"Ugh. Yeah, figure it'll be similar. Never let them build up." There's a very clear distaste in the wince, though if Jazdia had some curiosity over the matter the elaboration followed without prompting. "I was with the uhh, what's the words?" A tilt of the head, a series of foreign tongue flowing out with several distinct whistles and hand motions. "Woodswraith? The Kadanian Woodswraith. Close enough. They put up with me after I washed ashore. Taught me their ways and wisdom."

The serpent shrugged, evidently waving off a significant portion of the story. She rummaged into her bag, taking out a surprisingly high quality glass vial corked with treated rubber. In a well-practiced motion the cap twisted off with a pop, followed by a thumb bitten and the resulting wound filling the vial with crimson rivulets.

"People keep coming into their woods, see. Trying to find the supposed panacea that grow in the deepest depth. And they dont take kindly to invaders." The vial, now filled, was capped right back. Verdant idly sucked on her thumb to stop the bleeding. "Never stopped Askaria from sending a bunch of spellblades and Citadel golems. So they got good at killing those lot. Really good."

Humming mildly, magic coursed within the diminuitive form like the soft whispers of midnight wind. Nothing structured in the way of wizards and sages, instead instincts shaping the workings like the natural way animals stalked through the woodlands.

"Hit first, hit hard, and dont let them cast." Verdant breathed out, seemingly drained from the short moment of mental exertion. Within the vial, a small portion of the blood had taken a distinct pale hue. A devilish grin split her lips, looking at the vial with the fond memories of a time long passed. "Arms works just fine. But when it didn't? Distilled corpse-lilies put their ambition to rest well enough. And their remains made good seedbed to nurture more of the stuff."

With a flourish the vial returned to the bag, Verdant's attention returning to the elf by her side. As if she hadn't just revealed a potentially problematic part of her past, the serpent shifted her weight from one leg to the other in a close scrutiny of her latest friend.

"That's as far as I know about it, which honestly works just about the same against anyone and anything? Your turn, stories! Share some!"

"That's as far as I know about it, which honestly works just about the same against anyone and anything? Your turn, stories! Share some!"

"Can't say I am a fan of storing the corpses of a criminal and using them for a seedbed," said Jazdia with a mirth that maintained the cordiality between them. The morbidity of the measures Verdant outlined did not escape her, however, and she quietly hoped that whoever was subjected to that cruel finality did something that was deserving.

"But generally, you can't go wrong with suffocation. All of those who use magic rely on breathing to make it work, and oxygen deprivation is... well, maybe not the fastest method, but you can neutralize them without outright killing them."

Jazdia had no story to demonstrate the effectiveness of the method, but she herself relies heavily on her enchantment spell and had been the receiving end of that measure at least more than once.

As they walked past the exhibition room, the curator was standing in front of the fountain, seemingly waiting for them. He donned a stern expression, and the gaze from his translucent eyes fell on Verdant.

"Esteemed visitor, I saw that you were performing an alchemy in the collection room. Please do not do that again, for any spillage may damage the collection or the vitrines."

"I know it might be a bit presumptuous of me to try and explain artifacts to a scholar such as yourself but... the Ama Matoi isn't just a weapon. It is also a sacred artifact for the temple, one passed down from miko to miko for generations. Despite being it's current wielder, I know no better of how exactly it works or how it was created than it's previous wielder... I am not sure of what effects engraving a rune could have on it... Besides, I am not sure what the elders of the temple would do to me if they found out the Ama Matoi was engraved with strange runes. If possible, could you just enhance it's effects without inscribing any new rune?"

Vesemir looked at the large spear from top to down, nodding to confirm that he understood what Miwa was saying. "The concern is understandable," he said, feeling a need to say what is on his mind. "What about a talisman then? Like Miss Jazdia's pocketwatch, an accessory could work too. I can make the enchantment to be as subtle as possible, but, like you said, your elders could feel what our five senses could not."

Meanwhile, Eblana had been working on the rest of the weapons with no particular order, considering they vary in size and material. Akari's blade was the first; she laid it on the table, blade facing the north, and the basalt was rubbed. The spell was uttered in whispers that sounded like a solemn prayer in Elvish. And then the rune appeared on its blade, blue and cold. Curiously, it does not resemble any characters on that basalt, but rather far-eastern lettering that Eblana did not recognize.

