Chapter 2.00

Author's Notes: A couple of patrons have offered to highlight errors in my text/proofread/suggest edits, so I can focus on writing and maintain my pace. Henceforth, I'll link the gdocs at the top of each post to make their lives easier.

Also, when I release these chapters for lower tiers. I'll swap chapter 2.01 and 2.03. This will act as the prologue for book 2.

Paper littered Alais’s new office. They covered his new stone desk, the floor under it, and all other surfaces. He sighed, sweeping everything off the work surface.

“You can leave the tools on here,” he said. “I’ll sort through them later.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam replied. He cleared his throat. When the big smith continued, he sounded deeper than usual but cracks found their way into his speech. Ever since his natural voice came out, Adam had tried his hardest to try different versions. Unfortunately for the young man, everyone knew his real pitch, and he struggled to maintain any degree of consistency. “It took me a few tries, but I think I’ve got it this time. Are the runes what you wanted?”

An orange-sized sphere of golden light formed over Alais’s extended palm. It hung motionless even when he pulled his hand away. The old satyr—he didn’t like the term puck despite its wide acceptance amongst his kind—lifted the tweezers up to the light and ran his fingers along the etched runes.

“They’re not yet perfect, but are certainly more usable than your previous attempts.” When Alais channelled his essence through the tool, the floating orb flickered.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, lumbering forward. “I’ll try harder.”

“Not necessary,” Alais grumbled. “It’s not the tools.” A sheet of paper audibly crumpled under his hooves as he stumbled. The table gave him enough support to stay upright. He caught Adam looking over the mess, and for the first time in decades, Alais felt embarrassed. “Do me a favour, will you? Ask Seven or Lefa whether any of the older children would like an assistant’s job? Preferably one of the smarter children.”

“I’ll do that.” Adam nodded, heading towards the door.

“It doesn’t matter if they’re human or fae. Although, on second thought, I wouldn’t mind one of each.” Adam nodded before exiting the room. “Close the door—” The smith was already gone. “—behind you.”

Alais missed his days in the Hidden Library. Someday, if he lived long enough, the old satyr hoped to lead an expedition there to look for surviving texts. But, the last Alais saw of it, the damned Vikings were setting the library ablaze along with his fellow librarians and all the assistants.

A chuckle escaped Alais’s ancient lips as he thought of his old herd. They’d laughed at him for refining all of his spare essence into [Mind]. Most satyrs cultivated [Control] and sparingly invested in [Power]. The few that bothered with [Mind] used it to increase their brain’s ability to command essence. Unlike them, he had used most of the essence to improve his memory and create a mental library. Initially, it served so he could retrieve any piece of information he needed while away from his home. It saved him the trouble of handling delicate texts too. Now, it was essential.

The prospect of transcribing it all felt like a daunting task, to say the least. Perhaps, a couple of new assistants would help him start by taking dictation of the essential texts. Alais could already feel himself slipping. He doubted whether he had another century left in him. It would be a shame to let all of the stored knowledge disappear. Yet, it had to be done.

Immortality

A sigh escaped Alais’s lips as he scanned the scattered pages. He’d spent so many years organising his mental library. The satyr had never bothered learning how to manage the world around him—it wasn’t the best criteria for a chief librarian. He’d only taken the job for room and board while doing his research. Alais never expected it to become a long-term posting or to get promotions.

A second infusion of essence ceased the light’s flickering. Alais closed the door and settled in front of the desk. Like every day for the past two weeks, he pulled a vial out of his pocket. The blood within hadn’t yet lost its vivid red. The essence it carried had dwindled, though, so Alais fed it once more. Once again, nothing changed. He pulled the top off the container and poured a trickle on to one of his tools. This time, instead of channelling essence into the fluid, he plied the runes with essence instead. They glowed, powering up the tool, but the blood still didn’t react.

Alais sighed. “Tell me something!” He had scanned every relevant volume in his mental library, but still many secrets of Flint’s blood eluded him. So far, he’d only figured out a couple of properties. The blood converted all forms of absorbed essence into its own. Second, as long as it was fed regularly, the cells didn’t age or die. “Immortality…” Alais whispered, both shocked and pensive all at once.

