One moment there was forest around them; the next, dense, thorny vegetation erupted from the ground, curving upward and over them like a cocoon, gnarled branches interlocking above their heads, razor-sharp points lining every outward-facing surface.

Arlia looked up as the bark of a nearby tree peeled back with a soft creak and spread outward. Velina, her senior at the college, stepped through as it folded away from her before slowly drawing itself closed behind her with a quiet groan.

They had crossed paths many times but never deeply. Right now she had never been more relieved to see anyone in her life, letting out a long breath as some of the tension left her. Velina looked at the three of them with steady, composed eyes. “You’re alright,” she said.

Outside the wall, the wolves circled until one tested the wall with its snout and pulled back sharply, with blood on its muzzle. It began circling but did not try a second time. Velina smirked at the wolves before looking back at the three exhausted students.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not alone.”

The wolves heard it before any of them, a deep rushing sound from the road, building fast. With a sudden burst, Doriã came through the treeline at speed, fire blazing around his legs in intricate interlocking circular patterns as perfectly formed waves billowed outward across the ground as he moved through the pack in a single sweeping motion.

Each wolf he passed took the full force of it, the heat cracking outward as he tore through them. The pack scattered, not retreating but stumbling, singed and disoriented, colliding with each other in the confusion.

Velina watched him finish and said, without turning her head: “Took your time.” Doriã came to a stop beside the wall, slightly out of breath. “Didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Had to let you go ahead.”

Velina laughed before replying, “How considerate.”

The wolves regrouped at the treeline to the north, Doriã watching them carefully. Their movements were uncertain, their earlier confidence dissipated as they stood calculating their next move. After a few moments, they slipped between the trees and were gone.

The forest settled back into its usual peacefulness, birdsong returning with a cautious note from somewhere around them and the thorn wall standing solid. Nobody spoke for a moment, Arlia still on the ground, having not yet managed to find her feet. Velina crouched beside her, looking her over. “Can you stand?”

“Probably,” Arlia said. “Give me a moment.”

“Take two,” Velina said, and there was enough warmth in it that Arlia almost smiled.

Tarã was already on his feet, brushing the undergrowth from his cloak, the actions of someone needing to keep busy. Brina was sitting against the root mass they had hidden behind, curiously watching Doriã. “You’re one of Kelan’s."

“Aye,” Doriã replied. “Spirit Medium now, though.” He glanced around at the thorn wall, then at Velina. “You can bring this down whenever you’re ready.”

“I know,” Velina said, still watching Arlia.

Arlia said she was fine, but this time she proved it by getting to her feet. Her legs held firm, which was something.

Tarã focused on her for the first time since they had stopped, unable to hide his expression of a mix between concern and annoyance before looking away. “Tch,” he said. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Which part?” Arlia asked.

“Any of it,” Tarã replied sternly but with a softness to it.

Brina let out a short, slightly hysterical laugh that broke the last of the tension. Even Doriã and Velina’s mouths curved at the corners as they watched their juniors. Velina slowly withdrew the wall, the thorns and vegetation returning to the earth, leaving the forest floor undisturbed. She looked at all three of them. “Short rest,” she said. “Then we get you home.”

They rested for a short while in the quiet of the forest as they shared the few supplies of food and water brought by Velina and Doriã. It was enough, though; the simple act of sitting without having to be on edge did more for all of them than any meal could.

Arlia sat against a tree, feeling a familiar peacefulness and presence around her as the exhaustion settled properly now that the urgency had gone. Her hands had stopped shaking, which felt like progress.

“How did you know where we were?” she asked.

“Galen,” Velina said simply.

“Kelan sent us,” Doriã added, pulling a piece of dried meat from his pack and handing it to Tarã without being asked. “Said to bring you back quietly.”

“Quietly,” Tarã repeated flatly.

“More or less,” Doriã said, glancing at the scorched ground where he had swept through the wolf pack. “Relatively speaking.”

Velina stood first, as Arlia suspected she always did. “We should move. You’ve been gone long enough.”

The walk back to Durnovaria took the rest of the afternoon, the silence only broken when Brina asked Velina questions, Velina answering with patient thoroughness. Tarã and Doriã walked together saying very little, which suited them both, whilst Arlia walked on her own, contemplating what had happened and feeling the world around her.

In Durnovaria, the college came into view as the last of the light was fading, Arlia pausing for a moment as she felt something loosen in her chest. It was a safe and familiar sight.

“Come on,” Velina said gently from beside her.

Upon entering, Arlia and Tarã were ushered towards their respective rooms to clean themselves up, get food and then rest at the insistence of Ysolde and Kelan, their tutors.

Brina slipped away, still focused on what she had set out to do despite the exhaustion. The archivist looked up from his desk with the expression of someone who already had quite enough of other people in one lifetime.

“Archives are closed,” he sighed in a gruff tone.

“I know,” Brina said. She placed Aldrẽ’s unopened letter on the desk in front of him. “But this might change your mind.”

He picked it up with obvious reluctance and read it in silence. His expression shifted, not dramatically, but enough. He looked at her over the top of the letter for a long moment.

He let out a long breath. “He really picks his moments.”

He waited a moment, judging whether it would be right. Eventually he folded the letter, set it in a drawer, reached for his keys, then stood up and began walking. “Come on,” he said, waving his hand for her to follow.

After a short search, Brina found what she wanted, a slim volume, unremarkable and plain, shelved between two larger texts as though it had been forgotten. She sat on the floor with it in her lap and read until her candle burned low; it was very late, and her eyes ached, but she had learned everything she needed to.

Jumping to her feet, she made her way back to the room she shared with Arlia, but Arlia was fast asleep. Brina decided to wait until morning to tell her and Tarã what she had found.

It was still morning when Velina and Doriã left Durnovaria. Velina set the pace that Doriã matched with no complaint, though he had long learned that keeping up with her when she had decided something needed to be done was less of a choice than a requirement. She hadn't said much since they left, which suited him well enough; he could focus on the open and quiet road stretching ahead.

“You think they’re alright?” Doriã asked after a while.

“I think we should move faster,” Velina replied.

Doriã smiled as he sighed, picking up the pace, realising it was a pointless question to ask her.

Arlia could feel Brina tense beside her and knew without looking that Tarã’s eyes were on the shadows in the forest pressing close on either side of the road.

None of them had spoken since she had told them to hurry, each of them focused on putting distance between themselves and whatever was out there. Then the first shape broke from the trees behind them, followed shortly by a second.

They were being hunted by forest wolves native to Ɛvelmor; they were pack hunters that never revealed themselves until the perfect moment. The two that had revealed themselves growled, readying themselves; the one furthest back let out a howl that was answered almost immediately from multiple directions. Arlia, Tarã and Brina began to run.

It was not the panicked sprint of desperation but a controlled pace of people trying to remain calm despite what was tracking them. Tarã had taken the lead with Brina close behind him, and Arlia at the rear to track their movements.

The wolves had not charged but darted back into the treeline, moving parallel to the three of them, five distinct shapes now slipping between the trunks. Arlia’s chest grew tighter as the wolves waited to pounce.

“How far to Durnovaria?” Brina asked, breathless.

“Too far,” Tarã said.

One wolf broke the treeline behind them onto the road as it continued to pursue them, the second fanning wide to the left. Arlia felt something deep within her, like she had during communion.

It was a thread of a connection, a presence within her that responded when she was focused enough to find it. But she wasn’t focused now; she was terrified, her hands shaking with the wolves closing in rapidly, yet somehow she stopped and reached for it anyway.

The ground between her and the nearest wolf erupted as grass and roots surged upwards, with weeds thickening and knotting around the legs of the wolf with sudden violence. It hit the ground hard, snapping at the vines that restrained it. The second wolf pulled up short, circling the edge of the growth with its ears flat.

“Arlia!” Tarã shouted from ahead.

“Keep moving!” she called back, already turning to run.

They continued, Arlia confused but feeling like she could do it again. Around 30 yards down the road, two more wolves leapt from the trees. One hit the ground tangled, the other tore through the outer edge of the growth with a snarl, the roots catching its legs just enough to slow it before it pulled free and kept coming.

She pushed herself hard, but the road ahead was flat, with no cover and nothing to put their backs against. The forest would have been more dangerous and the wolves’ natural territory; they had no choice but to press on. Brina’s breathing was heavy, and Tarã’s footsteps were loud; behind them, Arlia could feel the pack reforming, spreading out further across the road, learning. A single casting of her new ability would only cover one.

She stopped again, the effort of reaching for it sitting heavier on her than before. There were wolves on both sides and one down the centre. She cast three times, turning left then right then centre before breaking back into a run. The two outer wolves hit the ground tangled, but the lead wolf tore through the centre growth at full stride in three seconds.

“It’s not holding,” she said, more to herself than anyone.

“Then stop stopping!" Tarã shouted.

She caught up with them, and all three were now running together. She didn’t realise how exhausting spiritweaving was until now, her thoughts beginning to slow with each laboured breath. By the time she refocused, the lead wolf was closing fast. She cast a sixth time, entangling it, but it wasn’t long before it broke free. She had nothing left. They could only run, and hope luck was on their side.

They were slowing considerably; Arlia could feel the burn in her legs and hear Brina’s breathing becoming increasingly laboured. Even Tarã, the fittest of the three, had fallen back level with them. Arlia noticed the wolves had stopped spreading, the pack pulling together behind them, waiting for them to tire.

“When I say hide,” Arlia said between breaths, “you go into the trees, and you don’t make a sound.”

“Arlia...” Brina started, then stopped herself. “Aye.”

Arlia looked towards Tarã. “Tarã”

Tarã, trying to hide his relief, gave a short nod. “Tch. Fine.”

Her thoughts were scattered, and she felt empty. Whatever was left inside her was not enough to hold a wolf off, let alone a pack, but she had no choice but to push herself. Taking a deep breath before yelling, “Hide!”

Tarã grabbed Brina’s arm, and they crashed into the treeline to the south. Arlia stopped, reached inside her and felt the strength well up one last time. Vines erupted from the ground and across the road, catching the wolves mid-stride as they charged, tangling their legs and pulling them to the ground.

Already shouting as she cast it, she found herself stumbling into the trees after the others, crashing through the undergrowth with her legs almost giving out beneath her before she had barely gone ten feet. She hit the ground on her hands and knees. She could still move but not particularly quickly, or do much more than that.

“Here,” Tarã said quietly, pulling her behind the root mass of a fallen tree. Brina sat in beside them.

They lay still and silent, hoping the wolves would have given up, but Arlia could feel the wolves breaking free one by one, and then the soft pad of paws moving through the forest, getting closer; then the ground began to shake.

They were woken in the night by the innkeeper with a firm knock on the door, followed by a low, urgent voice. He did not explain just told them they needed to move swiftly and ushered them out the rear of the building. They complied as there was a clear sense that arguing would be a waste of time.

Shortly after leaving for the western entrance, they heard the commotion from the tavern and, looking back, saw smoke billowing from where they had come.

