TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 35 (RAW)

Chapter 35 - The Realm of the Four Gods.

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”

- André Malraux 

The librarian peered over the rim of her silver spectacles, one eyebrow arched high. “Is that truly appropriate attire for a library, miss? This is most irregular.”

Seraphina tapped the steel helm tucked under her arm and flashed a playful grin. “You’d be surprised how often heavy tomes have been falling on heads. One can never be too careful.” She swept a hand toward the pair behind her. “Besides, we came straight from combat classes. No time to change, isn’t that right, Teacher Frest?”

Inside, Seraphina whispered a silent prayer, hoping that her extremely high Charisma would allow them to pass this test.

“Quite so, Lady Sera—er, Miss de Sariens,” Frest replied, adjusting the sword belt that still clinked at his hip.

The librarian’s lips pursed, but her tone remained gentle. “This is most irregular, but not against the rules. Please conduct whatever business you have quickly; some students are attempting to study.” She nudged her spectacles higher, the silver chain glinting. “And next time, please leave all the extra equipment outside. I doubt you will have need of them here.”

“Of course. Your patience is an example to all,” Seraphina said, her smile as radiant as a fresh sunrise. She glided past the desk, inclining her head just ever so slightly. It was times like these that she could not quite understand why she bothered worrying at all in the first place. Things were just so easy.

“I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance,” Miriam murmured, ducking in a hasty bow before following her mistress.

The towering shelves formed a canyon of wood, parchment, and leather. Dust motes danced in the shafts of amber light from tall windows as Seraphina marched down the central aisle, her armored boots thudding against ancient oak floorboards. At last, her gaze locked onto a hulking volume: The Realm of the Four Gods.

She casually hauled the heavy tome free and dropped it onto a nearby table with a resounding thunk. Bound in thick, mottled leather the color of dried blood, it bore a fist-sized gem set in its cover like a staring eye. If memory served, the hide was, regrettably, human. A subtle glamour rippled over the surface, a distraction ward meant to make unaware passersby see nothing at all. Unfortunately for the book, this glamour did not work on people who knew of the book’s existence.

“This,” Seraphina announced, fingertips splayed across the gem, “is a doorway to a Trial. I mean to step through.”

“A Trial? In the Academy library?” gasped Eloise, her lady-in-waiting, blue eyes wide beneath her lace cap. “What is such a thing doing here?”

Frest took a nervous half-step backward. “I, ah, suddenly recall urgent business in the staff room—”

“You’ll have plenty of time to chase Miss Templeton’s skirts later,” Seraphina snapped, not looking up. For some reason the thought of Frest chasing her homeroom tutor made her annoyed.

“We are not—Daniella and I are not like that!” Frest sputtered, cheeks blazing crimson.

“Oh, Daniella, is it?” Desdemona drawled, a musical laugh escaping from her pretty lips. “You play a dangerous game courting a fellow member of the faculty.”

Gravens kept his handsome features perfectly schooled in a picture of serene indifference throughout the exchange.

Seraphina’s smile sharpened. This tome had been left to fester and marinate in the background energies of the library for a very long time. More than a few Mages of the past had added their ambient energies to it, or so the lore of the game dictated. The crystal pulsed once, as though answering her heartbeat, and the air above the book shimmered with a purple haze—an invitation only the daring would accept. It was the gate to a secret Trial, an optional part of the game. The rewards from which… were significant. 

In the game, for balance reasons, the Trial was made for the protagonist to face alone, but Seraphina had no intention of indulging in such reckless heroics. That sort of nonsense was beneath her.

“Positions,” she commanded, her voice as crisp as shattering glass. “Frest—beside Eloise. Desdemona with Sir Gravens. Giles, Krayton, Milly—with me .” She arranged them in positions, filling invisible party slots she envisioned, each name locking into place like a chess piece.

The rag-tag company shuffled forward. Giles and Krayton, twin mountains clad in travel-worn mail, stationed themselves behind Seraphina like walking ramparts. Miriam, scared and tremulous, worried at the hem of her robe. Then men had bulging satchels that clinked with potions, Zajasite lantern-stones, and rope—every contingency accounted for.

Seraphina let her gaze sweep across them, reading the uncertainty stitched around every mouth. Unacceptable.

“If we’re separated,” she announced, letting the words bite, “pair with whoever’s nearest and head toward the smoke and the screaming. We will rendezvous there. Follow my plan to the letter and this will feel like a Sunday stroll. Now, remind me—who’s today’s enemy?”

“The ones from your sketches?” Desdemona whispered, more affirmation than question.

“Exactly.”

“Can I keep one?” Eloise chirped, ears perked.

“Of course, my dear,” Seraphina allowed, giving her a forced smile. “Any other questions?”

None. Only the hush of coiled anticipation.

“Good.” She pressed her palm to the crystal. The young noblewoman felt she was missing something. “Oh, yes, I believe in you all…”

Sound fled. A note resonated, vibrating marrow. Power—hungry for hope and terror—drank greedily from their collective pulse. Violet mist coiled up their legs like ghostly ivy, numbing skin and stealing warmth. Desdemona’s resolve buckled; she half-turned to bolt, but Gravens’ gauntleted hand anchored her, steel calm over quaking shoulder.

Reality lurched. The library stretched, snapped, and shattered into shards of starlight. Time spun and stalled, a coin flipped in the amethyst void.

When the light died, seven figures stood beneath an autumn’s sky—and the Trial began.

They stood in a small forest clearing where several massive trunks lay toppled, the saplings that would one day replace them still unborn. Seraphina’s gaze swept the scene as she hurried through a headcount—everyone was present. Three possible starting points existed for this Trial; sheer luck had kept the party together.

Overwhelmed by the moment, Desdemona lurched toward a nearby bush and began to retch.

