Seraphine stares at the depictions, her eyes flitting from one piece to another, widening more and more as they do.
Despite the carvings being made into the stone, many are painted, or even glow with colors all their own in many depictions.
I trace along the walls as well, trying to piece together what story is being told here.
Except… it seems to repeat itself. The first section is of Morena and Fylem, holding hands as they watch over a ball of light. Their smiles are gentle and caring, eyes soft and filled with untold love.
The look reminds me every bit of how my mother and father looked at me and my baby brother.
Doting parents, basking in their creation.
After is smaller depictions, showing all the peoples of the world. Elves, beastkin, humans, dwarves, roaming deserts, forests, great mountains, and more.
There are some I don’t recognize, either. Horned humanoids with bat-like wings, a people made of rock and stone, ocean dwellers with fine scales, and so many, many more.
And other things. Most of the odd creatures I glanced over earlier are in this section, smaller etchings mingling with the larger ones depicting the races. While I’ve never seen many of them, a few are recognizable to me, thanks only to how many stories I read over the years.
Each have long since been thought of as myths, but depicted here, on walls so ancient, I can’t find a reason to outright dismiss their having once existed.
Especially with the apparent reintroduction of extinct beings that began with the System Update, courtesy of Kiri and Morena herself.
I wonder if any of those beings have made it out of the dungeons yet…
I shake the thoughts off, refocusing on the creatures I recognize.
The first are Satyrs, humanoid goat people with jagged teeth and beady eyes. The myths depicted them as immeasurably cruel man eaters, among other things. Seeing them in such fine detail here, I can definitely see it being true.
The next that catches my eye is a sphinx, a massive catlike being with the torso of a woman devoid of any beauty it might offer. The depiction shows her looking down a collection of the other races, a perverse grin splitting her face in half, exposing knife-like fangs.
The moment I see it a shiver runs down my spine. What little I know of the mythical creatures terrifies me, and if they were actually real…
I pray I never run into one.
Then an even more, intimately familiar being catches my eye. I glare at the little cretins in the depiction.
Several small people flit around a lone human boy in a wooded clearing, their butterfly-like wings glittering in the stone carvings.
Faeries.
The faerie who cannot be seen by the child wear wicked and cruel smiles, while those at his front smile beatifically, donning a mask of sweet innocence.
From Omen of a Bluebell, I know not all fae are the same. Many of their kind are alien in nature, and often seem cruel to the mortal races because of it. But Faeries, specifically, are nasty little things.
As I move to the next depiction, I realize that my lips had curled into a snarl without me realizing it. I take a moment to settle my instinctual revulsion towards the little creatures before scanning the rest of the wall.
Further on, the depictions show the growth of civilizations, and the creation of great wonders. This is were I see the Academy make its first appearance.
But then the images shift into larger depictions, displaying conflicts that span across the entire continent.
As monstrous entities with misshapen and mismatched bodies are shown falling from the sky in great hordes, the sun eclipsed at their backs by a faintly glowing moon.
I pause at that for a moment.
There is only a single moon in this depiction.
It is Phoba, though. I recognize its yellowish glow, and the depictions even show details like the small but noticeable cratering upon its surface.
But Selarus’ familiar blue hue is missing. That, and the image is made even stranger by the fact that Phoba doesn’t cause eclipses. Only Selarus does.
That’s… not right. Why isn’t it shown? They have shown every single tiny detail until now, and they decide not to show an entire moon?
I keep the thought in the back of my head as I continue.
The strange monsters are back-lit by Phoba’s dim glow, their horrible passage made clear despite the eclipse. Entire nations, once massive and beautiful beyond anything I’ve seen today, crumble beneath magics so potent that nothing could ever stand against it.
Giants the size of mountains trample the land, creatures with more wings than should be possible darken the skies, and alien creatures with more tentacles, limbs, and claws than would ever be necessary terrorize the ground, consuming all in their path.