She would then do the same to the oversized throwing star and get the same result.

"Akari, your weapons are ready."

"What else are bodies good for, if not fertilizer?" Verdant returned with the aggrieved air of someone who'd been denied something entirely reasonable. "The only alternative is for eating but no one wanted that. Distressing and taste rather bad too. The corpse-lilies needs magic to grow anyway, it's just a good arrangement."

Askarian spellblades were, after all, viciously deadly in the open. To the point that there's a local saying about how if oneself ends up in such situation running away will only means dying tired. If not for their severe vulnerability to the distilled mage-breaker poison the heart of the woods probably would've been long since torched down. It's a dark irony that their corpses made for the best fertilizer to grow the lilies that were to be distilled into the aforementioned poison.

"Huh. The spellblades can draw clean air from... dunno, somewhere. I guess wizards here doesn't take that much precautions?" Curious. And usable. But then again, one can only be exposed to toxic mist so many times before coming up with new contingencies. "Maybe I should prepare sleeping vapor too..."

At the reappearance of the djinn, the serpent at least had the reservation to look bashfully contrite. Though not without a small mutter that it wouldn't spill since it's sealed in a glass cork.

Regardless, the unlikely pair moved on. Against all odds, still very much civil.

Eating? Tasting?

Jazdia thought she might need a moment; there were a few of things here to unpack. Verdant indeed looked like she had lost a few marbles at some point, but to meet someone in this level was rare for her. ---But then she remembered her downing a devourer's tentacle, bodily fluids and all. Oh, the memory was hazy thanks to the fires of the battlefield, and at that time, she thought her illness was addling her mind. Well, she had seen worse, so it should be okay... she just needed to readjust herself a bit.

Thankfully, the Curator's intervention prevented her from asking the details.

It seemed Verdant's quiet contrition was deemed enough by the curator, but he did not move out of the way; instead, he looked at the elf in front of him, as if there was something about her that roused his interest. Jazdia noticed that...

"Curator Arcan," the elf said, seemingly unperturbed by the Djinn's scrutinizing stare. "There is a volume that I need to find. I am aware that Theodore's research on curses was extensive. Could you perhaps lead me to where such records are stored?"

Arcan beckoned toward the dark corridor leading to the north wing. "Certainly."

The curator turned, and Jazdia followed him. The feelings that arose inside her were complex. Anticipation and renewed optimism clashed with uncertainty. Life had taught her that nothing was ever easy. Even if she gets her answer, she imagined that the path to it would cost her another sacrifice, and the ugly truth that she herself was unprepared to face.

Abruptly, the elf stopped walking. They had marched past the fountain now, and the north corridor was ahead, already illuminated with dim lighting that seemed to respond to Arcan's presence. She turned her body toward Verdant, bowing slightly so their eyes met. In hers, there was a faint, expertly concealed sorrow.

"Miss Verdant, I think I should do this myself if you don't mind. Feel free to return to the others."

Verdant looked at the dark corridor the curator pointed at, turning a bit woodenly at Jazdia, and then back at the dark corrior. Something felt off. Nothing raised her hackles from the dark path, but instead... emerald eyes flickered to the elf, two pairs of inquisitive gleams bearing down with concern as predatory instinct caught the whiff of a weakness.

It's not an unfamiliar feeling, this. Like watching a wounded beast picking a spot to lie down and slowly perish.

"What's your stake in this, wayfarer? You acts like death awaits ahead." She cut to the heart of the matter, standing to her full height (which wasnt much, to be fair) with a tilt of the head. It wasn't the repository ahead she referred to, no. Unlike herself, the elf before her had a personal stake in the quest. And while a more selfish part of the serpent was concerned over how said goal may impact her own well-being, the beast once known as Desolation of Askaria had grown a bit fond of her current batch of travel-acquaintances. Enough to put some effort to maintain the status quo. "It's not safe to be alone, yes? I know that better than most. Doing everything by yourself makes a brittle kind of strength."