“Milly, see to Lady de Savant,” Seraphina ordered, her voice clipped. “It won’t do if she is not herself.”

“At once, milady,” the maid replied, rifling through one of the brothers’ packs for water and a handkerchief.

While Milly tended Desdemona, Seraphina assessed the rest of her party. Already slowing us down, she thought with an impatient tut. Why did I bring her at all? I must have been out of my mind.

She turned a slow circle. Trees—nothing but more and more trees. She knew their destination, yet the “how” of getting there eluded her.

“Frest,” she called to the former bandit-turned-knight, “which way is northwest?”

Frest shaded his eyes, gauging the sun’s angle. “That way, milady.”

The towering brothers, Giles and Krayton, nodded in agreement.

“Excellent. Ladies and gentlemen, that is our heading.” She clapped her hands. “Come along—chop-chop!”

***

Trudging through the undergrowth, Seraphina could not help but question the Trial’s starting point. Why force everyone to enter through the book in the library? Surely she could have slipped the book out, trotted to the stables, and brought a few horses along for the journey. Of course, the game likely enforced some arbitrary limit, like an arcane radius on the tome—carry it too far and it would probably detonate in a burst of eldritch confetti. She had made the best call she could with the facts she had. Still, part of her wished she had tried; seeing a pair of horses wedged between the reading desks and shelves would have been worth the reprimand.

Also, it didn’t help that the large sword she rested on her shoulder sometimes got in the way of low-hanging branches.

Seraphina would worry about the limits of “The Realm of the Four Gods” later, when she sent Ibn to clear this Trial. Perhaps she would even get him to do it in the “normal” way, after all, the boy needed some challenge in his life.  However, for now, it seemed they had either arrived before the scripted events of the dungeon or had simply wandered off-course, because no column of smoke marked a burning village.

Almost as if the world took offense, a shrill scream split the air. Whoever was yelling clearly was not enjoying the conditions in their present life.

“A cry for help! Finally, at last, we are getting close. So off we go!” Seraphina declared, pointing toward the direction of the scream. “Desdemona, scout ahead.”

“Is that altogether wise, milady?” Gravens asked, his handsome brow creasing with worry.

Desdemona rested a hand on his arm, earning a withering glance from Eloise. “I shall be quite all right,” she said, hesitant but firm. “I have… certain abilities.”

“The lad’s right,” Frest added, rubbing his chin. “It isn’t proper to send a girl off alone. I’ll scout ahead instead, milady.”

It seemed that knighthood was rewiring Frest’s brain—Seraphina had little use for an overly chivalrous Frest who went about saving damsels in distress. Probably him trying to show off for Miss Templeton. She needed to nip this in the bud before it spoiled his “unique” properties.

“Are you questioning my orders?” Her tone turned glacially cold. “I know exactly what Desdemona can do. She is far more capable than she appears.”

“Not at all, milady.” Frest shrugged, his voice brushing the edge of insolence. “Only offering my view of the situation. After all, Lady de Savant is unarmed. Should we not at least…”

Seraphina held up a dainty hand. “She will do much better without a sword or dagger. It would just get in the way,” she explained, turning towards her friend. 

“Then by all means, Desdemona.” Seraphina’s smile turned warm as summer. “The sooner we finish this Trial, the sooner I can savor one of your teas.”

Desdemona nodded, slipped into the thicker undergrowth, and vanished behind a broad oak. Gravens moved to follow, but Seraphina’s icy glare rooted him in place.

“That would be boorish of you. Give a lady her privacy, Sir Knight.”

Gravens looked like he had been slapped.

There was a rustle, then the crash of something large plowing through brush in the direction of the scream.

“I do hope Desdemona controls herself,” Seraphina murmured. “Though a little rampage might help loosen her up—she’s been rather tightly wound of late.”

The rest of the party simply stared at the heir to the Sariens Duchy.

“What exactly is Lady de Savant’s… special talent, milady?” asked one of the brothers—Giles, who, Seraphina noticed, had grown stockier since arriving in Meridian; both brothers’ faces looked a touch rounder.

She let a thin, cold smile curve her lips. “A lady is allowed her secrets. Desdemona would not appreciate prying.”

Still, their uneasy expressions made even her worry.

“Truly, she could probably clear this entire Trial by herself if she’d stop holding back,” Seraphina huffed by way of explanation.

The original Seraphina could relate to Desdemona. In fact, that was probably why they had such a high affinity with one another. Seraphina had spent years drilling herself to restrain and hide her certain unnatural Strength. Perhaps in much the same Desdemona had been taught to also hide certain aspects of her Change. This Seraphina, however, cared little for such theatrical self-denial. In herself and in others.

“But what lies ahead, Lady Seraphina?” the doll-like Eloise asked. “What caused that scream?”

“Oh, just an invading army tormenting an NPC—” Seraphina caught herself; these people would never grasp gaming nomenclature. “—a hapless village. Desdemona can travel much faster than us, but it would be rude to let her handle everything. Let us hurry along.”

“Yes, we should aid those villagers! It is a Knight’s duty!” the noble Sir Gravens exclaimed.

“Remember,” Seraphina said, almost conversationally, ignoring her Knight’s outburst. “None of this is actually real. The Divines set this Trial as a test for us mere mortals to prove our worthiness.” Part of her had to perform mental gymnastics even to say so—wasn’t this whole world arguably unreal? An unreality within an unreality?

“So, Frest.” She gestured to his heavy crossbow. “No need to fret about friendly fire on anyone outside of our group.”

Frest flashed a wry grin. “Never worried much before either, milady.”

“Excellent.” Seraphina turned on her heel. “Now—let’s save some villagers before Desdemona goes a bit over the top.”