a tumultuous sea. “I caught sight in his notes of creatures stitched together, given terrible lives deprived of pain, nothing remaining but ravenous monsters. Not to mention rumors that he had dealings with darker powers.”

His feathers fluffed, voice cracking, “You’re not fucking helping!”

As they descended into the depths, the oppressive darkness yielded to the ethereal glow of the mana lanterns, their soft radiance pushing back the encroaching shadows. Perched atop sleek steel poles, these enchanted lanterns breathed life into the machinery that punctuated the perimeter of their surroundings.

The machinery hummed with an otherworldly energy, its intricate gears and mechanisms pulsating with a faint, rhythmic vibration. Runes of ancient origin were etched into the cold steel surfaces, glowing softly with arcane power. Brass levers gleamed in the lantern light, poised to be manipulated by unseen hands, while the air was filled with the faint scent of oil and magic.

Amidst this labyrinth of arcane contraptions, makeshift tables and easels displayed scattered charts and assorted notes, while a grand board stood sentinel, its surface adorned with a meticulously detailed map of the world. Crimson threads converged at a single word inscribed in draconic script: "Emperor." Yet, it was not this display that commanded attention.

Dominating this sanctuary of safety stood a massive slab of stone, seemingly hewn from the very heart of the mountains. Its imposing presence loomed over them, its surface adorned with intricate carvings and draconic runes that seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy.

The massive slab of earth hung overhead like a silent sentinel, its surface adorned with a tapestry of draconic runes and elaborate, gilded imagery depicting the symbiotic relationship between dragonkind and mortals.

Gazing upon it sent a shiver down Arcturus' spine, as if he stood on the precipice of some ancient, forbidden knowledge. It seemed to defy the natural order of the world, its very existence a testament to hidden truths and long-forgotten secrets.

As he lingered beneath its imposing gaze, a sensation washed over him—a feeling of being scrutinized, not merely observed, but laid bare before some terrible unseen force.

“What in the gods name is that?” Krotos whistled, trotting a few paces. “One hell of a draconic tail plug.”

Arcturus sighed, “I don’t think that’s what it is.”

“It is what we’re looking for.” Shandalar spoke in reverence, procuring a leatherbound tome and her familiar floating quill.

“That?” Arcturus rose a brow, “Going to be hell of a time getting it out of here.”

“Taking notes will have to suffice for now.” She tapped the now floating tome, “We can gleam the meaning at our leisure elsewhere.”

Cheeks flushed red, “Ah of course.”

As she diligently worked, he embarked on his careful perimeter check, his unease festering in the depths of his gut. Yet, despite the unsettling sensation, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the stone before him. It was as if an invisible thread bound him to its ancient surface, drawing him deeper into its mysteries with each passing moment.

The inscriptions and images etched into the stone unveiled a tale of a benevolent dragon named Sethus—a golden paragon whose kindness and compassion knew no bounds. With his device, the Uniter, Sethus sought to mend the wounds inflicted by the wars of dragonkind upon the world. Through its power, he could summon forth abundance, heal sickness and injury, and bring solace to those in need. His noble quest was to uplift the lives of all who dwelled beneath the shelter of his wings.

As he absorbed the revelations before him, a whispered question escaped his lips—had there truly been a war with dragons? The antiquity of the stone suggested a history far older than anything recorded in their annals. It chronicled the tragic demise of Bahamut, depicted amidst scores of grieving dragons mourning her shattered form. On another facet, the tale unfolded of Sethus's own fall from grace.

Despite his altruistic intentions, mortals turned against him, repaying his benevolence with suspicion and violence. The wounds inflicted upon their hearts were too deep, the wounds from dragon’s tyranny could not be mended, their trust irreparably shattered. The very boons Sethus bestowed upon them became twisted into weapons of destruction, leading the once noble dragon to despair at the folly of his era.

With tears welling in his eyes, Sethus made the solemn decision to seal away the Uniter, hoping that one day, when the world was ready, its light would once again illuminate the path to redemption.

“So that’s what this is for…to create.” Arcturus spoke softly, he’d been dictating the story for Krotos. The paladin’s stomach turned at the idea of such noble deeds being turned to evil. “Just to be twisted to the whims of the power hungry.”

“And of all people, this Nigel finds it.” Krotos winced, “Then have our kingdom point it at the one he has a bone to pick.”

“I doubt there is a soul that this power could be trusted to. Even my kingdom would not wield it wisely.” Shandalar shifted as she recorded her notes, “Absolute power would only corrupt absolutely, even good intentions, this dragon…was foolish.”

“An optimist.” Arcturus looked upon the gilded engraving of this dragon, surrounded by mortals that loved his gifts. The honest smile committed to stone, oblivious of his coming failures, “An idealist before his time, tis a shame.”

“There is another side, you can’t stop the story there.” Krotos grabbed him by the beak and tugged him along.

The final passage chronicled Sethus's journey with his loyal followers to the distant ocean beyond Sethera's eastern shores, where he chose to take his treasures to the depths with him. It spoke of a treasure trove that rivaled even that of Bahamut herself, brimming with the most precious diamonds ever recorded. There, amidst the watery abyss, his legacy awaited, patiently awaiting the arrival of those destined to fulfill his vision of the world.