The historical records didn’t feature any fae with such qualities. Alais had looked up all recorded empath orders and species too. None of them fit the criteria. His theory of Flint having a druid ancestor felt truer by the day. Alais wanted to be correct. He also wanted to be the first known scholar to leave a written record of druidic magic. Alais wished to prove the high fae and his fellow satyrs wrong. Discovering the connection between the near-mythical order and their relationship to the Heartstones would immortalise his name.

Alais froze. “Druidic remnants!” There was one test still left to run. He’d been so obsessed with the blood’s relationship with essence that he hadn’t checked how it would interact with the Heartstones. He stuffed the vial into his desk’s one big drawer and rushed out, carrying the blood-covered tool.

The young ones were off with Lefa, Seven, or Twylip. He didn’t have to worry about knocking over a young one as he rushed to the stone pillar. Thanks to Flint’s floor planning, Alais didn’t have far to go. His ancient heart beat fast and loud, anxious for the results. The old satyr had no hypothesis but intuition told him to try anyway, and that was rare for a scholar.

When he held the vial against the pillar, the blood didn’t react. Yet Alais didn’t lose hope. It was a waste of blood—he didn’t like the idea of asking Flint for more—but he trickled a couple of drops on a random rune. The blood shimmered before flowing out from the rune and changing colour to match neighbouring lights. It found cracks in the stone and chips—only time left its mark on the ancient structures—before filling them.

Alais’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath as the shimmering blood solidified. Then, when the lights faded, the blood was gone. Solid stone had replaced it.

“The blood restored the Heartstone,” Alais mumbled. He splashed the rest on the stone, and the same thing happened. Laughter burst from the old satyr. He tried to compose himself but failed. Alais had dealt with blood-covered classers a couple of centuries ago, and the Heartstone’s reaction to them wasn’t the same. This was the most significant discovery of his lifetime, and none of his colleagues were around or alive to see it. He stepped away from the Heartstone, smiling ear to ear. His intuition had proven correct.

A pair of loud footsteps broke him out of his daze. He quickly wiped the bloody tool on his fur and stepped away from the Heartstone. Alais wanted to run more tests, document his discoveries, and develop a solid hypothesis before presenting his findings. It was much too soon to share the information with anyone else.

“Adam told us you were looking for assistants, Mr Alais?” A little blonde girl asked. But, unfortunately, he hadn’t filed her name away in the mental library, and it took him much too long to remember.

“That’s right, Agatha,” he said. “I was hoping for someone older, though.”

Agatha’s brows furrowed. “I’ll be ten the next half-moon.”

“I suppose that’s old enough.” Alais sighed. The boy by her side looked a couple of years older. He had pointed ears and blue-tinged skin. Alais identified him as a pixie or a blood relation of a river nymph. “You’ll do as well. I assume both of you know your letters and numbers in common tongue?”

The pair nodded.

“Very well. Henceforth, I’ll take control of your education. No more herbology or animal husbandry for you.” Alias paused. It wasn’t his place to decide the children’s future for them. “Do you accept?”

“Yes, sir!” The boy exclaimed.

On the other hand, Agatha appeared hesitant. “I won’t get to learn with the others?”

“I can’t stop you from picking up skill stones and trade once you’re older,” Alais replied. “However, I can guarantee you’ll learn more from me than any trade can teach you. If you’re not sure, we can find someone else.”

The golden-haired child still looked torn. She glanced at the boy and then the stairs leading down. Personally, Alais wasn’t sure about taking in a human student. Their lives were awfully short. However, they had an urgency that most fae lacked which made them desirable students. “I like to learn, Mr Alais,” she said.

“Very well.” Alais smiled down at the pair. “We’re going to start by translating and transcribing Mordecai’s Theory of Essence. But first, I need you two to tidy my office and help me sort through all my papers.”

“Yes, sir,” the pair replied, following him to hopefully bright futures.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1OdeinIhr29axycZ-GFBhNR6it-zoWnyOJ61uR4p5OU8/edit?usp=sharing