The offer for company was unsaid, yet implied nonetheless. Verdant knew well the limits of solitary sufficiency. She had came to rely on her sister, at first, and others much later. There's strength in the unity of community, one that a lone predator couldn't quite match. She felt that, for all the jolly cooperation of the group, Jazdia remained a sole island separate from others of the group. That alone draw her in. After all, she used to be much the same type of woman. Snake. Whatever. Thin difference anyway.

***

"I know it might be a bit presumptuous of me to try and explain artifacts to a scholar such as yourself but... the Ama Matoi isn't just a weapon. It is also a sacred artifact for the temple, one passed down from miko to miko for generations. Despite being it's current wielder, I know no better of how exactly it works or how it was created than it's previous wielder... I am not sure of what effects engraving a rune could have on it... Besides, I am not sure what the elders of the temple would do to me if they found out the Ama Matoi was engraved with strange runes. If possible, could you just enhance it's effects without inscribing any new rune?"

Vesemir looked at the large spear from top to down, nodding to confirm that he understood what Miwa was saying. "The concern is understandable," he said, feeling a need to say what is on his mind. "What about a talisman then? Like Miss Jazdia's pocketwatch, an accessory could work too. I can make the enchantment to be as subtle as possible, but, like you said, your elders could feel what our five senses could not."

Meanwhile, Eblana had been working on the rest of the weapons with no particular order, considering they vary in size and material. Akari's blade was the first; she laid it on the table, blade facing the north, and the basalt was rubbed. The spell was uttered in whispers that sounded like a solemn prayer in Elvish. And then the rune appeared on its blade, blue and cold. Curiously, it does not resemble any characters on that basalt, but rather far-eastern lettering that Eblana did not recognize.

She would then do the same to the oversized throwing star and get the same result.

"Akari, your weapons are ready."

Akari claimed the enhanced weapon from Eblana. It was a great honor for her, enhancing her weapon as a ninja. She inspected the blade and linked it to herself with ki. Feeling tremendous power inhabited her blade. It made her happy. She unsheathed her scabbard and hid her big shuriken. Approached Eblana, put both her palms on the female elven cheeks, and kissed her. It was her deepest token of gratitude for her. Akari smiled on her with a gentle look.

Akari claimed the enhanced weapon from Eblana. It was a great honor for her, enhancing her weapon as a ninja. She inspected the blade and linked it to herself with ki. Feeling tremendous power inhabited her blade. It made her happy. She unsheathed her scabbard and hid her big shuriken. Approached Eblana, put both her palms on the female elven cheeks, and kissed her. It was her deepest token of gratitude for her. Akari smiled on her with a gentle look.

Despite her focus, Eblana was perceptive enough when someone was invading her personal space, but verily! A scholar's reaction time was no match for the ninja's nimble moves, so when Akari managed to get her cheek, the kiss was all but unavoidable.

Eblana seemed to be frozen on the spot, wondering if she should slap her or remain indifferent about it. Too flustered to be either angry or stoic, the blonde elf calmly got up from her seat, face red beet as she withdrew without making eye contact with Akari. Palms on both cheeks, mumbling something about why, how, and what?

"Fuuuu!"

There were no words exchanged as Eblana curled herself on the reading desk northeast of the room, burying her face in a random grimoire in sheer embarrassment that only got worse the more she thought about it.

___

"Thank you for humoring my request. The elders might indeed notice... They are strangely perceptive when the matter is anything I shouldn't have or shouldn't do... Regardless, I might be able to just talk my way out. These are my hair accessories, after all." Miwa said with a slight bow and a mischievous wink to both Vesemir and Eblana.

"Please take your time, I will be right over there if you need me." she said with a smile, having noticed that Akari did not hesitate in giving Vesemir and Eblana quite the workload.

"Splendid! This will do just fine! And if they somehow make a fuss about it, kindly tell them that Vesemir Barandir will bear the responsibility for it! Hahahaha!"

When Miwa playfully winked and bowed at them. Eblana was already a steaming, beet-red, flustered mess. Vesemir wondered what had happened, but couldn't get anything from his secretary. So he shrugged, being oblivious, he was.

"Oh, what happened? Well, maybe she is just tired?"

Now it was up to Vesemir to finish the job. Before securing it somewhere safe, the elf studied the hairband. It was a delicate craft and he had to pay more attention when enchanting it.

