“That's the spirit!” Vates said, gesturing Daren on as he excitedly hobbled towards the council. “Weapons may dull and break, but a good story! Ah- a good story can stay sharp forever.” 

Vates led Daren through the grand hall, filled with paintings of great seraphim from times of old, each taking a regal pose. Their steps echoed off the marble floors and through the stone halls as they approached the various offices of the council members. Unlike Dumont, the decorations were all creations of local artists placed, not to show off seraphim culture, but to remind each seraphim walking through the halls of the high standards they must maintain. Where Xerxes halls were filled with trophies and spoils from conquests, many of them Raha's own victories, there was nothing glorifying war either. True to the seraphim culture, each wing and open door seemed to signify that the seraphim were above such petty things as war and gloating, and yet the whole city seemed like one giant spectacle at the same time. 

Opening one such door, ornately carved from oak into the image of a book in a forest, Vates gestured for Daren to sit as he perused his collection, muttering to himself. Glancing over his shoulder at the strange fellow that he had captivated for his own entertainment, he finally settled on a particularly old book, worn from a great many uses. The pages were yellowed, and yet not a single speck of dust lay on the leather cover. The old man smiled warmly as he run his weathered hands over the cover, gingerly opening it up to the page he was looking for. In truth, he had long since memorized the tale, as it was one very close to his heart, and yet he flipped the pages as he read anyway, a habit long ingrained into his worn body. “This particular tale stars a young man not unlike yourself, swept away on grand adventures across wild lands...” Vates said, beginning his tale.

“He had fought many dangerous creatures, and laid with more than his fair share of beautiful women. “ Vates teased, “and yet his heart was like a rolling stone, never settling long enough to grow roots. Dozens of broken blades and too many broken hearts later, the boy, now a man, had learned much of the world, and yet still little of himself.”

As the story progressed, Vates seemed somewhat sad, and his hand gently caressed a sketch across the pages of one of the women in the story, a fiery women with jet black hair and raven's eyes dancing in the moonlight. “He thought himself invincible, and perhaps in spirit he was, until the day he met his first dragon. It had started simple enough, a clash of egos arguing over which could claim the right to any treasure found in a recently uncovered crypt. The dragon felt that it was on daeva lands, so only a daeva should have rights to them, but the man pressed the issue, claiming his discovery granted him rights to whatever it contained. Words became blows, and blows became battle. The sky erupted with lightning as the two fought, their elements aligned such that neither could really hurt the other with magic. The man was swift, his wings strong, and he flew circles around the dragon, but arial acrobatics alone can't down a dragon, and he was struck in the leg, critically injuring him and sending him careening towards the ground.”

Vates paused, shifting lightly in his chair as he glanced at Daren, making sure he wasn't boring the lad. “The man lives through the good graces of the dragon alone, forced to crawl through the dirt and the mud for miles to the nearest village. He entered the forest a seasoned adventurer, champion to many, but what came out was something much more.” He waited for dramatic effect, closing his eyes as he finished the sentence, “What came out was a man who knew he knew nothing, a fool among fools with enough self-awareness to know it. Where I come from, we call that wisdom.”

Closing the book, Vates made sure to stop one page shy from the end of the story, where a sketch of the man, wounded and recovering at the hands of a tribe of wolves, looked suspiciously like a younger version of Vates himself. Collecting his thoughts, he gently placed the book back on the shelf and addressed Daren. “I see much of that young man in you, both the good and the bad. It may be twenty years too soon for this story to have much meaning for you, but I hope if you take anything away it's this: adventure without purpose, mischief without consequence, and a life without love isn't worth a single copper coin when you find yourself on death's door.”

Coughing slightly, Vates realized that perhaps he was being a bit too morose for the sightseer, “Perhaps you should go and see those inventor's games after all. In truth I'm feeling a bit under the weather and these old bones don't hold out as long as they used to. You're welcome to come back again, if you'd like. Perhaps I can tell you about the seraphim that flew higher than any other, or the daeva that could change his appearance at will. I promise the next time it will be a bit more entertaining.”

Vated hobbled out of his seat, leaning heavily on his cane, as he led Daren back into the main hall. “Just follow the cheers and you'll find it in no time,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the stadium. “They've probably only just begun, so if you hurry you can make the second round.”