Chapter 37: Arc III Chapter 3

III

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Arc III Chapter 3

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Aurora spent her time at her most recent favourite spot.

 

Aurora was sitting on a destroyed pillar, dangling her tiny feetsies in the air. The room featured many pillars. The majority were in subpar condition, either completely destroyed, or severely damaged. Hers was the latter.

 

Cleanly cut in half, the upper half formed a staircase, allowing a petite girl like her to climb the pillar in a comfortable way to throne above her mere mortal friends.

 

Aurora watched the entire room from above. Natural sunlight entered through the destroyed ceiling, illuminating the vast hall. Sturdy stones walls flanked the room  on all sides. At the end, two massive statues welcomed them. Two warriors watched over the hall throughout the ages, guarding a closed gate. Nobody knew what mysteries lay beyond.

 

A single word occupied Aurora's mind, boredom.

 

Her life was boring, boring to the point poor Aurora lost any sense for time and space. Detached from the physical world and the trivial earthly needs of the mortal realm, existential questions about the purpose and essence of life plagued little Aurora.  

 

Aurora was already approaching spiritual enlightenment, while the expedition spent the days doing whatever. Not that she cared.

 

Aurora sighed. Her inactivity was pure torture, an inhumane practice, a miserable fate for a curious girl like her.

 

Aurora rested on her stone pillar, bored to death. She was out of options, and out of ideas.

 

Aurora consulted her doll. “What shall we do?“

 

But even her most trusted advisors fell silent. Aurora doll didn't answer, being equally at a loss.

 

Aurora lower her head. Her hopes deflated, and her gaze turned once again empty. Her martyrdom wouldn't end ...

 

unless ...

 

unless ...

 

Aurora and her doll both looked in the same direction, identifying a worthwhile victim.

 

A grin adorned her lips. It was time to pay Nelaeryn a friendly visit.

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Lambert yawned. Guard duty was always such a tiresome affair, albeit a necessary evil, a true pain in the arse.

 

His concentration diminished. The unfocused mind was prone to mistakes, and mistakes cost lives. Usually.

 

Lambert rubbed his eyes, dispelling his drowsiness. Unfortunately, he was too bored to care. The days passed without anything noteworthy. Nothing major happened. Not that the complaint, peaceful days were good days.

 

“Tired?“ Michael chuckled. “Even the wise Lambert isn't immune to the temptations of sleep.“

 

Lambert grumbled. He wasn't in the mood for teasing. “Shut up, Michael, be glad you are still young...“

 

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Lambert snapped to attention. The girl was once again on the move. Their mysterious girl left her position and wandered around.

 

Lambert narrowed his eyes, his watchful following her every step. Where was the little demon going? What was she planning?

 

“Should we intervene?“ Michael raised an eyebrow.

 

Lambert calmed his friend. “We should ..., but I guess we can give her some leeway. The girl behaved the last days.“

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Nelaeryn studied the walls and expanded his notes. He copied glyphs and produced drawings. Their predecessors delivered sloppy work, work unworthy of the standards of the Royal Academy. They were dispatched to correct their errors.

 

So many secrets, so much knowledge, was lost following the fall of the Dodekapolis. Their time was an era lost to the realm of myths and legends. The destruction of the twelve cities shook the very foundation of civilisation for centuries to come. Their shining light succumbed, and darkness engulfed the known world.

 

The Weltenbrand set the world afire, plunging the continent into an age of strife and ruin.

 

Nelaeryn sighed. Pain filled his heart. The loss of so much knowledge pained the soul of every scholar. No true seeker of knowledge couldn't be moved.

 

Science, literature, art, all vanquished by the fires of war. So precious little survived. So precious little was saved. Only fragments remained, relics of the distant past.

 

Nelaeryn shook his head. A tragedy, but true scholars like him would give their best.

 

They would preserve the past to the best of their abilities for future generations. One day, one of them would find the key to decrypt the language of the ancients, a language long extinct, to harness the last secrets of their civilisation.

 

So far, all attempts bore little fruit. The syntax and grammar proved a hard nut to track. Elements were related to modern High Arcadian, but otherwise clues were scarce.

 

Nelaeryn continued drawing. His swift hands moved his pencil. His work proceeded smoothly until a certain girl disturbed his peace.

 

“What are you doing?“ The girl appeared from behind, peeking at his drawings.

 

Nelaeryn guarded his notes. Children, annoying brats regardless of race. “That's none of your business. My work is a matter of civilisatory importance, so stop bothering me!“

 

The girl tilted her confused head. “Civilisitory importance?“

 

“Civilisatory.“ Nelaeryn scoffed, his dismissal apparent.

 

What would a mere girl understand about the heights of academic pursuit? What would she know? The girl might possess some modest talent for magic considering her human pedigree, but in the end, she was nothing but an ordinary girl, a plebeian, an illiterate country pumpkin.  

 

The girl pouted. “Don't be mean. I was just asking, but uncle Nelaeryn is a big old meanie. Sister Arwing is way nicer than you.“

 

Nelaeryn retained his calm. Her mediocre insults didn't bother him in the least.

 

The girl crossed her arms. “No wonder you have no girlfriend. Evil uncle has a terrible personality. Evil uncle will never find a wife.“  

 

Her words provoked an immediate reaction. Nelaeryn met her with an iron glare. His eyebrows twitched. “What did you say?“

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