Rezello's spadone was next. Obviously, the length couldn't be properly accommodated by the limited space the enchanting table has, so Vesemir had to be clever with it. He placed the end of the blade at the enchantment socket, and he held the blade by its ricasso before buffing the hilt with his enchanting basalt. The spell was cast, and slowly the runes that were already engraved in that sword glowed dim.

He maintained the process for roughly twenty minutes, and there was nothing else notable that happened to the enchanted weapon until he deemed it finished, as if the spell itself knew the need to be more subdued.
Or was it because of the weapon itself? This irregularity needs to be written in his notebook.

It was the same deal as any other when he dealt with Miwa's hairband and Verdant's sword. Though the sword gave him a little more ominous feeling. It accepted the engraving with a more sinister twist on it; Shrive. Sunder. Sever, those are literal translations of the runewords implanted near the crossguard, and the glow was sickly green.

It seems each weapon attained some sort of... personality after enchanting? These anomalies were new to him.

The second batch was complete, and Vesemir announced it proudly. Since Verdant and Miwa were not present, he took his time examining Rezello's spadone, admiring the existing details and feeling satisfied that the enchantment had enhanced it.

"All done, Master Rezello." He said, respectfully holding the blade with both hands and presenting it to the masked knight."May it serve you well!"

"What's your stake in this, wayfarer? You acts like death awaits ahead."

"Death..." Jazdia straightened herself, repeating the word before tilting her head as if the word amused her somehow.

"It's not safe to be alone, yes? Verdant added. "I know that better than most. Doing everything by yourself makes a brittle kind of strength."

"A bit too much, hmmm? It's just a trip to another room full of bookshelves. Boredom is the only thing that can kill you there. Right Curator Arcan?"

The only reply she got from that curator was an impatient look as if she owed him an apology. "Knowledge can kill too, lady," he grumbled.

"Yeah, right. The fun aspect of it, according to many." Jazdia did not see that philosophical answer coming, but appreciated its timely arrival. It allowed her mind to focus on something that wasn't her predicament. The moment Verdant voiced her concern, she knew her mask of nonchalance was slipping. It was undesirable, not because she wanted to do things alone, but because she wasn't ready to show the ugly side of it. She was aware that she needed their help, but at the same time, she didn't want them to feel too attached.

As she skipped the thought of reiterating her objection, Miwa came to them.

"I am sorry to interrupt... And to overhear your conversation, but Verdant is correct." Miwa said, approaching both of them as she gave Verdant a kind smile and a gentle headpat, finding the way Verdant showed to care and worry about Jazdia quite adorable.

"I did mention I would help you as much as I could with your curse, wouldn't I? Knowing more about it will definitely make my job a whole lot easier." Miwa said, looking to Jazdia with a reassuring smile, trying to encourage her as best as she could.

Jazdia was reluctant to admit that her heart was swayed; she might admit it just a little bit, maybe? Was it okay? Will it be something she regrets? Too soon to tell. In the end, she smiled and accepted Miwa's words like another sweet promise. Refusing would worry them even more anyway, and she didn't want that.

"Well, if you two are fine listening to me reading lines from old tomes, feel free to tag along." She bent slightly again---to Verdant, well, to both actually, since she towers both of them in terms of height--- and spoke in a playful tone. "And Verdant, you'd promise to be the good girl and keep the glass vial away, deal?"

Their march continued. It was a long passage way, and Arcan didn't seem to be in a hurry. Jazdia, too, out of sheer courtesy, did not see the need to press the knowledge keeper to move faster.

"So your friends managed to reengineer my master's old works, it seemed." The curator said. They might have expected the ice to be broken anytime, but none of them predicted the curator's cold, vibrating voice would cut the silence. He was tall, stern, like a human-shaped battleship advancing across the marble tiles with unmistakable authority. His monocled eyes, slick clothing, and unblinking attention to detail were unnerving, as if he noted every detail, errors, and anything that may pose a threat to his sanctuary, small or big.

Jazdia wondered if this Djinn Curator had put too much effort into presenting himself like this. Perhaps his conversation with Elc revealed an oversight that warranted a need for him to reembody the austereness expected from a curator alike? Well, she could understand that.

"Yeah, they are good," she answered carefully.

"Good is an understatement." He corrected "They are gifted."