And then…
Morena and Fylem, once more, doting over a small ball of light. Their smiles, once gentle and so full of love, are now slightly more tense than before.
The tableau repeats itself with many of the images only changing the actors within, and each time Morena and Fylem appear less and less happy. Their doting smiles turn sad, eyes once full of love now dimmed with regret.
In each iteration of the story, I find myself tensing more and more as I look upon the faeries, their cruel smiles igniting something deep within me.
With a glance, I can tell that the walls on the opposite side of the room depict an identical story, so I continue.
As I stare at the last iteration, my eyes lock onto those wicked little smiles carved in stone, and something shifts.
It isn’t in the image. It’s… behind it.
A faint prickle crawls over the back of my neck, spreading down my spine in a slow, deliberate line, my ears twitching down to join the sudden shift in my mood.
I blink, but nothing changes. The faeries remain frozen in stone, wings etched delicately, cruel expressions immortalized in pigment and light.
But the feeling doesn’t leave me. It settles even deeper. Almost like the feeling of being watched, but more… visceral. More real.
Curiously, I glance away from the depiction.
The feeling eases, just a bit.
I look back.
It slams into me tenfold.
A low growl spills from my chest before I realize I’m making it.
Seraphine shifts beside me, surprised from her own examinations. “Emilia?”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
Because I hear it.
Faint and high, like glass beads brushing together.
Tinkling.
Giggling.
It doesn’t come from the corridor, or the chamber. It comes from everywhere. And from nowhere.
Almost like laughter, but heard through water.
My lips peel back from my teeth.
The carved faeries seem closer than they were a moment ago… no, not closer. Sharper. Denser.
Their eyes catch the torchlight differently now, like something reflecting from behind the stone, and my skin crawls.
But not with fear. Instant primal revulsion floods my system, turning my stomach into knots and sending my tail lashing behind me in agitation.
I don’t know why, though.
I just know they are wrong. So, so wrong.
The air around the depiction shimmers faintly, almost like a heat haze. Except… different in a way I can’t wrap my head around.
Then the mana in the room shifts. It doesn’t move like Bella’s magic, or pulse like spells being formed.
It ripples. Like something pressing against the fabric from the other side.
Then I understand. Not in any tangible way, but with instinct.
It’s the Weave.
Something is trying to push through it. Several curious, hungry somethings.
The giggling grows louder, but not in my ears. It’s in my mind. In the rippling of the Weave itself. In the mana.
My growl deepens, vibrating through my chest, my throat, my teeth.
Punish.
This space is mine.
The thought comes to me, utterly irrational and without merit, but glues itself to my very being regardless.
It is possessive and instinctual, and I step forward without meaning to.
The mana around me reacts, wisps stretching into sheets and outlining the Weave behind it all.
But it feels… fragile. Thin, like skin stretched too tightly.
The shimmering behind the carving intensifies, and I see it now. Tiny distortions in the air, like hands pressing against glass. Little impressions forming in the Weave itself.
The giggles turn excited. Anticipatory. I understand then, realization landing heavy in my gut.
They’ve felt me. And they want in.
Something hot flares in my chest, tearing through my self control with abandon. It’s not rage, but something older. Something territorial… or predatory.
My claws flex as, without conscious thought, I reach for the mana around me. I don’t have the control to be gentle or precise, so I simply grab it.
The Weave resists. But I don’t want to shape it or guide it.
Instead, I squeeze.
The shimmering distorts violently as the faint impressions recoil.
The giggles hitch.
Then rise in pitch and fervor as they redouble their efforts to push through.
I grit my teeth and pull harder. Mana floods into my grip like water through a too-small pipe, and it burns.
Pressure builds behind my eyes. My nose starts bleeding, warm against my lip.
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
If I do…
A snarl tears from my throat, guttural and vicious and raw. And this time it isn’t just sound.
Mana rides it in a wild pulse outward, shaking the chamber, the air, the carvings themselves.