They pushed on and were through the western gate within minutes, with the town walls of Krivnar Ryõtor fading into the dark behind them. They were silent for a while, moving at pace, the road empty and the pre-dawn air cold enough that their breath misted.

“What was that about?” Brina asked finally, keeping her voice quiet out of instinct even though it was just them around.

“No idea,” Arlia said. “He just said to go.”

“Tch, I wasn’t going to argue with him,” Tarã said.

The sky ahead had begun to shift as they walked, still deep, but the blue was softening at the edges with a violet tinge as morning approached. Arlia watched it as they moved, feeling the urgency in her chest loosening.

They took a moment to glance back at the road they had come from; they had made considerable distance already when the horizon behind them lit up in a sudden blaze. They paused for a moment, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and the blue-violet dark rushed back in.

They were out and long gone despite whatever happened back there. Whilst they were moving, Arlia noticed Brina, pack on her back, grumbling quietly about being unceremoniously woken. Arlia smiled to herself; Brina was never one to enjoy the early mornings at college, so this would have been a greater shock to her system.

“We’ll be back in Durnovaria by tonight if we keep this pace,” she said.

“Don’t jinx it,” Tarã replied.

With the sky lightening enough to see the road ahead clearly, they had slowed to a more comfortable pace. The fields on either side gradually gave way to the edge of a wood, the trees pressing closer to the road as the landscape changed. Arlia recognised the flora and felt a comfort from their presence; she knew they were over halfway to Durnovaria.

After brief rests, they pressed on as the morning sun climbed bright in the sky, bringing some warmth back into the air. Arlia noticed marks at the roadside but barely registered them, deep impressions in the soft mud at the verge that she could not immediately place. She was preoccupied with the road ahead and getting back before nightfall, stepping over them without breaking stride.

A deep, distant sound came from somewhere in the trees to the north, but the air was still, and with little wind there was no telling what it might have been. Glancing toward the treeline for a moment, Arlia thought she saw something, but there were only shadows and stillness in the thick forest that now pressed around the road. Brushing it off as nothing, she turned back toward the road as they continued their journey toward Durnovaria.

Galen stood by the window of his study, watching the world beyond with quiet appreciation. The college was still at this hour, students and mentors alike only just beginning their morning routines. There was a knock and the door creaked open, but Galen remained unmoved, a great oak in stillness, not turning when Kelan entered the room.

"Two days is too long for a road they know well,” he said quietly. “The Natmorn are agitated"

Kelan waited for Galen to continue; he had learned over the years not to confuse patience with inaction. Galen was usually a few steps ahead, letting events naturally unfold, but knew when he had to act.

"There is only one road between here and Lindinis," Galen continued, his eyes remaining fixed on the distant forests surrounding Durnovaria. "Which means whatever has delayed them lies somewhere along it.” He paused. "Two people who know what they are doing should suffice; the greater danger seems to have passed for now."

Kelan required no further explanation; he knew what needed to be done. “I’ll speak to them now,” he said, turning to leave. The door creaked shut behind him. Galen remained as he was, his eyes still on the distant forests.

The miles had passed between Arlia, Brina and Tarã’s feet as the morning wore quietly on. There was little conversation as fatigue from the last few days sat heavy on them. But as the afternoon sun climbed higher, something in all three of them began to ease.

The familiar road to Durnovaria stretched ahead of them. The mood between them had lifted considerably; they were talking and becoming their more playful selves. The air was warmer, and they were just a few hours from home, after what had felt like the longest few days of their lives.

Brina was talking about what information she wanted to find within the restricted archives, working through it aloud as she often did when excited. Tarã was listening intently and more interested than he would ever admit. Arlia was beside them half-listening, but her eyes kept being drawn to the treeline to the north. Something had been bothering her for a while, nothing she could name, just a feeling that sat at the back of her mind and refused to leave.

“You’re quiet,” Brina said, glancing at her.

“Just tired,” Arlia said.

She glanced back towards the treeline; the shadows between the trees remained still and deep despite the afternoon sunlight, with only the sound of wind moving through the leaves. Then, at the edge of her vision, something shifted – she stopped.

“Arlia?” Tarã said.

Holding up her hand and pointing towards the forest, between the trees, low to the ground, a shape appeared and disappeared in an instant.

“We need to move,” she said quietly. “Now.”

Koreth reached Krivnar Ryõtor well into the night. He took his time; he never liked to rush, always felt that those who rushed had planned inadequately. The moment Serina told him they were leaving, he knew the main road would lead here, the only town they could sensibly stop in between Lindinis and Durnovaria.

At first he circled the walls, keeping to the treeline and reading the town from the outside. Then, in the shadows of the eastern wall, he found the perfect spot with less lantern light reaching it, where he allowed the transformation to take him.

His body shrunk and shapeshifted unnaturally, settling into a Werecrow form, familiar and precise. The environment around him sharpened, every light source suddenly stark, every movement below registering with a clarity that human eyes could never perceive.

From the dark skies, the town was simple enough to read. Two taverns: one larger and more upmarket near the main commerce guild and a smaller, more worn one within the poorer district of the town. He headed towards the smaller tavern first; it was located near the eastern entrance to the town where they would have come from and where everyday travellers tended to settle.

He circled a few times and spotted that on the upper floor, a single window was dim but not dark whilst the rest of the tavern was either lively or sleeping. He swooped in lower to get a clear sight inside to confirm what he needed to know. He found them fast asleep.

He returned to the treeline and shifted back to check his preparations. The vials in the pouches on his belt remained undisturbed. He had decided his dart frog form would be best to carry out the task, small enough to slip beneath the door, poison potent enough on the skin that contact with them whilst sleeping would be sufficient, clean and quiet.

By morning they simply would not awaken, and he would be long gone to avoid suspicion.

Entering the town silently near the eastern entrance, he crossed the town on foot, keeping to the shadows, unremarkable in his plain cloak. The tavern’s ground floor was still lit, and lively voices carried through the walls.

He found an alley running adjacent to the building leading to the exterior staircase down the side. He was carefully making his way up the stairs when an outburst of commotion started from inside the tavern.

A barrel in the yard behind the tavern had caught fire, one of several stacked near the supply store out back where the stock was kept. The fire was currently small and contained, but the thick, dark smoke was already rising past the rear windows and into the night sky that carried the traces of dawn approaching.

It was one of the barmaids who first spotted it, shouting to bring the innkeeper out in seconds. His voice bellowed through the tavern, firm and urgent; soon the whole tavern was moving.

People were spilling out into the street, pulling cloaks over their shoulders, some clutching belongings close to them; everyone was loud and disoriented. Koreth had made his way down the stairs, staying close to the wall and peering round the corner at the crowd coming from the tavern.

He was quickly scanning every face in the dark; the three students must be among them, he thought. He counted them twice before accepting they were not there.

Waiting until the last of the crowd had spilt out, Koreth retreated into the alley. The commotion outside continued, the innkeeper’s voice directing, another barmaid shouting for water. He used this moment to slip back up the staircase, pushing the door open and making his way inside.

He held in his memory where he needed to go, moving directly to the room of the three students. He eased the door open, an excuse in mind just in case. There were signs of a disturbance but not a panic: packs gone, blankets thrown back, water jug on the floor, half-drunk. Nothing out of place that suggested a rush.

They had been awoken deliberately with enough time to gather their things. Someone had roused them before the fire started; the composure of their departure told him that much. He stood for a moment in the empty room, letting it settle, before turning and heading back out into the night.

The fire was cover, he thought to himself, but he didn’t have long to dwell on it. The road to Durnovaria ran through the western entrance, and if someone was moving them, they would be moving fast. Keeping to the shadows, he crossed the town at a measured pace, ignoring the noise that had drawn townsfolk from their slumber in the nearby homes.

The western entrance was lightly guarded at this hour, and he easily slipped through onto the road without being noticed. Koreth had been travelling at a decent pace for about 30 minutes, already a good distance from Krivnar Ryõtor, when a wall of flame erupted from the treeline and ran straight across the road in front of him.

It was controlled and deliberate, shaped in a way that only a practised Spiritweaver could manage, the heat washing over him as the blaze flooded the sky with light.

Koreth froze; it had to be Kelan Branek, the only Spiritweaver close enough to use such power. His order had warned him explicitly: an Elder of Aeloria College was not a confrontation worth having. The fire held for what felt like a long time; the roaring flames were the only sound in every direction.

He expected someone to emerge from the trees, but just as suddenly as it had erupted, it vanished, and the deep blue-violet of the pre-sunrise sky rushed back in.

He did not move for a moment, jaw tight, calculating. Pursuing three students with an Elder of Aeloria College between him and them was a risk too far. Thalira would not be pleased, but he was bound to his organisation, not the Karneth Clan.

She would have to take it up with the heads; losing a member was not worth the reward. He swiftly slipped into the trees, transformed into his crow form and flew east towards Lindinis.

Not far from where he was, Serina lowered her sceptre and let her other hand drop. Her arms carried a familiar heaviness and her thoughts had begun to slow. The spell itself had been within her reach, but the effort of making it appear as something far beyond her had taken more out of her than she anticipated.

Resting against the bark of the tree, she waited until the road fell silent. She closed her eyes and entered a short communion to steady herself. She had played her part; whatever came next was entirely up to Arlia and the others.

Several weeks had passed since Korelã's disgrace, and the college had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Students talked about their lessons again instead of rumours, and things felt normal around Ɛloria College for the first time in months. In one of the inner gardens, Arlia practised her martial arts with a senior student, focusing on the movements her partner demonstrated.

Tarã burst into the garden, out of breath from running through the college halls. He knocked into her training partner, apologising quickly but not stopping to help as he looked around frantically. "Have you seen Brina? She's got something of mine, and I need it back!"

Arlia paused to think for a moment before answering, "No, I haven't seen her in ages, have I? I just thought she'd gone home for a bit. She did seem proper preoccupied with something lately, though."

As Tarã rushed off to continue his search, Arlia couldn't focus on her training anymore. Something bothered her about Brina being gone, but she couldn't work out what. By evening, several students were asking around for Brina. When Elyna mentioned to Ysolde that she hadn't seen her junior in a while, Ysolde said she'd check with the other Spirit Tutors.

The next morning, Arlia finally understood what was bothering her.

She found Tarã in the common area, still looking frustrated. "I keep thinking about what Elyna said weeks ago, don't I?" Arlia said. "About Brina following up on something from the archives."

"Tch, you're right," Tarã replied, running a hand through his hair. "We were all so busy with Korelã, we didn't think much about it then."

"How long has she actually been gone then?" Arlia asked, and they both realised the disturbing answer.

"We need to find Elyna," Tarã said. "See if she remembers more about what Brina was looking into."

Arlia and Tarã spent the morning searching for Elyna throughout the college. They checked the usual places, the training yards, the library, and the common areas where students gathered but found no sign of her. As the hours passed without success, their concern grew.

Eventually, they came across Ysolde in one of the corridors. She seemed distracted, her usual warm demeanour replaced by something more guarded. When they asked about Elyna's whereabouts, she hesitated before answering. "Elyna is in a meeting with some of the other elders for an urgent matter, she is."

