Lorien, his face a mask of mortification, was the color of a ripe plum.

“My apologies, Princess Thalia,” he murmured, his voice, usually a resonant baritone, now a strained whisper. “I was… taken aback. That particular text is not something one simply stumbles upon. My reaction was unbecoming of my station.” He inclined his head in a gesture of profound regret, his blonde hair catching the light before he met my eyes again.

A small smile felt like a fragile shield. “It’s alright, Lorien.”

Cassius, who had been observing from a nearby chair, shifted, the old chair groaning in protest. “Lorien’s dedication to the archives is special,” he said, his voice a low rumble meant to soothe the room’s sudden tension. “His first and only loyalty is to the preservation of knowledge.”

My gaze drifted from the elder back to the dangerous words coiled on the parchment. “I understand.”

Lorien seemed to regain a sliver of his composure. He gestured a trembling hand toward a tome resting before him, its binding the color of a deep sea, clasped in silver. “Perhaps we should begin here. A general overview. You may then delve deeper into whatever captures your interest.”

He opened the book. The vellum pages whispered as they turned, filled with an elegant, flowing script I could not decipher—the Old Elven tongue.

“Our own libraries hold similar accounts of the legends surrounding K’tthar,” Lorien explained, his long fingers ghosting over the script as if communing with the words themselves. “But this codex… this one is different.” He continued through the pages, the rustling sound the only noise in the room, until he found his place. He paused, drawing a slow, deliberate breath.

“K’tthar is an entity beyond our comprehension,” he began, his voice regaining its scholarly cadence. “It does not work in harmony with the natural world, but seeks to unmake it. A being of pure consumption. It is our belief that it was not born, but formed—a sentient blight coalesced from the accumulated malice of ages. I have always suspected it was first drawn to our world through a summoning.”

The name was not a word, but a key turning a lock in the most tormented part of my soul. 

I wrenched my focus back to Lorien, but the world had a muted, distant quality. He was already moving on, his voice a drone beneath the ringing in my ears. I squeezed my hands into fists, the bite of my own nails a sharp anchor in the here and now, and slowly, deliberately, uncurled them.

“…these are peripheral accounts of various legends,” Lorien’s voice sharpened, cutting through the fog. “Nothing struck me as immediately relevant, but I included them. More eyes offer new perspectives.” He gathered two of the books and slid them aside with a soft thud. “Any questions so far?”

“No,” I managed.

Cassius’s gaze was a physical weight. I could feel his concern boring into me. He watched me for a long moment before finally shaking his head and turning back to the elder. A silent question hung in the air between us, unanswered.

“Very well. Now for these,” Lorien said, indicating a smaller, more delicate stack of texts. “These pertain to the lost city of Oakhaven.”

“We were just there,” Cassius interrupted, his voice sharp with an astonishment that momentarily broke through his stoicism.

Lorien’s scholarly reserve evaporated like mist in the sun. Pure, unadulterated excitement lit his features. “You were? Truly? Tell me everything! It has been lost to the ages for centuries! How did you even locate it?”

A faint smile touched Cassius’s lips. “The proprietor of a certain magic tower knew the way. The city was… pristine. As if time itself had forgotten it. The gardens still bloomed. It was clear they loved their home.”

Lorien nodded slowly, rubbing his chin, his mind clearly racing. “Fascinating… Did you have a chance to explore the archives? Did you find anything?”

“No,” I heard myself say, my voice thin and distant. “We didn’t have the time.”

“A shame,” he murmured, his tone genuinely sympathetic. “Still, these texts may hold some value. Tell me, have either of you heard of the Elder’s Staff?”

“I have not,” Cassius said. I shook my head, still lost in the echo of my memories.

“Then allow me to enlighten you.” Lorien selected a slim volume from the Oakhaven stack, its pages brittle with age. “According to legend, a staff was passed down through generations of Oakhaven’s ruling elders. It was more than a symbol of power; it was a conduit, a living repository for the memories of all who had wielded it, granting its master dominion over ancient and powerful magic.”

He turned the book around. On the page was a stunning, hand-drawn illustration in faded ink. It depicted a staff of gnarled, twisted heartwood that looked as old as the mountains, crowned with a brilliant, multifaceted jewel that seemed to drink the light from the room.

“Of course,” Lorien added, a hint of academic caution returning to his voice, “this is merely a legend.”

But it wasn’t. A certainty settled deep in my bones, cold and absolute. 

“Could you set that one aside for me?” I asked, my voice clearer now, sharper. “I would like to study it.”

He beamed, his earlier unease forgotten in the thrill of discovery. “Most definitely.” He carefully placed the book in a new pile, a silent testament to my request.

Lorien continued, his voice a distant murmur as he explained the significance of other accounts. My mind, however, was a battlefield, caught between the cryptic horror of the scroll and the burgeoning importance of the Elder’s Staff. I watched his fingers trace the elegant lines of text, trying to tether myself to his words, until finally, he reached for the very scroll that had started it all. The one my eyes had been fixed upon since I first sat down.

“Princess Thalia,” he said gently. “Would you care to read this passage aloud?”

“Yes,” I replied. My own voice sounded foreign as I took the fragile parchment. Its texture was like dried skin beneath my fingertips. I took a steadying breath and began to read.

“The City must be sealed. K’tthar’s shadow lengthens, and its hunger threatens to consume all that is beautiful, all that is sacred. I fear the very stones of this land will cry out in agony if it breaches the Wards.”

The words were a trigger, and the vision returned, no longer a memory but a visceral experience. The sky over my own city, Tirilla, turning to black smoke. The screams of my people, a symphony of terror as K’tthar’s creatures tore through the streets, turning my home to ash before my eyes. My voice trembled, but I forced the next words out.

“We are to seal K’tthar for good. I have gathered our people to aid me. Though I do not know what this means for the future, or if I can truly seal him… this burden falls to me. But I will not—I cannot—lose hope. Not for my people. I can only pray our sacrifice is enough to bring this darkness to an end.”

The last word hung in the air, an orphaned sound in the profound quiet that followed. My hands were shaking so badly the parchment rattled. A single, faded sentence remained at the bottom, almost lost to time.

It had to have been an elder from Oakhaven, I thought, the pieces clicking into place with jarring clarity. The one who sealed K’tthar. They must have used the staff. The conviction solidified within me, a pillar of ice in the swirling chaos of my thoughts. That staff was vital.

“Thalia.”

Cassius’s voice was a lifeline, pulling me from the depths. I looked up, and my unfocused gaze finally met his. The raw concern in his eyes was a mirror to the turmoil I felt inside.

“Yes?”

“Where did you go just now?” he asked, his voice soft.

My eyes flicked to the book about Oakhaven, then back to him. “The staff,” I said, my voice gaining a conviction that surprised even me. “I know it’s important.”

“It very well could be,” Lorien agreed, his expression grave as he grasped the implications.

Cassius exchanged a look with the elder, a silent current of understanding passing between them that I was not privy to.

“Well,” Lorien said, breaking the silence as he gathered a few of his scrolls. “I believe I should be on my way. It grows late, and I have imposed on you both for long enough.”

“Thank you for your invaluable help, Lorien,” Cassius said with a respectful nod.

“Anytime,” the elder replied. “You know where to find me.” With a final, formal bow, he exited, leaving Cassius and me in a silence thick with unspoken words.

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “The ghosts in this room are loud enough,” he said finally. “Are you up for a different kind of fight?”