Arcturus's hand reached out instinctively to caress the warm surface of the stone, a sensation that sent a comforting shiver down his spine. In that fleeting moment, memories flooded his mind—of sunlit plains where Skywing and Geoffery frolicked, their laughter echoing across the expanse as he and Selina nestled close, basking in the warmth of their bond.

Yet, even as the nostalgic images danced before him, Arcturus knew he couldn't linger in the past. With a determined shake of his head, he refocused his gaze on the ancient stone, feeling as though its enigmatic tale had been waiting for him throughout the eons, its secrets poised to be unraveled by those bold enough to seek them.

“While I transcribe the writings, look for anything else useful.” Shandalar gestured to the other sections of the lab.  Her eyes were practically stitched to her parchment.

“And then what?” Krotos padded along, searching along tables filled with measuring equipment and potions. “A right battle to the king? Bring down his armies?” He paused, ears splaying as he eyed a far corner with a shadow. Arcturus could see the gears moving in his head, wondering if it were alive. “How is knowing about this going to help us?”

“You heard her, a weakness.” Arcturus gestured to the stone.

“Why would he be interested in this Sethus though?” Krotos tilted his head, feathers fluffing, “Doesn’t make a feather of sense that big mister boney evil guy would want to go looking for a paragon of Bahamut?”

It was undeniably peculiar, Arcturus thought, his brow furrowing as he contemplated the twisted logic that governed the decaying mind of an undead monstrosity. Such rationality, if one could call it that, seemed to be woven from threads of madness, comprehensible only to the diseased psyche of a lich. Amidst the experiments and arcane spells he had sifted through for the past hour there was little room for doubt that any semblance of good intentions was sorely lacking.

“What are the Storytellers?” Krotos chirped, gesturing to a chalkboard where the word was scribbled and circled, connecting to the word Emperor. “A bunch of bards?”

“An order of ancient beings that passed into myths.” Shandalar replied, proceeding to the tablet’s other side, “There are arguments throughout time, by select wizened mages if they’d ever existed at all, or merely stories to keep us aspiring for more.”

“And what was so important to them that ole mister boney here is looking up fantasy tales?”

“They were rumored have proceeded the gods themselves. Brought them here from distant worlds.”

“Proceeded the gods?” Krotos chuckled in amusement, “How can they do that when they created our entire world?”

The mage shrugged, “That is why I said it was myth…I’d rather focus on what we do know is this Uniter exists, what is truth about this dragon remains to be seen. I do, however, question the biases of these accounts, for dragons are known to have an inflated sense of importance in such matters. Just look to Crimson Sky in these regards.”

The next few minutes passed in tense silence as Shandalar meticulously transcribed the ancient dragon's tale. Arcturus and Krotos remained vigilant, their senses attuned to any hint of danger lurking in the shadows. It was only when the mage finished rolling up her parchment that Krotos suddenly tensed, his keen eyes widening with a sense of foreboding. It was as if he had glimpsed a specter.

“Something the matter?” Arcturus shifted, already preparing to reach for his blade.

“Do you hear that?” Krotos’ ear twitched, he turned to a path leading away, set between two bookcases.

“What is it?” Hair stood on the back of his neck.

“Pounding…and not the good kind.”

“Are you certain?” He strained to hear, not catching a thing.

Krotos gestured to his ears, “Even for me this is quiet, but it is there.”

“What sort of pounding?” He gripped the hilt of his sword, picturing sewn together monstrosities shambling towards them. “For who knows what Nigel could have in store- “

After a few steps, Krotos raised his head, shifting several times to get a better listen. He then gestured with a wing, “It sounds like humans…a few of them calling out for help.”

His blood licked with cold, there were people still alive in here? There was no question he knew what he had to do. “Can you locate them?”

“Course I could.” Replied the gryphon, making his way closer, “Though…given the rest of the décor, I worry what we’ll find.”

“We best head out and collect the dragon.” Shandalar spoke firmly, catching Arcturus’ eye. “We have what we’re looking for, to linger any longer will only increase our chances of being caught.”

“But how can we leave them? They’re asking for help.” Krotos gulped with a chirp.

“You don’t know if it’s a trap or not. Nigel was excellent on playing with the emotions of others.”

“Leave if you must, but I know what has to be done.” Arcturus replied with a deep breath, thinking of his vows. “Seeing what this Lich is capable of, I agree with Krotos, we can’t leave a soul here for a moment longer.”

The sunelf kept her composure, “Arcturus, I believe this is an unwise decision. There are many that would be helped with the retrieval of these plans.” She tapped her bag. “If we fail, that will have been for nothing.”

“And they are in need now.” He shook his head, wheeling about, cementing his path. “You have what you’ve come for, if that’s what you care about, then be off.” He padded Krotos, “Are you with me?”

Brown eyes were fraught with fear, his feathers were pinned, but Krotos gave a soft nod. “Might be a tad clingy and terrified beyond reason, but I won’t let that stop me.”

Such courage brought a smile to his face, holding his shield aloft. As he and the catbird padded their way with him leading the way, Shandalar was soon at their side.

“You are making a mistake.” she said sternly. “But also improve my chances for escape.”

“Glad that you decided to tag along.”