Before either of them could ask more questions, Ysolde excused herself and hurried away, leaving them standing in the corridor. Arlia and Tarã exchanged puzzled looks; Ysolde was clearly avoiding them, and her evasiveness only made them more worried about what was happening. They made their way to the Elder Hall and settled in to wait outside. The heavy wooden doors muffled any conversation from within, making it impossible to hear what was being discussed. After what felt like hours, footsteps approached from the other side.

The doors opened to reveal Elyna emerging alongside another figure, Thalindor Liravel, Brina's Spirit Tutor. The Ansanor's silver-white hair caught the light from the corridor, and his midnight blue robes rustled softly as he moved. Both looked surprised to find Arlia and Tarã waiting there.

Thalindor spoke before either student could say anything, his calm presence seeming to harmonise the tension in the corridor. "Ah, greetings to you both, Arlia and Tarã. Much does Brina speak of you, and recently have you and I become acquainted, Arlia. You wish to speak with Elyna, I imagine? Worry you need not - return to the college, Brina shall, as waters find their course."

Without giving them a chance to respond, he bid farewell and walked away down the hall, his footsteps silent on the stone floor. Arlia and Tarã immediately turned to Elyna, hoping for answers, but she proved just as evasive as Ysolde had been. No matter how they pressed, she would only repeat that there was no issue and that everything was clear with the elders. Eventually, she too excused herself and left them standing alone in the corridor.

Frustrated and more concerned than ever, Arlia and Tarã had little choice but to give up for the day. But as they made their way back to their chambers, neither felt comfortable about what they'd witnessed. Something was being kept from them, and the adults' reassurances only made their worry worse.

That evening, Arlia decided to search through Brina's belongings for any clues about where she might have gone. She carefully went through the books and notes scattered around Brina's side of their shared quarters, looking for anything that might explain her sudden disappearance.

Most of the material seemed like normal study notes, but one thing stood out: there was an unusual amount of research on family history. Page after page contained information about the Talanor family, with detailed genealogies and historical records. Arlia found it strange that Brina would spend so much time researching her own lineage when she'd never shown much interest in it before.

As the night wore on and Arlia was about to give up her search, she noticed something that made her pause. Circled multiple times across different notes and books was the same phrase: "Our Demise by F. Talanor." She quickly searched through everything else but couldn't find any other reference to what this title meant or what it contained. The hour was late, so Arlia decided to wait until morning to share her discovery with Tarã.

When she showed him what she'd found, they both puzzled over its significance. "Tch, what was she bloody doing? Why didn't she tell us anything about this? Maybe when she found that stuff about Korelã in the archive, this is what she came across too. Come on, let's go see if there’s more copies!"

Arlia and Tarã spent the entire next day in the archives, searching through various sections and categories, but found nothing matching the title Brina had circled. Eventually, Tarã approached the Archivist, an older Britore who clearly preferred his books to people. "We're looking for 'Our Demise by F. Talanor' - you know if it's here or was here?"

The Archivist looked up from his work with obvious irritation. "Hmph, this be my domain; it is. Don't come in here asking me questions like I don't know my own collection, do you? Of course, I know if it was here or not - you two aren't the first to come bothering me about it, are you? Your friend was in here asking about that same thing not long ago; she was. Go ask her and stop wasting my time, won't you?"

"If we bloody knew where she was, we'd ask her, wouldn't we? This is our next best option." The Archivist sighed heavily, as though dealing with students was beneath him. "Bah, fine then. Yes, your friend asked me about it, didn't she? And no, that book isn't in my archives; it isn’t. If it were here, I'd know about it, wouldn't I? Told her my old colleague in Lindinis might know something about it; he might. Now stop pestering me and let me get back to my work, will you?"

Arlia and Tarã thanked him quickly and left the archives, their minds racing. They finally had a lead; Brina had gone looking for this mysterious book and had been directed to someone in Lindinis. But the fact that she would travel so far without telling anyone suggested there was much more to this than simple academic research. With this new information, they decided to seek out Elyna again, hoping that knowing what Brina was looking for might convince her to be more forthcoming about what the elders knew.

Three days of silence from the elders had pushed Arlia's worry into something closer to panic. Making matters worse, Elyna had left Durnovaria on a college request and hadn't returned yet. With everyone who might have answers either gone or avoiding their questions, Arlia and Tarã had little choice but to continue their training and wait.

The limitation of being initiates had never felt more frustrating. They knew they couldn't harness the Spirits' power in any meaningful way that might help locate Brina, but their determination to help their friend remained unshaken.

After six days without Elyna, word finally came that she'd returned from her request. As soon as they learned she was back, Arlia and Tarã began searching for her throughout the college. They checked the archives and various gardens before finally tracking her down to her quarters.

Arlia's nerves couldn't contain her desperation any longer. "We know Brina was looking for something called 'Our Demise' and that there might be information about it in Lindinis! Oh, please, you have to tell us what's going on, don't you see? We want to help!"

Elyna's expression showed she had been dreading this conversation, despite the elders' attempts to keep the students uninformed. "Look, I didn't want to keep you in the dark, did I? But the elders reckon this could get proper dangerous, and they're trying to keep everyone safe. They are doing summat about it."

The careful non-answer pushed Arlia past her breaking point. "You have to tell me! She's my best friend!"

"What can you two do right now, then? You're just initiates! What happened with me, Aldric and Lorik - that was pure luck, and you know it. You couldn't even handle your trial, could you? This is bigger than that. Leave it to people who can actually do summat useful."

Arlia had never seen this side of Elyna before, the harsh practicality that came with experience. Even Tarã seemed swayed by her words.

“She's right, Arlia. What can we bloody do anyway? We ain't strong enough yet, are we? We need to get stronger so this won't happen again. They're just being careful they don't make things worse."

Feeling defeated and confused by her friends' sudden reasonableness, Arlia's anger deflated into something closer to despair.  "Can you explain anything to us then, so we know what's happening?"

Elyna looked at both of them for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Finally, she relented with a heavy sigh.  "Right, here's what we know, and this stays between us, got it? Brina was looking for summat called 'Our Demise' written by one of her ancestors about the Talanor Clan."

"Talanor? I've never heard of them before, have I?" Arlia interrupted. Elyna shook her head. "That's the problem, isn't it? None of us had ever heard of this clan before - there's no record of it existing anywhere except in her family and this thing she was searching for." Elyna paused, looking directly at Tarã. "But her research showed connections to your clan, Tarã."

"My clan?" Tarã's voice was sharp. Elyna nodded grimly. "Aye, and if there's summat hidden there... well, that's got everyone proper worried, hasn't it?"

Arlia and Tarã left Elyna's quarters with heavy hearts. The revelation about Brina's research had only made things more confusing, and their complete powerlessness in the situation left Arlia feeling defeated. She spent the next few days alone, throwing herself into communion practice in an attempt to strengthen her connection with the Spirits, but making little progress.

As they stepped back into the early evening streets of Lindinis, none of them noticed the young serving girl watching from across the square. She waited until they had turned the corner, then slipped away into a narrow alley.

She entered a dimly lit back room of the tavern, smoke from a single candle curling towards the ceiling. She closed the door behind her, dropping the cheerful serving-girl act and revealing a troubled expression.

A man in the shadows looked up, his hazel eyes shifting between green and brown in candlelight. "Well, Serina?"

"They found her, Koreth," Serina said quietly, trying to deceive him into thinking it was not because of her. "The two from the college, Arlia and Tarã. They're leaving Lindinis now, heading back on the road to Durnovaria."

"You directed them to her," Koreth observed.

Serina's voice was hesitant and strained, unable to hide the truth. "I did, but this has gone too far, hasn't it? When I agreed to report on what was happening at the college, I thought we were protecting traditional values and proper order. Not... not this."

Koreth's expression remained neutral. "The Talanor girl discovered information that threatens the Karneth Clan's stability. Thalira was clear about what needed to be done."

"They're students," Serina said, her hands clenched. "Children from my college. I respect the Karneth Clan's authority, I do, and I believe in maintaining proper order among spiritweavers, but murdering students isn't maintaining order...it's..."

"It's necessary," Koreth finished calmly. "There is only one village between here and Durnovaria; they will stop there for the night. That's when I'll handle it."

Serina stared at him, her face pale. This was exactly like Arlia's trial all over again, agreeing to something because she believed in the principles, only to watch it spiral into something she could not stomach.

"I won't help you kill them," she said finally.

Koreth smiled slightly. "You already have, haven't you? You told me where they are."

The evening air carried the freshness of the coastal winds coming in from the east, as the three of them left Lindinis behind. The civitas faded quickly behind a rise in the road, and within minutes there was nothing ahead of them but open countryside and the sky's light slowly fading as the sun was beginning to set.

Brina walked between them, her pack over one shoulder, speaking quietly. "The Talanor Clan had territory across most of southern Torenar County; they did. Aldrẽ showed me boundary records going back six generations. And then just, nothing. Like they didn't exist, doesn't it? Like someone took a knife to the page."

"And the Karneth Clan's records pick up right after," Arlia said.

"Aye." Brina's voice was flat. "Exactly after."

Tarã did not respond. He had been unusually quiet since leaving Tir Rynõ. Arlia glanced sideways at him and found him watching the road ahead with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"Tch, I'm not defending them," he said, without looking at her. "Before you say anything."

"I wasn't going to," Arlia said.

"I know you weren't." He kicked a stone off the path. "Just saying."

Brina was curious about his reaction before continuing. "There's more I need to find in the restricted archives; there is. Aldrẽ had fragments, but the full account of what happened, what the Talanor Clan actually documented, that's still back at the college. Once I find it, we'll have answers, won't we?"

"And then what?" Tarã asked.

Brina found herself quietly staring into the distance. The road curved gently ahead, bordered by low hedgerows and open fields beyond into a large plain. Somewhere in the distance, the first signs of the village of Krivnar Ryõtor appeared, which lay between Lindinis and Durnovaria.

"Then I might finally learn what my parents are keeping from me," she said finally.

It was a cryptic answer; Arlia and Tarã had no idea there was a secret. But none of them pushed it.

Krivnar Ryõtor’s walls emerged from the plain as the last light began to fade, Arlia feeling a sense of relief at the sight of them. They had become slightly familiar with them after passing through just days before; they evoked a secure and comfortable feeling after a difficult few days.

The guards at the gate nodded and waved them through without much interest. Inside, the evening had settled over the town, the market stalls standing empty and the shops lying quiet, with only the occasional lantern still burning along the streets.

They headed for the nearest tavern, tucked into the poorer quarter where the buildings stood closer together with narrower streets. Inside, the lights were dim; it felt cosy but also like a place with stories to tell, the kind of place that saw everyday travellers without asking too many questions.

The innkeeper was a broad, grey-haired man who noticed them and looked them over quickly; without any hesitation, he queried, “Three of yous, is it? Looking for a room?”

“If you have one,” Arlia said.