Jazdia nodded in agreement, wondering where this conversation was going. Arcan soon added. "Their goal is admirable. When that pasky wizard came here, I wasn't expecting him could be such a nuisance. I am glad someone is planning to deal with him. For that cause, I am willing to help in any way that I can."

Arcan temporarily ended his speech by taking a glance at Jazdia once again, studying her before introducing the chamber they had just entered. "This is where all the important records are stored." He said, with less enthusiasm than before. It has brighter lighting than the previous rooms, the air was cool, regulated, and smelled like parchment and ancient dust.



The first thing she saw when entering this room was four bookshelves in the middle, loaded with books and tomes of various subjects, forming a small maze. And then two pairs of multi-story granite and metal cabinets as tall as the bookshelves at the north and east walls. Quite unusual, but probably already common 1700 years ago.

Behind those bookshelves, a large cluster of crystals glowed dimly; it seemed to have been placed there haphazardly, and Jazdia noted that the color was similar to her crystalized arrow. "My master's latest project before his... passing," Arcan said as he strode past a large painting featuring three elves. He only spared the painting a short dismissive look, but Jazdia took the opportunity to study three figures depicted in that drawing.

The painting captured three elves, each with their own distinct personality and pride. The tall, broad-shouldered elven man on the right held himself with a poise that seemed to be more of a product of training rather than genuine joy. A cascade of straight brown hair fell around his handsome figure, an elegant choice of hairstyle that, combined with his perfectly aligned posture, gave off an impression of a stern nobility.

Next to him sat another elf, similarly brown haired, but styled with a more modest and shorter hairstyle. The similar color of their eyes and hair indicated their familial ties, but this one had a more relaxed and outgoing air about him. The way he lounged was a stark contrast to his brother's more rigid presentation.

On the leftmost, stood the third figure, a female elf with silver hair framing a face of startling beauty. Her eyes, the color of red wine, held a glint of mischief and cunningness. She stood apart from her peers, not just in her coloring, but in her more battle-ready presentation: a sleek, black bow she used to aid her posing, and her overall attire that looked more like a stylized ranger uniform.

There was a feeling of uncanny familiarity when one looked at the female elf.

"It was the only painting my Master left behind before his departure to Alkautsar." Arcan had returned, thudding several volumes of books to the nearby desk. He clearly noticed the elf's curiosity, but like in a matter regarding the crystal earlier, he intentionally avoided elaborating on what the painting was all about.

"Here is what you requested. The compilations of my master's tireless research on curses existed in Varenheim 1700 years ago, and probably the recent ones too. Here is his Opus about dark arts weaponized by the... ahem, djinns during the First Struggle. And then by human sorceresses, their limitations, symptoms, and how to break them. Last but not least, the Ascended and the Revenant, those who answered the call, and those who rejected."

Jazdia quickly shifted to the desk, took a seat, and did her best to behave properly. A sense of inexplicable anticipation ran through her as her hand touched the books. Her choice fell on the third one, which featured a cover depicting two angelic beings with pointy ears standing in opposite directions. One angelic figure bathed in rays of light, her wings outstretched as if ready to soar, while her counterpart had his wings and halo shattered, and all the luminescence he once associated with had all but faded.

"Thank you, Curator Arcan. I appreciate it. I really do."

The curator gave her a quick acknowledging nod. "I must say that your request was not very specific, unlike your brethren earlier. Either way, good luck, and don't hesitate to ask should you need any assistance."

He looked back at the painting, and then his gaze lingered on Jazdia for a while, seemingly deep in contemplation. Without nary a word, he then walked into the small maze of bookshelves in the middle of the room, camouflaging his form into obscurity, yet he was still there, like a beacon watching over Miwa and Verdant the youkai.

It was rare for him to meet a fellow djin, and even more so a traveler from a far eastern land. Probably given considering his occupation, but still...

"Young one. May I remind you that alchemy is forbidden in this room? And what's the deal with those absurdly high-heeled shoes?"

Avoiding the larger issue, huh? How very... humane. Verdant shrugged, not pursuing the issue as the djinn curator reappeared. A hand went in to check if she hadn't somehow misplaced the vial of exotic venom. She hadn't.

"You'll need to talk about it eventually." She left it at that, leaning into the surprise pat from the oddly familiar foreigner. For a moment ahe looked like a small cat, pressing into the gesture with a somewhat loopy grin.