And then beyond.
The giggling shatters into shrill, furious squeals as the distortions ripple violently, then snap back into place as if something was yanked away.
Silence crashes down over the room as the air and mana settle around me, the carvings returning to nothing more than stone.
I stagger back a step, breath heaving, then begin to fall.
Seraphine catches me, arm wrapping around my shoulders to keep me upright.
My head throbs, my hands tremble, and for a moment I struggle to stay conscious through a bout of weakness more intense than I’ve ever felt before. Different from the usual physical weariness that Seeker’s Survival would catch.
Deeper, somehow.
“What did you just do?” she asks quietly.
I swallow, momentarily confused by the question because…
I don’t know.
The instinctual revulsion I felt earlier fades, replaced by confusion and lingering disgust.
“They were…” I murmur, staring at the depiction. “Trying to come through.”
The words feel absurd the moment I say them.
But even though nothing moves, and even though they remain frozen in stone with their cruel smiles.
I know them to be true.
Just as I know they heard me, and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
For now.
My tail curls tightly around my waist and my hands shift through weakly fur without thought, trying to find a semblance of comfort even as I stare down the little cretins.
And I suddenly deeply understand something without knowing the exact reasons why:
I hate them.
And the feeling is mutual.
The moment I try to regain my balance, my legs suddenly feel like they forgot how to hold my weight altogether, and the world tilts.
Seraphine’s grip tightens instantly.
“Easy,” she murmurs.
My ears ring faintly, the carvings blurring at the edges of my vision, and I turn to find Bella glancing my way. Concern flickers across her features for a moment before she schools it away.
Before anyone can say anything else, a shadow peels itself from the barricade.
Bella’s hands go up, magics already mid-cast, when the darkness melts to reveal Nyx.
He looks… intact. Mostly.
As intact as he was when he left, at least.
His expression is grim, but not stressed.
Seraphine all but carries me over to the others, and once we’re close enough, I try to ask what he discovered.
All I can manage is a single, weary word.
“Well?”
He eyes me curiously, but doesn’t hesitate otherwise. “The next section opens into a long descent,” he says quietly. “Collapsed arches, old barricades, and other heavy fortifications line the way, but there’s no activity there at the moment.”
I lean harder on Seraphine with relief, and she visibly adjusts to better bear my weight, her arm lowering to hold me around my waist instead.
Through sheer force of will, I manage to keep myself from passing out, but words completely fail me.
Bella steps in, instead. “But?”
Nyx exhales. “But… there are secondary passages branching off. Most of them are sealed, but some are broken open.”
He shrugs lightly.
“If something wanted to come through eventually… it could.”
So… not safe. Just safer.
Good enough.
I nod weakly, slurring my next words.
“We rest here.”
Blessedly, nobody argues.
It takes surprisingly little time to set up camp.
I feel guilty when they set up a watch rotation without me, all while Seraphine helps me get situated in my bedroll and Bella sets up a basic set of magical wards around our small campsite.
But every part of me refuses.
My body aches the moment I stop moving, fatigue pressing in at the edges of my thoughts like fog.
Sleep should come easily… but it doesn’t.
No matter how I toss and turn, my eyes keep drifting back toward the carvings.
Toward the faeries.
They stare exactly as they had before. Frozen. Silent. Smiling.
I curl my tail tightly around myself and hug it close.
I know they are gone, at least for a while.
But I can't place how I know that.
It reminds me of a feeling that’s deeply familiar, though. On a whim, my Faen Oathstone gently shares my pillow, resting before my eyes.
The moment it is there, I feel that same strange sense of surety.
That this Oath is as real as the pillow it rests upon.
That the faeries will not return to this place.
And though I still can’t understand it, it’s enough for now.
Exhaustion drags me under.
*****
Authors Note:
Hehehe... just a peek. For now >:3
Little monsters trying to break into the Academy's entrance exams... tsk tsk.
Emilia ain't havin' that.