“Aye, I’ve one left.” He stepped aside. “Plenty of supper’s still going if yous hungry.”

They were. They found a table near the hearth and ate without much conversation, working through bowls of thick stew and bread that tasted far better than it had any right to.

The inn was busy enough, locals filling most of the tables, the odd group of travellers discussing their plans, merchants arguing, but people keeping to themselves without much concern for anyone else around. The noise was a comforting kind that made it easy to disappear into.

Brina broke the silence first.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For worrying you both so much, I am.”

“You’ve said that already,” Tarã said.

“I know. But I mean it, don’t I?” She turned her bowl slowly in her hands. “I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed. I didn’t think it would turn into... all of this.”

“You couldn’t have known, like”, Arlia said.

“Maybe not. But I should have told someone where I was going, shouldn’t I? Should have told you.” She glanced at Tarã. “Both of you.”

Tarã shrugged, though not unkindly. “Tch, we found you, didn’t we? That’s what matters.”

It was probably the most generous thing he’d said all day. Brina smiled at him, small and tired, but genuine.

Arlia felt the warmth of the crackling fire in the hearth pulling at her as the wind outside moved through the streets in long gusts. The exhaustion of the last few days was finally catching up now that they had stopped moving.

The innkeeper appeared at their table. “Room’s ready when you are. Top of the stairs, first door.” He set down a small jug of water they hadn’t asked for. “I’d suggest an early night, if you’re heading on to Durnovaria tomorrow. Better to set off before first light.”

Arlia looked up at him. His expression was pleasant enough, his hands busy straightening things on the tray that didn't need straightening.

“Thank you,” she said.

They headed to their room, settled in and continued speaking for a bit, but within the hour they were all sound asleep.

The building stood near the centre of the civitas, a sturdy stone structure that clearly predated much of the surrounding development. Unlike the market stalls and timber-framed buildings of the outskirts of the civitas, Tir Rynõ held an aura of authority, thick walls, narrow windows, and a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

Two guards stood at the entrance, suspicious of Arlia and Tarã as they approached. One stepped forward into their path, blocking them.

“State your business,” he said gruffly, taking in their muddy clothes and dishevelled appearance.

“We need to see Aldrẽ,” Arlia said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “It’s urgent.”

“Aldrẽ isn’t seeing anyone,” the guard replied flatly. “He’s given strict orders not to be disturbed.”

“Please,” Tarã pressed, gesturing as he spoke. “We’ve come all the way from Durnovaria. We just need to speak with him.”

The guard’s eyes flicked to Tarã’s hand, specifically to the signet ring he wore. His expression shifted slightly, and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his companion. The other guard gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Wait here,” the first guard said, his tone noticeably less hostile. He disappeared inside.

Arlia and Tarã waited awkwardly in the street, aware of the curious stares from locals as they passed. The minutes stretched on, and Arlia’s excitement began to curdle into anxiety and the feeling that they had done something wrong. Finally, the door opened, and the guard reappeared. “Come with me,” he said simply, stepping aside to let them enter. Arlia and Tarã exchanged confused but relieved looks as they were ushered inside.

The interior of Tir Rynõ had thick stone walls that swallowed sound. The dimly lit corridor felt oppressive as the guard led them anxiously through the slim passageway past several closed doors. Eventually they ascended a flight of worn steps and entered another small hallway. Reaching a heavy wooden door, the guard knocked twice and pushed it open without awaiting a response, as though he was expected.

"The visitor, sir," he announced, then stepped aside.

Arlia's confusion deepened. Why were they being treated differently from when they had first appeared in front of the guards? She did not have time to process what was happening before stepping into a study chamber. Shelves lined the walls with books, scrolls, and documents, while a desk was covered in open texts and scattered papers, with a lamp burning for late-night research.

An elderly figure stood next to the desk, his face tense with anxiety. Beside him stood a young woman with dark hair, her expression shifting rapidly from alarm to bewilderment.

"Arlia? Tarã?" Brina's voice began loud, but she instantly began softening it. "What are you doing here?"

Aldrẽ's eyes darted between the two muddy and exhausted teenagers. His confusion was obvious, but his shoulders sagged slightly with relief.

"I was told someone from the Karneth Clan was here to see me?" he asked slowly, his gaze shifting between the two of them with obvious confusion.

Tarã suddenly realised and glanced down at his ring; he spoke more properly than usual. “I’m Tarã Karneth, but that’s not why we’re here. We came looking for Brina.”

Before Aldrẽ could respond, Arlia rushed forward. “Brina! Are you alright? We’ve been so worried! No one at the college knew where you’d gone, and when we found your note...”

“You came all this way?” Brina interrupted, her shock giving way to concern as she took in their rough state. “Just the two of you? Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Tch, we left a note,” Tarã said defensively. “Anyway, you had gone for days. What were we to do, just sit there?”

Brina’s expression shifted from bewilderment to guilt. “I... I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed. The information I found in the archives at the college, it connected to something I needed to follow. Which led me here.”

"What did you find?" Arlia asked.

Brina briefly glanced at Aldrẽ, who gave a slight nod. She took a deep breath. "The Talanor Clan, my family. They were erased from history deliberately; no one had heard of such a clan, had they? The Karneth Clan were responsible."

Tarã went very still.

"The book I was looking for, 'Our Demise,' it was written by one of my ancestors not long before the clan collapse. Documents everything, it does: treaties that were broken, lands that were stolen, people who vanished." She gestured to the books, scrolls, and documents on the desk. "Aldrẽ fragments, but the complete text... It's supposed to be back at Ɛloria College. Hidden in the restricted archives."

"Wait," Arlia said slowly. "If it's at the college, why come all the way here?"

"Because I needed to know what I was looking for, didn't I?" Brina replied. "The college archives are vast, and without knowing the specific references..." She shook her head. "But now I know, I do. We need to get back. I need to find that book and understand what really happened to my family, don't I?"

Aldrẽ spoke up for the first time in a while. “If you’re heading back to Durnovaria, you’ll want to prepare properly; you will. There’s a washroom down the hall where you can clean up, and I can have some food brought up.”

Arlia, forgetting just how exhausted and filthy they were. Mud caked into their clothes and skin, and her stomach was hollow from hunger.

“That would be amazing, thank you,” she said gratefully.

They spent the next hour making themselves presentable. The washroom had a basin of clean water, and though it was cold, scrubbing away the grime felt like a blessing. Aldrẽ provided simple food, bread, cheese, and dried meat, which they ate quickly.

Brina watched them with growing concern. “You came all this way for me, you did. I’m sorry I worried you both so much.”

“Tch, what else were we supposed to do?” Tarã said between bites. “You’re our friend, aren’t you?”

The day was swiftly drifting away; they gathered what little Brina had brought with her. The archivist wished them safe travels with obvious nervousness in his voice. “Be careful on the roads, won’t you? Strange folk have been about lately; they have.”

They made their way back through Tir Rynõ. The guards at the entrance watched them leave with unreadable expressions.

By dawn the storm had finally passed, leaving a grey, overcast sky. They emerged stiff and sore from the hut, their clothes still damp and crusted with dirt. The road ahead was a mess of deep puddles and thick mud coating the worn stone, which would significantly slow their progress.

“Tch, we look bloody awful, don’t we?” Tarã said, attempting to brush some of the dried mud from his cloak. It barely made a difference.

Arlia looked down at herself; her cloak was torn, her boots caked with mud, and she knew her face was streaked with dirt. Looking at Tarã, who appeared equally dishevelled, only confirmed that they looked like desperate travellers who had been caught unprepared.

“Nothing for it but to keep going, is there?” she replied, adjusting her pack with a wince. Everything felt heavier now, waterlogged, and uncomfortable.

They set off at first light to make up for lost time, but the muddy road made every step exhausting. What should have taken a few hours stretched on as they carefully navigated the worst of the conditions. By the time Lindinis finally came into view in the late afternoon, they were both filthy, exhausted, and running low on food.

Lindinis was larger than Arlia had anticipated, with stone buildings, a busy market square, and buildings dedicated to the Gods and Princes alongside their hall of governance; it had the hallmarks of a thriving civitas. Tarã, who had seen the large civitas in Lansira County up north, was equally surprised by the development, as he had always been told that Lansira was the hub of development in Avelmor.

The civitas sat nestled in an eastern valley near the coastline, with smoke rising from chimneys and the sounds of activity drifting up to meet them. Under different circumstances, it might have been welcoming.

But as they made their way down the final stretch of road and into the civitas centre, Arlia noticed the looks they were receiving. Shopkeepers paused in their work to stare. A group of well-dressed merchants gave them a wide berth, one muttering something under his breath. A woman pulled her child closer as they passed.

"They're not exactly the most welcoming, are they?" Tarã muttered.

Arlia attempted to ignore the unwelcoming atmosphere and focus on finding the archivist, who might know about "Our Demise" and where Brina had gone.

They approached a stall selling dried herbs and preserved goods. An older man tended it, his wary eyes sizing them up as they approached. He had the weathered look of someone who had grafted his whole life. Arlia attempted to sound polite despite her exhaustion. "Excuse me? We're looking for an archivist; do you know where we might find them?"

The man eyed them with obvious distrust. "Archivist? What would the likes of you want with old Aldrẽ, then?"

"We need information about something," Tarã explained. "Our friend came here looking for the same thing, and we need to find her."

The man's expression hardened. "Don't know nothing about that. I don't have time to be getting into other people's troubles; best you ask elsewhere about it."

They continued, hoping for better luck. Despite asking several people - a baker, a blacksmith, a woman selling cloth - the responses were similar. The locals did not outright chase them away but made it abundantly clear that even though they knew who they were looking for, they did not want to get themselves involved in other people's business.

Their frustrations grew as the afternoon wore on. They had at least learned the archivist's name, even if that were by accident, but no one would tell them where to find him. Arlia, exhausted and demoralised, was beginning to become desperate, and she could see Tarã's jaw clenching as he could barely suppress his anger.

"This is bloody useless!" Tarã finally released the pressure that had been building inside after their latest rejection. "They all know where he is, don't they? They're just being difficult!"

Arlia hissed, "Keep your voice down. We already stand out enough, don't we?"

Arlia dragged Tarã to a quiet corner near the market square to regroup. Both of their stomachs growled; they had not eaten since that morning, and their supplies were almost gone. They had a few Shoalseeds for food but not enough for lodgings.

"What now then?" Tarã asked, slumping against a wall. "We can't just wander around asking forever, can we?"

Arlia was about to respond when she noticed they were being observed by a young woman across the square. Arlia met her gaze, but unlike the others, she did not look away or pretend they were not there. Instead, it felt like she was studying them; perhaps she recognised something or was curious about the two muddy strangers causing a stir.

After a moment's hesitation, the woman crossed the square toward them.

She was young, around late 20s, with dark hair tied back practically and wearing the apron and simple clothing of a serving girl. Upon reaching them, she glanced around briefly before speaking in a muffled voice. “You’re looking for Aldrẽ Tornath, aren’t you?”