The book room she mostly skimmed past, eyes lingering at the painting longer than the others. It's well-cared for, even after so long, not a speck of dust even at the most ornate corner of the frame. Someone's been taking care of it thoroughly. An emerald eye flicked toward the aloof curator, but kept her peace otherwise.

Well, at least until the ancient thing deigned to address her directly.

"I'm not brewing anything okay!!" She huffed with a hint of childish indignation, bristling at the constant reminder. A more spiteful side of the serpent was sorely tempted to test the boundaries... but she managed to get it under control at the last moment. "And I know what I'm doing. It's not going to explode or anything."

What kind of amateur did he took her for?

A hint of amusement flickered in Arcan's ethereal yet blue irises. "I am just doing my duty to remind you. It is commendable if you remember, and we understand each other."

The Curator's curious gaze fell on the youkai. A djinn she was, same as him. Though the ancient race like him wasn't known for its cordiality with its kindred, Arcan couldn't help but be intrigued.

So he walked from his station and approached the sulking youkai. His gesture was still stiff, but lacked the pompousness he usually displayed. Ok, just a bit. Still, his stare-down toward Verdant was as unnerving as it was toward Jazdia.

"You... I can't get a good understanding of you. Most of your friends come here with a purpose, yet you seem to be different in that regard. Curiosity and freedom--that seem to be what drives you, and your little pet sleeping in that grim hair accessory of yours." He reeled back and continued. "No regard for rules, or any expectations. Without duty. Without purpose. I wonder how you could live like that."

@13org

"What do you mean by 'absurdly high-heeled'? They're not that long!" Miwa replied, huffing in a similar way Verdant had just a moment ago, before recomposing herself.

"A-anyways! These are a traditional footwear from where I come, called Geta. They might look a bit uncomfortable but when you get accustomed with them, they are quite practical. The very fact they aren't made of a flexible material means water and dirt won't get flung unto the back of your legs when you're walking in wet terrain. They also help to keep one's feet and clothes, especially longer ones, dry and clean." Miwa explained, using her own skirt as an example when mentioning 'longer' clothes.

"Despite being practical, part of the reason why I wear them is also because they are somewhat of a tradition for young Mikos. Like children, who also wear high-heeled getas instead of normal, shorter heeled ones, young mikos usually wear them to remind them that despite being miko apprentices, they, much like children, still have much to learn." Miwa said, explaining a bit of her culture and some of the traditions from her temple with a satisfied expression.

"See? It has nothing to do with making myself look taller or anything. It's about tradition and practicality!" Miwa said, concluding her explanation despite no one having said anything about her using high-heeled shoes to make herself look taller.

The ancient being smiled. Amused when Miwa went all technical and passionate about her getups, explaining all of their significances, values, and cultural symbolism. His jab at the heels was a mere jest, but the Curator quickly recognized his impudence.

"I see now..." he said, calmly. A bit too friendly that Jazdia instinctively peeked from behind the book she was reading. "I apologize for my impertinence and ignorance about your tradition, which was very inappropriate of me. It pleases me to hear you celebrating your cultural heritage," he placed his hands on his chest and bowed slightly. "What was your name, Foreigner from afar?" he asked as he raised his chin.

"Shirakawa Miwa, the dutiful Miko." The Miko makes a small, discreet bow in return, seemingly a silent thanks or acknowledgment.

Arcan repeated the name. "Shirakawa Miwa." and he nodded, letting the words hang before abruptly addressing her curiosity earlier by walking closer toward the painting, silently beckoning her to follow like a proper curator he was.

"Standing on the right is My Master, Theriadore Shirāthal. A genius artificer and one of the eight statemen who shaped the elves' modern Government after Serensiel's Fall. The one in the middle was his brother, Thealeon Shirāthal. An astute diplomat and charismatic general. Level-headed and... kind. It was the very same kindness that became his undoing."

Although there was a grim implication by the end of his elaboration, there was no doubt that Arkan spoke about the brothers with overwhelming respect and admiration.

That was until his gaze fell on the third person in that painting.

"Lythiel Luringwë." The name escaped him like a curse.