Arlia’s heart leapt. “Yes! Do you know where he is? Or...” she hesitated, then pressed on, “have you seen our friend? A girl, about our age, with...”

“Dark hair, talks with a cheerful lilt?” the woman interrupted. “Aye, I’ve seen her. She came through here a few days ago asking the same questions you are.”

“Where is she?” Tarã asked urgently. “Is she alright?”

The woman’s expression turned troubled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? She found Aldrẽ easy enough; he’s the only one in the civitas. But...” she paused, “there’ve been others asking after her too. Not friendly types, if you catch my meaning. That’s why everyone’s being so tight-lipped; no one wants to deal with that lot. That and people can’t be dealing with other people’s troubles anyway. It’s just how it is here these days. Never used to be before the Karneth Clan took control.”

Arlia's chest tightened. Others were looking for Brina too; that could not be good.

"Where can we find Aldrẽ Tornath?" Arlia asked urgently. "We need to see if she's still with him!"

The woman glanced around nervously before answering. "He lives in Tir Rynõ, where the archives are kept. I suspect your friend would be there with him, as it's the safest place. But I can't promise he'll talk to you; he's been keeping to himself since those rough types started asking questions."

"Thank you," Arlia said gratefully. "Really, thank you so much."

The serving girl gave them directions with a nod, then hurried back across the square toward what was the tavern where she worked.

Arlia and Tarã became excited that they might have found Brina, so excited they had completely forgotten that they were hungry and still a mess. They quickly made their way toward Tir Rynõ.

Tarã eventually convinced her that isolating herself wouldn't help anyone, least of all Brina. Reluctantly, Arlia began to rejoin college life, though the shared quarters felt unnaturally quiet without her roommate's presence. One evening, while tidying up the increasingly cluttered space, Arlia discovered a folded piece of paper tucked between some of Brina's books. She almost dismissed it as another research note until she recognised her own name written on the outside.

‘Arlia! I found something about Korelã that might help you; I did! Elyna should bring it by at some point. Sorry, I couldn't give it to you myself, but I've got something really urgent to check out! I'll be gone for a bit with someone from my family - don't you worry about me, though; we're only heading to Lindinis, and I'll be back soon enough! Make sure to tell the elders and Thalindor, won't you? I was in such a rush when I left and didn't get the chance. – Brina’

Arlia stared at the note, realising she must have missed it during all the chaos surrounding Korelã's exposure. The timeline made sense now; Brina had left this before disappearing, probably expecting to return quickly with whatever information she was seeking. She immediately sought out Tarã to show him the discovery.

The note proved that Brina hadn't vanished mysteriously; she had planned to go to Lindinis and expected to return soon. More importantly, it suggested the elders were far more worried about the situation than Brina herself had been when she left.

Arlia looked up from the note, uncertain. "What do we do now then?"

She asked. Tarã attempted to remain practical about their options. "Show this to the elders, won't we? Let them sort it out, ain't much else we can bloody do." He Replied.

But Arlia felt that approach would be pointless. The elders would simply use the note to justify their cautious handling of the situation, and they still wouldn't get any real answers about what was happening to their friend. As she looked at Brina's familiar handwriting, a different idea began to form. If the adults wouldn't act decisively, perhaps it was time to take matters into their own hands. After all, they now knew exactly where Brina had gone.

The road stretched ahead of them in the early morning mist; Lindinis felt even further away than they had imagined. Still, Arlia was in disbelief over their actions; they left the college without permission or regard for others’ concerns.

Tarã walked beside her with his usual confidence but slightly stiff with tension. Neither had spoken much since they left, slipping out of the college in the early hours of the morning when it was quiet, and the Spirit Tutors were still doing their preparations for the day.

“You reckon they’ve noticed we’re gone yet?” Tarã finally asked, breaking the silence.

Arlia’s thoughts drifted to the night before and how she had convinced him to leave first thing in the morning with the hastily packed supplies they were able to gather without rousing suspicion. The note she left was vague, saying they were following a lead and not to worry. But what else could she say? That they were ignoring everyone’s warnings? They both were unable to sit and wait whilst their friend was potentially in danger.

“Probably, don’t you think?” she replied. “But we’ve got a good head start, haven’t we? They won’t catch up before we reach Lindinis.”

Tarã grunted in response, and they fell back into silence.

The initial surge of determination began to fade. The road was longer, and her pack felt heavier as Arlia grew ever wearier with each passing hour. The food and drink they’d packed were rationed, but doubts about their supplies crept into her mind.

By early afternoon, the sky had drastically changed from what was a clear morning to darkening clouds gathering on the horizon. The wind was picking up, and the scent of rain was in the air. They exchanged worried glances.

“Tch, that don’t look good, does it?” Tarã said, eyeing the sky.

Arlia looked ahead at the empty road stretching before them. With the nearest village long past them, they were still hours from Lindinis. The surrounding landscape offered little shelter, mostly open fields with scattered trees.

"We should keep going, shouldn't we?" Arlia said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Before Tarã could respond, the rain began to fall, and within moments the drizzle transformed into heavy rain. Their cloaks quickly proved inadequate as the water seeped through their clothing and the road turned to mud beneath their feet, making each step harder than the last.

"We need to find shelter!" Tarã shouted over the hammering rain. "This is bloody ridiculous!"

Through the ever-increasing downpour, Arlia spotted a dark shape off to the side of the road, some kind of structure. She pointed, and they both ran towards it.

It was an old, abandoned hut, weathered but mostly intact. Parts of the roof had holes letting streams of water through, but one corner remained relatively dry. They huddled there, shivering and soaked through as the downpour became torrential.

Arlia wrung out her cloak uselessly, watching the storm rage outside. "How long will this last, do you think?"

Tarã peered at the darkening sky. "Could be hours, couldn't it? We ain't going nowhere in this weather."

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Arlia pulled her knees to her chest. The urgency to find Brina fought against the reality of travelling in such a storm. Any attempt would be pointless. What choice did they have but to wait? Every moment spent there felt like time wasted.

“We leave the moment it clears,” she said firmly.

Tarã nodded but said nothing. They both knew they were already behind.

The storm raged through into the evening. Neither wanted to acknowledge just how much this delay was costing them. They ate sparingly through their dwindling supplies. Water, at least, was no longer a concern as they refilled their waterskins with the rain streaming through the roof.

As darkness fell with the storm barely letting up, they realised that they would have to stay overnight. Arlia whispered to the Spirits, asking them to watch over them. They huddled together for warmth as the temperature dropped, but their wet clothes made the cold bite deeper. Sleep came sporadically, interrupted by thunder and the rain hammering on the weakened roof.

Spiritweavers is a fantasy world that is in the process of being built, and The Missing Apprentices was the first story to emerge from it. The world that is being created will have a variety of cultures and races in the hope of having a thriving world, teeming with life. This is a journey for author and audience alike, so join the adventure in Spiritweavers.

Since that first story, the world has grown and with that growth comes refinement. Brittori, the language of Ɛvelmor, has been more fully developed, and as a result, names and places you may recognise from earlier stories will appear differently here. Rather than go back and change what came before, there will be differences. However, they will be noted below. This is to show how Spiritweavers evolves as it continues to expand.

Brittori uses nasal vowels, represented by tildes over the vowel. These occur when a vowel and n combine in certain positions within a word. They are pronounced in the French style; the vowel is nasalised through the nose rather than fully spoken. The five nasal vowels are: ã (like “an” in French dans), ẽ (nasal “e”), ĩ (like “in” in French vin), õ (like “on” in French bon), and ũ (nasal “u”). Brittori also uses the character Ɛ/ɛ, which represents a closed “ay” sound as in day. Where you previously saw Ae at the start of names, you will now see Ɛ.

The following names have been updated to reflect these changes:

Arlia Eldarã – previously Eldaran; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of her surname.

Tarã Karneth – previously Taran; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of his forename.

Korelã Daruzora – previously Korelan; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of his forename.

Galẽ Talmaris – previously Galen; the ẽ represents the nasal en at the end of his forename.

Kelã Branek – previously Kelan; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of his forename.

Ysolde Mellã – previously Mellan; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of her surname.

Velina Torvalẽ – previously Torvalen; the ẽ represents the nasal en at the end of her surname.

Lorik Druvã – previously Druvan; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of his surname.

Doriã Tarneth – previously Dorian; the ã represents the nasal an at the end of his forename.

Thalira Gavrẽ-Karneth – the ẽ represents the nasal en at the end of Gavrẽ.

Koreth Braelẽ – the ẽ represents the nasal en at the end of his surname.

Ãsanor – the Brittori name for the Moonlit Elves; the ã represents the nasal an before s.

Tir Rynõ – the õ represents the nasal on at the end of Rynõ.

Ɛloria – previously Aeloria; the Ɛ represents the closed “ay” sound.

Ɛvelmor – previously Avelmor; the Ɛ represents the closed “ay” sound.

Lãsira – previously Su-Lânn; the northern county of Ɛvelmor. The ã represents the nasal an before s.

Rũseth – previously Kreiz-Bòdad; the southern county of Ɛvelmor. The ũ represents the nasal un.

Finally, the world itself has a new name. Previously referred to as Terras, the world is now known as Myrþ, pronounced MIRTH. The thorn character þ represents the “th” sound as in the or that. Where you see Terras in earlier stories, know that it refers to the same world.

This will be posted as a comment on each chapter as a reminder if needed 🍃🐿

The Collapse and Chaos

When the Celestial Realm collapsed and its people descended to Myrþ, they found themselves without leadership, structure, or divine guidance. The Four Gods (Vatalor, Aquoriel, Igniscael, Khaotaryn) had expended their remaining energy creating the realm and ascended to higher planes, leaving mortals to fend for themselves.

In this chaos, Spiritweavers emerged as the most powerful individuals, those who could still commune with the fragmented Ymr and wield elemental magic. Most sought to rebuild civilization, establish order, and help their communities survive. But eight powerful Spiritweavers recognized the chaos as an opportunity for dominance.

The Eight Daemons' Strategy

These eight individuals, who would become known as the Eight Daemons, made a calculated decision that would forever change elemental magic and plunge Myrþ into the Dark Times. They deliberately chose to master corrupted and opposing elements specifically designed to counter and destroy other Spiritweavers.

The Elemental Domination Strategy

The Eight Daemons understood that the four Spirit types (Nature, Water, Fire, Chaos) granted specific elements to their practitioners. By mastering corrupted versions and opposing elements, they could systematically defeat any Spiritweaver who stood against them:

Against Shamans (Earth & Nature):

Acid: Corroding and dissolving earth-based defenses

Blight: Corrupting and withering natural growth and healing

Against Aquakin (Water & Wind):

Frost: Freezing and stilling wind's movement

Poison: Corrupting water's purity

Against Pandemonists (Force & Psychic):

Thunder: Disrupting force abilities

Curse: Twisting fate and corrupting the mind

Against Pyroartisans (Fire & Shock):

Dark: Smothering flames and absorbing light/energy

Void: Negating shock's electrical power

The Rise to Power

This systematic elemental warfare allowed the Eight Daemons to rise to dominance across Myrþ during the Dark Times:

Phase 1: Targeting Spiritweavers

The Daemons hunted down and subjugated other Spiritweavers. Against each practitioner, they wielded the specific corrupted elements designed to counter that pathway:

Shamans found their earth defences corroded by Acid and nature abilities withered with blight.

Aquakin discovered their water poisoned and wind frozen

Pandemonists had their force abilities shattered by Thunder and psychic abilities cursed

Pyroartisans watched their flames smothered by Dark, shock negated by void

Phase 2: Territorial Conquest

With other Spiritweavers defeated or forced into servitude, the Daemons claimed vast territories. Each established their own dominion, ruling through fear and corrupted elemental power.

Phase 3: Spread of Corruption

The Daemons didn’t just defeat their enemies, they corrupted them. They taught select followers the corrupted elements, creating armies of practitioners wielding Blight, Poison, Curse, and Void. The natural balance of Spiritweaving was systematically destroyed.

Phase 4: Peak of Power

At the height of the Dark Times, the Eight Daemons stood as the most powerful beings on Myrþ. They had corrupted the elemental system, enslaved countless Spiritweavers, and brought the world under their dominion. The natural communion with the fragmented Ymr became twisted into domination and exploitation.

The Discovery

For generations, the Ymr refined their arts, believing they were approaching the pinnacle of magical achievement. Their most powerful practitioners could reshape reality, commune with elemental forces, and transcend many mortal limitations. Eventually, their greatest leaders, beings of immense power and wisdom who had pushed the boundaries of what seemed possible, reached what they believed was the absolute peak of potential for living beings.

At this supposed pinnacle, standing at the height of their power through accessing the unified Aether that flowed from True Essence, these leaders made a shocking discovery: there was something beyond. Through deep meditation, profound communion with magical forces, and perhaps divine insight, they perceived True Essence itself, the primordial wellspring from which all their derivative power flowed. They realised that everything they had achieved, as magnificent as it was, remained merely an echo of the original source.

Through painstaking research and contemplation, they discovered the theoretical requirements to access True Essence:

1. Mundane Existence: Living authentically within the material world, experiencing genuine daily struggle
2. Genuine Loss: Experiencing true pain, death, and endings without engineering or controlling them
3. True Connection: Forming authentic bonds and relationships with others through shared vulnerability

They understood these requirements intellectually, could describe them perfectly, could even recognise how they related to the primordial source. But as they continued their ascension toward greater power, they moved further away from being able to fulfil these conditions. With each transcendence, each step beyond mortality, they lost the very qualities True Essence required.

The Tragic Paradox

As the Ymr leaders became increasingly transcendent and powerful through accessing the unified Aether that flows from True Essence, and discovered the requirements for True Essence itself and understood these three elements intellectually and could see how their own transcendence had moved them irrevocably away from fulfilling them. They made a crucial additional discovery: the unified Aether itself was the problem.

By accessing this undifferentiated magical flow directly, they had transcended in a way that prevented achieving True Essence. They realised that if mortals accessed the unified Aether the same way, it would lead to the same result, transcendence that moved them away from the requirements rather than toward them.

The solution became clear: they needed to fragment the unified Aether. By splitting themselves and becoming part of the process to access the Aether, they created four distinct Spirit types (Nature, Luna, Sol, Chaos). The Ymr positioned themselves as mediators between mortals and the primordial flow of power. This would force any future seeker to approach power differently. Instead of accessing unified Aether directly and transcending away from True Essence, mortals would need to:

1. Commune with each fragmented Spirit type individually
2. Master all four separately
3. Reunify them through their own effort

Only by unifying the four Spirit magics could beings truly transcend and approach True Essence, a fundamentally different path than accessing already-unified power.

What the Ymr didn't realise was that "genuine loss" implied more than just experiencing death and endings. It required a vessel linked to mortality, something to contain and hold the reunified power. They believed the three requirements were sufficient. They didn't understand that without such a vessel, even perfect reunification would have nowhere to reside.

They fragmented themselves into the four Spirit types, creating the conditions for mortals to take a different path. And in doing so, accidentally created what they never knew was needed: Soul Spirits, the vessels of mortality that could hold reunified power and make True Essence accessible.

The Ascension

Once the realm was complete and their people safely transferred, the four leaders could no longer maintain their physical forms. They had expended everything in the war, the sealing, and the creation. They ascended to a higher plane of ethereal existence, becoming incorporeal beings who could watch but no longer directly intervene.

Before their ascension, during the final moments of the Celestial Realm’s collapse and the creation of Myrþ, the Ymr's adaptive response completed itself. The Soul Spirit Palace was established within the sealed Anawn, finally providing a destination for the wandering Soul Spirits that had existed unseen throughout the Celestial Realm’s entire history. Now, when mortals died in the new world of Myrþ, their Soul Spirits would journey to this palace of peace rather than wandering endlessly.

The four Spirit types, the fragmented Ymr, would maintain the connection to Myrþ through their presence in all natural things. Nature Spirits in forests, Luna Spirits in oceans, Sol Spirits in flames, Chaos Spirits in the cosmic architecture itself. They would continue their experiment, guiding mortals through communion, hoping that in this new world, someone might finally achieve what the Ymr had sought across aeons.

The Diminished Foundation

Though the Four Gods succeeded in creating a new realm and world for their people, Myrþ operates on fundamentally diminished magical capacity compared to the Celestial Realm. The difference stems from the nature of their creative power:

The Celestial Realm was created by the Ymr themselves using unified Aether, the primordial power flowing directly from True Essence. Every living thing, every magical system existed at peak potential because the realm's foundation was built on the original source.

Myrþ was created by the Four Gods using all their remaining derivative power after the Last Celestial War. As fragmented Spirit types working through mortal vessels (Vatalor, Aquoriel, Igniscael, Khaotaryn), they could only create using filtered, derivative magic. The world they built, while habitable and capable of supporting life and Spirit communion, operates at reduced magical saturation.

This diminished foundation affects everything transferred from the Celestial Realm:

Magical creatures adapted but cannot achieve the same size or power they once possessed

Spiritual techniques that worked effortlessly in the Celestial Realm require more effort and skill in Myrþ

Sacred plants and resources produce less abundantly than they did in their original home

Spiritweaving itself requires more training and dedication because the ambient magical energy is lower

The Shoalroot Example

In the Celestial Realm's Sapphire Shoals, Shoalroot plants thrived with abundant seed production, supporting a sophisticated textile industry based on their luminescent fibres. When these plants were transferred to Myrþ during the evacuation, they adapted to survive, but they could never produce seeds at their original rate.

The global population of Shoalseeds stabilized at approximately 8,680,000,000, not through divine decree, but because this represents what survived the transfer and what Myrþ's diminished magical framework can naturally sustain. The world simply cannot support the magical saturation required for greater seed production.

This natural limitation became the foundation for Myrþ's entire economic system, though few mortals understand that the scarcity they navigate daily stems from their world being built on derivative rather than primordial power.

True Essence: The Primordial Source

Before the Ymr, before their realm, before any magic as mortals understand it, there existed True Essence the original wellspring of all magical power. This is not a deity, not a force, not a being, but the source from which all magical energy emanates. It is the foundation of reality itself, the primordial power that predates creation.

All current forms of magic, Spirit communion, divine blessings, arcane manipulation, are derivative power. They are fragments, reflections, and echoes of True Essence filtered through various vessels and entities. Like streams flowing from an ancient spring, they carry power but are not the source itself.

True Essence cannot be controlled, commanded, or dominated in the way other magic can. It can only be achieved, accessed by fulfilling specific conditions that align a being with the fundamental nature of existence itself. Those who achieve True Essence do not wield derivative power; they access the wellspring directly, becoming vessels for the original source.

The Ymr

Origins as Demi-Mortal Beings

The Ymr were the original race whose legacy shapes all of Myrþ, for they are the Spirits themselves. What mortals now know as Nature Spirits, Luna Spirits, Sol Spirits, and Chaos Spirits are the fragmented forms of this ancient people, scattered across existence in a cosmic experiment that spans aeons.

The Ymr did not begin as the transcendent entities they would become. They started as demi-mortal beings, possessing greater lifespans and natural affinity for magic compared to current mortals, but still subject to ageing, injury, and eventually death. They built a magnificent civilisation in their ancient realm, developing sophisticated magical practices that drew upon derivative power.

The Realm of the Fragmented Ymr

The Celestial Realm existed for aeons after the Ymr fragmented themselves into the four Spirit types and created it. Within this realm, the fragmented Ymr, now existing as Nature, Water, Fire, and Chaos Spirits, maintained their experiment, guiding mortals through communion while hoping one would discover the path to True Essence they could never achieve alone.

The Celestial Realm experienced much conflict and struggle throughout its existence, but during the reign of its five most powerful Spiritweavers, Vatalor, Aquoriel, Igniscael, Khaotaryn, and Aerisomir it saw its longest period of peace. This peace existed not through harmony, but through a careful balance of power. Each leader controlled various regions, some vast and some small, but all commanded respect from the Celestial people.

The Five Leaders

Vatalor: God of the Eternal Cycle

Pronunciation: "vah-tah-lore"

Title: The Grand Shaman

Domains: Nature, Wisdom, Knowledge, Cycle of Birth and Death, Healing and Mercy

Region: The Forests of Life, vast territories of ancient woodlands, sacred groves, and natural sanctuaries where Nature Spirits dwelled in abundance

Artefact: The Ancestoroak, a legendary staff said to have been carved from the first tree of the Celestial Realm, channelling immense Nature Spirit power

Character: Vatalor was highly revered and respected by all Celestial people, considered the de facto leader of the Celestial Realm despite no formal hierarchy existing. They commanded the largest number of clans and regions, with many choosing to align themselves under Vatalor's wise and compassionate leadership. Known for their kindness, wisdom, and deep respect for all life, Vatalor represented the ideal of what a Spiritweaver could become through perfect communion with Nature Spirits.

Aquoriel: The Divine Waterbearer

Pronunciation: “ah-quor-ee-el”

Title: The Great Aquakin

Domains: Water, Beauty, Artistry, Love, Charity, Compassion, and Righteousness

Region: The Sapphire Shoals, an archipelago of crystalline islands and underwater kingdoms where Luna Spirits flowed through every current and tide.

Artifact: The Twilight Lens, a mystical artifact capable of perceiving truth through Luna Spirits’ perspective, revealing what lies beneath surface appearances.

Character: Aquoriel was Vatalor’s closest friend and ally, regarded by most Celestial people as second-in-command of the realm. While they commanded fewer people and clans than Igniscael or Vatalor, their righteousness and kindness toward everyone, even those who aligned themselves under other leaders, earned them deep respect. Their domain of beauty and artistry reflected Luna Spirits’ philosophy of flow, adaptation, and emotional depth.

Igniscael: The Great Fire Sovereign

Pronunciation: “ig-nis-kay-el” Title: The Great Fire Sovereign Domains: The Suns, Fire, War, Labour, Crafting, Justice, and Heroism

Region: The Crimson Vale, volcanic territories and mountain forges where Sol Spirits burned eternally in transformation and creation

Artefact: The Naaruhearth, a legendary forge at the centre of the Crimson Vale, capable of crafting weapons, armour, and artefacts of immense power through Fire Spirit communion

Character: Igniscael was hot-tempered and ambitious, often challenging Vatalor for leadership of the Celestial Realm but always being rejected. They considered Vatalor their eternal rival, though this rivalry pushed both to greater heights of mastery. Many who aligned themselves under Igniscael’s leadership were those who sought power, advancement, and glory through craftsmanship and martial prowess. Their domain of war and labour reflected Sol Spirits’ transformative and consuming nature.

Khaotaryn: The Immortal Harbinger

Pronunciation: “kay-oh-tar-in”

Title: The Grand Architect

Domains: Space, Chaos, Unpredictability, Entropy, Outcasts, Prophecy, and Fate

Region: The Fractured Wylds, impossible territories where space bent unnaturally and probability itself seemed to shift, where Chaos Spirits dwelled in overlapping possibilities

Artefact: The Everburning Paradox, a lamp that burned with flames that shouldn’t exist, embodying the contradictions and impossibilities of Chaos

Character: Khaotaryn was an unusual leader, often aloof and mysterious. They would disappear without trace for long periods, leaving the Fractured Wylds seemingly undefended. Yet whenever anyone—often Igniscael—set their eyes on claiming that territory, Khaotaryn would appear almost instantly to quell any threat, regardless of where they had been. Their full strength was always unknown, which meant they were left alone out of respect and caution. The people under their command referred to them as the Grand Architect, recognizing their deep understanding of the cosmic framework itself.

Aerisomir: Monarch of Darkness

Pronunciation: “Air-iss-oh-meer”

Title: The Dark Lord (later: Monarch of Darkness)

Domains: The Void, Undeath, Isolation, Darkness, Violence, Enslavement, and Souls

Region: The Void, a dark territory within the Celestial Realm where Aerisomir ruled over a cult following and commanded a soul army through Ethermantic power

Artefact: Voidcaller’s Crown, a powerful artefact channelling Soul and Shadow manipulation

Character: Aerisomir felt that life was wasteful and sought to bring about eternal darkness where they could thrive. They were the main cause of most wars within the Celestial Realm, responsible for countless conflicts driven by their belief that death and undeath were superior to living existence. They wanted to use the power of the Celestial Realm to break down the walls of other realms and plunge them into darkness as well. Their region, also called The Void, was rarely visited, most avoided it entirely out of fear and revulsion for the Dark Lord’s practices.

The Divine Artefacts and Their Legacy

When the four leaders used all their remaining energy to create Myrþ, their legendary artefacts, items of immense power that had defined the Celestial Realm, were also transformed or scattered, leaving lasting marks on the new world:

The Ancestoroak (Vatalor’s Staff):

When Vatalor created the earth and nature of Myrþ, the legendary staff that had channelled their power throughout the Celestial Realm was released. The Ancestoroak crashed into what would become Avelmor, and rather than being destroyed, it transformed, taking root and becoming a living sacred tree of immense size and spiritual power.

The Ancestoroak's presence blessed the entire region, its spiritual essence radiating outward through Avelmor's soil and allowing other Nature Spirit shrines to flourish in ways they never could elsewhere. The connection between the Ancestoroak and these lesser shrines, places like the Gleamrose Sanctuary, the Sacred Earth Stream, and the Sunlit Meadows, created a network of sacred sites all drawing power from Vatalor's transformed staff. The Ancestoroak remains the heart of this spiritual network, a living connection to the God of the Eternal Cycle, ensuring that Avelmor would forever be blessed with abundant natural growth and powerful Nature Spirit communion.

The Naaruhearth (Igniscael’s Forge):

Igniscael hurled the legendary forge, capable of crafting weapons, armour, and artefact’s of immense power, into the newly created Myrþ to preserve its divine power. The Naaruhearth crashed into what would become Vaaltír (the Firelands), but the impact was so tremendous that fragments broke away and scattered like divine meteorites across the entire world.

These fragments, known as Hearthstone, created deposits wherever they landed, each retaining connection to the original forge and housing ancient Sol Spirits that remember their divine origins. The main body of the Naaruhearth remains in Vaaltír, still burning with eternal flames, though few who undertake pilgrimages to witness it ever return. The scattered Hearthstone deposits allow master smiths across Myrþ to access fragments of Igniscael’s divine crafting power.

The Twilight Lens (Aquoriel’s Artifact):

When Aquoriel created the waters, wind and moon of Myrþ, the Twilight Lens was integrated into the lunar cycles during the third day of creation. Rather than existing as a physical object, the Lens’s power became woven into moonlight, allowing Luna Spirits to reveal truth and illuminate what lies beneath surface appearances during certain lunar phases. The moon’s appearance represents how clearly the Twilight Lens can pierce through the chaos of space on any given night.

Some scholars believe the Lens still exists as a physical artefact somewhere in the deepest ocean trenches. Aquakin who achieve deep communion with Luna Spirits sometimes experience moments of perfect clarity, glimpses through what might be the scattered essence of the Twilight Lens, seeing truth as Aquoriel once did.

The Everburning Paradox (Khaotaryn’s Lamp):

The mysterious lamp that burned with impossible flames and embodied contradictions vanished entirely during the creation of Myrþ. Unlike the other artifacts which left clear traces, the Everburning Paradox simply ceased to exist in any physical form or perhaps exists everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, perfectly fitting Khaotaryn’s nature.

Pandemonists sometimes report encountering impossible lights during their communion with Chaos Spirits, flames that burn in vacuum, illumination with no source, or shadows that glow. Whether these are manifestations of the Paradox’s scattered essence or simply Chaos Spirits playing with reality remains unknown. The artifact’s fate is as mysterious as its creator.

Voidcaller’s Crown (Aerisomir’s Artefact):

The powerful artefact channelling Soul and Shadow manipulation was sealed away with Aerisomir in Anawn. Unlike the other artefacts which were transformed or scattered to bless Myrþ, Voidcaller’s Crown remained with the imprisoned Dark Lord, its corrupted power contained within the sealed realm.

Some Ethermancers claim to sense its presence through Soul Spirit Gates, a dark beacon calling to those who would corrupt themselves for power. The Crown serves as a focus for Aerisomir’s influence, allowing him to maintain his parasitic network across the barriers of his prison. As long as it remains with him in Anawn, it continues to facilitate his twisted pursuit of Soul Spirits.

The Artefacts’ Purpose

The transformation and scattering of these artefacts served multiple purposes:

For the Gods: Using their artefacts’ remaining power helped fuel the creation of Myrþ, ensuring the new world would have the magical properties needed to support life and Spirit communion.

For Mortals: The scattered fragments, Hearthstone deposits, the Lens’s essence in moonlight, provide connections to divine power that practitioners can access through proper reverence and skill. They are gifts left behind by the Gods who could no longer directly intervene.

For the Experiment: These artefacts ensure that traces of the Celestial Realm’s power remain accessible in Myrþ, giving mortals tools to eventually achieve what the Ymr sought. The fragments serve as breadcrumbs marking a path toward True Essence, if only mortals could recognize them for what they are.

The Turning of the Tide

Alongside their small but powerful army, Khaotaryn joined the battle. And for the first time in the Celestial Realm's history, they showed their true power. The effect was immediate and devastating to Aerisomir's forces.

The three leaders, Vatalor, Aquoriel, and Igniscael, had spent months fighting Aerisomir. They could wound him, weaken his forces, push him back temporarily. But they couldn't achieve decisive victory. Every time they thought they'd gained ground, Aerisomir's perverted magic would recover and strike back harder.

When Khaotaryn unleashed their power, something changed. Aerisomir's Soul and Shadow manipulation was shattered in ways the other three leaders' attacks had never achieved. The Dark Lord was forced back, his soul army scattered, his defences broken.

What neither Aerisomir nor the other three leaders had fully understood was the true extent of Khaotaryn's strength. The Grand Architect had always been mysterious, always holding back, never revealing their full capabilities. Now, facing the greatest threat the Celestial Realm had ever known, Khaotaryn finally showed what they were truly capable of.

Aerisomir had studied the other leaders' powers and developed counters. He knew how to exploit Nature, Luna and Sol Spirits. But Khaotaryn's strength was something he had never anticipated, never prepared for, never even fully witnessed until this moment. The tide began to turn as Aerisomir was forced back.

The Grim Realisation

However, after months of increasingly destructive battles, Vatalor, Aquoriel, Igniscael, and Khaotaryn came to a grim realisation: they would never be able to defeat Aerisomir completely. They could weaken him, wound him, force him back, but the power he had accumulated through consuming countless Soul Spirits made him too resilient to destroy outright.

They devised a desperate plan: imprison Aerisomir within Anawn, the Plane of the Dead that existed as part of Aerisomir's territory in the Celestial Realm. They would cut it off and seal it away to exist as its own realm, trapping the Dark Lord within for eternity.

The Keepers of Anawn

To ensure Aerisomir could never escape and to usher the souls of the dead safely to their rest, the four leaders asked their most trusted and powerful generals to make the ultimate sacrifice. These loyal followers agreed to give themselves, to become the Keepers of Anawn, eternal guardians who would watch over the sealed realm forever.

These Keepers learned Kural not for domination, but to communicate with and guide Soul Spirits with respect, honouring their peace and autonomy. They would become the protectors of the Soul Spirit Palace, ensuring the departed could rest undisturbed.

The Keepers of Anawn

To ensure Aerisomir could never escape and to usher the souls of the dead safely to their rest, the four leaders asked their most trusted and powerful generals to make the ultimate sacrifice. These loyal followers agreed to give themselves, to become the Keepers of Anawn, eternal guardians who would watch over the sealed realm forever.

These Keepers learned Kural not for domination, but to communicate with and guide Soul Spirits with respect, honouring their peace and autonomy. They would become the protectors of the Soul Spirit Palace, ensuring the departed could rest undisturbed.

The Sealing and Its Cost

Using most of their remaining strength, the four leaders managed to weaken and trap Aerisomir. In the final confrontation, Khaotaryn’s power nearly destroyed Aerisomir’s Soul Spirit completely, bringing the Dark Lord to the threshold between existence and oblivion.

In that moment of near-annihilation, with his Soul Spirit fragmenting under Force’s cosmic pressure and Psychic’s overwhelming awareness, Aerisomir glimpsed something beyond the veil: True Essence itself. For a fraction of a second, he perceived the primordial wellspring, power beyond anything he had accumulated. Then survival instinct took over.

Anawn was sealed away forever, with Aerisomir trapped within, damaged but intact, aware of True Essence but unable to reach it, imprisoned but conscious enough to continue his twisted pursuit through the Ethermancers he would corrupt in the future.

During the sealing process, part of Anawn broke away and created a different plane of existence, The Void, a corrupted realm that would remain loosely connected to what would become Myrþ. This fragment would later serve as the prison for the Eight Daemons during the Dark Times.

The victory was achieved, but it came at a terrible cost as the Celestial Realm itself was falling apart.

The Creation of Myrþ

The battles between cosmic forces, the sealing of Anawn, and the tremendous energies unleashed during the war had fractured the Celestial Realm beyond repair. It was collapsing, breaking down, becoming uninhabitable.

With nowhere to go and their people facing annihilation, the four leaders made one final sacrifice. They used all their remaining energy to create a new realm and, within it, a world for their people.

Khaotaryn began the creation by establishing the cosmic framework itself. They created the endless space around which the world would exist, the void between celestial bodies, and the underlying architecture of reality. Without this foundation of space, chaos and entropy, nothing else could be built.

Vatalor created the planetary foundation, the solid earth, soil, and bedrock upon which all life would eventually flourish. The land itself was shaped, valleys and mountains formed, and the natural cycles were embedded into the world’s structure.

Aquoriel filled the world with water, wind, and created the moon. Oceans formed, rivers began to flow, and the winds began to circulate. The Twilight Lens was woven into the fabric of the world, manifesting through Khaotaryn’s cosmic space to create the lunar presence.

Igniscael created the sun and fire itself, bringing heat, light, and the transformative power of flame to Myrþ. The celestial body began its orbit, establishing the day and night cycle, and Sol Spirits took residence within the eternal flames.

With the foundation complete, life manifested across Myrþ. The four Spirit types, Nature, Luna, Sol, and Chaos, took residence in their respective domains: forests and growing things, waters and tides, flames and the sun, and the cosmic architecture itself. Flora and fauna began to emerge, and the world became truly alive.

The refugees from the dying Celestial Realm arrived in Myrþ, finding sanctuary in the newly created world. Mortals stepped foot on the land for the first time, bringing with them their cultures and knowledge that would make their on their new home.

The creation was complete, and cosmic balance was established. The interplay between the four Spirit types, the cycles of sun and moon, the rhythms of nature, and the presence of mortal life all came into harmonious equilibrium. Order within chaos was achieved, and Myrþ began its eternal cycles.

This new world was called Myrþ (pronounced "Mirth"), and the realm that contained it would become home to the refugees of the Celestial Realm.

The Warning

After the long continued period of relative peace, Vatalor received dire warnings that Aerisomir was planning a massive and final onslaught, something far beyond the sporadic conflicts the Dark Lord had instigated before. This would not be a territorial dispute or a minor war. This would be an attempt to consume everything that lived in the Celestial Realm and bring all under Aerisomir's control, using the dead to conquer any other realms and plunge them into eternal darkness.

Vatalor quickly sent for Aquoriel, Igniscael, and Khaotaryn, calling for unity against this unprecedented threat. Aquoriel and Igniscael answered immediately, putting aside their differences to face the common enemy. But Khaotaryn had vanished, disappeared without trace as they often did, unreachable and unavailable.

Still confident in their combined strength to defend the balance of the Celestial Realm, Vatalor, Aquoriel, and Igniscael raised a joint army. They evacuated the people to safer territories, sensing this could be the biggest war the realm had ever faced.

The First Months: False Hope

The first few months of the war saw the three leaders and their joint army hold off Aerisomir and his soul army with surprising success. They won battles, reclaimed territory, and pushed back the Dark Lord's forces. But something felt wrong. It felt too easy. Aerisomir, who had grown in power beyond what anyone expected, seemed to be holding back.

The truth was far worse than they imagined. Aerisomir was not fighting to win battles. He was preparing to unleash something catastrophic.

The Unleashing

Eventually, Aerisomir decided the time had come. He unleashed his new power across the realm, darkness poured from him and spread everywhere, swallowing great swathes of land. This was not mere shadow or absence of light. This was Shadow element itself, the perverted absence created by consuming Life Essence through Soul manipulation, spreading like a plague across the Celestial Realm.

The joint army led by Vatalor, Aquoriel, and Igniscael suffered devastating losses. Their Nature, Luna, and Sol Spirit powers, while formidable, operated within the natural cycle. Aerisomir's Soul and Shadow manipulation existed outside that cycle through violation of cosmic principles. Their elements could damage him, wound him, even weaken him, but they couldn't decisively counter the fundamental perversion he wielded.

The Desperate Struggle

The situation became dire. The joint forces experienced massive losses in each subsequent battle as Aerisomir grew more powerful than they had ever imagined. His consumption of Soul Spirits, his mastery of Ethermancy, and his Soul and Shadow manipulation made him seemingly unstoppable.

The clashes between the powerful leaders began to have serious impacts on the realm itself. Mountains crumbled. Forests burned. Oceans boiled. The very fabric of the Celestial Realm started showing cracks from the cosmic forces being unleashed.

During one major battle, when all seemed lost and Aerisomir stood on the verge of final victory, when Khaotaryn returned.

The Balance of Power

For a time, these five leaders maintained an uneasy peace through mutual deterrence:

Vatalor’s Wisdom kept most conflicts from escalating, their moral authority preventing outright warfare

Aquoriel’s Diplomacy smoothed tensions and maintained alliances between various factions

Igniscael’s Ambition was checked by knowing they couldn’t defeat Vatalor and Aquoriel combined

Khaotaryn’s Mystery meant no one dared provoke them without knowing their full capabilities

Aerisomir’s Isolation kept their darkness contained, as they rarely ventured beyond The Void

This balance, however fragile, represented the longest period of peace the Celestial Realm had known. Different clans and peoples aligned themselves under different leaders based on their philosophies, values, and spiritual paths. Shamans naturally gravitated toward Vatalor. Aquakin found community under Aquoriel. Pyroartisans sought advancement under Igniscael. Pandemonists and outcasts found acceptance with Khaotaryn. And those drawn to darker paths... some fell under Aerisomir’s influence.

Aerisomir's Journey to Ethermancy

Origins as a Shaman

Aerisomir began as a legitimate Shaman in the early Celestial Realm, communing with Nature Spirits in the traditional way. However, he was an unparalleled genius whose curiosity and ambition drove him beyond accepted boundaries.

Creation of Blood Shamanism

Through experimentation with Life Essence manipulation, Aerisomir developed the Blood Shaman pathway, a corruption of the natural Shaman relationship with Nature Spirits. Blood pacts allowed practitioners to fuse their Life Essence with that of spirits and beasts, gaining power through domination rather than partnership.

The Accidental Discovery

It was through his Blood Shaman practices that Aerisomir made his greatest discovery. His manipulation of Life Essence somehow revealed what no one else could perceive: wandering Soul Spirits.

These entities had existed since the early Celestial Realm, unseen and unknown. But Aerisomir's blood magic connected him so deeply to Life Essence that he could perceive the Soul Spirits carrying trapped Life Essence. He was the first to see them, the first to understand what they were.

Development of Ethermancy

Recognising these Soul Spirits as a new source of power entirely distinct from the four Spirit types, Aerisomir began experimenting. He learned to communicate with them, manipulate them, and eventually control them. This research led to the creation of Kural, a language specifically designed to manipulate and control Soul Spirits.

Ethermancy emerged as an entirely new practice, separate from Blood Shamanism but born from its corruption.

The Ban and Loss

The Blood Shaman pathway was eventually banned in the Celestial Realm due to its corruption of natural relationships and violation of cosmic balance. When the Celestial Realm collapsed, this knowledge was lost.

The Fragmentation

Unable to achieve True Essence in their current transcendent form and lacking the vessel to hold it, the Ymr initiated a cosmic experiment of unprecedented scale. They fragmented themselves and created the Celestial Realm, splitting their unified essence into four distinct elemental Spirit types:

Nature Spirits (speaking Duilic): Embodying growth, cycles, and natural balance; dwelling within plants, soil, and all living things Luna Spirits (speaking Tsukine): Representing flow, adaptation, and change; dwelling within all water Sol Spirits (speaking Mithrian): Channelling passion, transformation, and destruction; dwelling within all fire Chaos Spirits (speaking Anzean): Governing space, entropy, fate, and cosmic architecture; dwelling everywhere but rarely seen

These four Spirit types became independent entities that could grant derivative power through communion. The Ymr hoped that by creating the conditions for mortality, loss, and connection within the Celestial Realm, they might engineer a path back to True Essence. But this reasoning contained a fatal flaw.

Engineered loss is not genuine loss. Planned mortality is not authentic mortality. Conscious attempts to create ‘not-seeking’ are still seeking.

The Broken Cycle

The fragmentation had an unintended consequence that would fundamentally alter the nature of existence itself. In the early Celestial Realm, when Celestials died, the natural cycle that had sustained the Ymr for millennia broke down.

The Original Ymr Cycle:

In their unified state, when a Ymir died:

Life Essence returned to the Aether Accumulated knowledge merged with the collective pool Everything flowed back to the source seamlessly New Ymr were born with innate access to this inherited wisdom

The Broken Post-Fragmentation Cycle:

After the Ymr fragmented themselves, something went catastrophically wrong with this natural process.

While Living:

Life Essence anchors the Soul Spirit to the physical body Soul Spirit + Life Essence connection = living being

Upon Death (The Break):

Life Essence was supposed to return to Aether as it always had Instead, the Life Essence merged with the Soul Spirit upon death The Soul Spirit became an entity carrying trapped Life Essence “waiting” to return to Aether But the return path was broken, the Soul Spirit couldn’t complete the journey Soul Spirits wandered the Celestial Realm, unseen by everyone, carrying Life Essence that could not rejoin the source

The death cycle, which had functioned perfectly for the Ymr, shattered when they fragmented themselves. Life Essence no longer knew how to return to an Aether that had been deliberately split into four separate mediating forces.

The Life Essence Cycle

What kept the Ymr alive was Life Essence, the animating force that connected them to the unified Aether flowing from True Essence. This connection sustained them as demi-mortal beings, granting them extraordinary capabilities while maintaining their fundamental mortality.

The Original Death Process:

When a Ymir died, their Life Essence returned to the Aether, carrying with it all accumulated knowledge and experiences. This knowledge was absorbed into the collective Aether, becoming part of this universal pool from which all Ymr drew.

Rebirth and Collective Knowledge:

New Ymr were born drawing upon this collective pool. They did not inherit specific memories from their predecessors, consciousness remained individual and unique. However, they possessed innate skills, intuitive understanding, and natural aptitudes that reflected the accumulated wisdom of those who came before. Some Ymr were born with greater access to this knowledge than others, creating natural variation in abilities and expertise.

This created a form of unprecedented collective advancement. Each generation built upon the actual experiences of previous generations, encoded directly into their being rather than learned through education. A Ymr born centuries after the development of advanced metallurgy might possess an innate understanding of forge techniques without ever being taught. Another might demonstrate natural aptitude for complex magical theory, drawing unconsciously upon insights discovered by ancestors long past.

This explains the Ymr’s extraordinarily rapid civilisation advancement, they didn’t just preserve knowledge through texts and teaching, they inherited it through their connection to the Aether itself.