"Was a gullible waif--orphaned by the war. Serensiel took her in as her protégé for a decade, perhaps more, before her death. My master's family took her in out of kindness..."

His voice hardened. "And she repaid them with wickedness."

"If it were up to me, I'd burn this painting to ashes. But apparently, my Master was against such an idea. He willed to have this piece remain hung here. A remainder, perhaps, of the betrayal. Oh, I tell you, he needed a lot of such reminders when finalizing one of his most fascinating creations."

The curator glanced at the cluster of crystal in the corner of the room, where its purplish glow washed over the nearby wall and bookshelves. It was the moment when his voice rang with ominous edge, and a hint of vigilance---sharpened by seventeen centuries of duty--- all etched in his ancient visage.

---

With everything that Fia wanted to contributed to the conversation said, she listened as the others spoke among themselves. Miwa got her permission to cleanse the contamination the lich left behind in the front of the vault. However, it seemed like the plan had been expanded to hunting down the lich that caused the contamination to begin with. Fia wasn’t opposed to the idea, but it did feel out of the way compared to what Vesemir had come to the twilight forest to begin with. It sounded like wherever it decided to hole itself up at was in the vicinity of the twilight lands, so maybe it was just a hope and chance for opportunity.
Fia wandered around the displays of different artifacts, getting a feel for some of them as best she could. She would remove some from the wall of their display cases to observe them, putting them back as she finished. All the while she had partial attention to the ongoings of the others as well. Vesemir had dusted off an old enchantment table, blessing different weapons of the others to better combat the undead. Or perhaps it was for liches specifically. Fia didn’t care to have anything of hers enchanted this way. In her experience, her magic was often enough to deal with beings of less than human constitution. And if there was ever a chance it wasn’t, then at least the others would be prepared enough to compensate.
Fia did get some third party enjoyment from the little interactions of the others. Vesemir was eager with his ideals, and Eblana was flustered by the young ninja’s gratitude. To see the female elf’s face grow red and then attempt to hide in a tome was especially amusing. Especially since her ears clearly poked out the sides of the pages, as red as a tomato. It wasn’t long after when the ancient djinn led the serpent yokai, miko, and cursed elf towards another archive. One that contained that hopefully contained the knowledge the latter needed to break her own curse. Fia watched them leave, waiting for them to turn the corner. There didn’t seem much left to enchant. But there was still the rune stone, and the book Vesemir acquired from somewhere within the vault.
“I suppose then that book is your claim from this place? Or are we allowed to learn of its secrets for free? If I’m being honest here, I’d prefer the second, for it gives us plenty to choose from otherwise. However, with a limit of two, it would be appropriate for you to have the final say, darling. That said, I don’t think we can carry that enchantment table with us if it as fragile as you say.” said Fia, completely ignoring the significance of any of the objects within the room. Besides Arcan, her interest in the items were more for practicality and immediate use than any historical or sentimental meaning. She saw the items more as loot than as historical curios.
“At the very least, I’m surprised our dear Stepan hasn’t said anything. He seemed to most into the hidden treasures we’d find than most. I wonder where he has gone?”

"All done, Master Rezello." He said, respectfully holding the blade with both hands and presenting it to the masked knight."May it serve you well!"

Seeing that his ceremonial gesture didn't earn him any sort of showmanship he expected, Vesemir bit his lip and awkwardly placed the large spadone by the knight's side, then retreated back to the table. He drummed his fingers on its surface, feeling the weight of the ancient book he had just discovered in his hands, and tried to be optimistic.

“I suppose then that book is your claim from this place? Or are we allowed to learn of its secrets for free? If I’m being honest here, I’d prefer the second, for it gives us plenty to choose from otherwise. However, with a limit of two, it would be appropriate for you to have the final say, darling. That said, I don’t think we can carry that enchantment table with us if it as fragile as you say.”

"That's a good question, my dear Fia," answered Vesemir, transferring his gaze from the book in his hand to the human mage across the table. Fia, despite all she said, eluded a unique scholarly charm he could respect. He understood her pragmatic desire very well, but regarding this matter, his own was deeper, almost like a physical ache. "The nature of the enchantment is easy to understand. Most of the gist is in the scroll and a specific spell Theriadore had outlined in this book. Mastering it would take... several years maybe, but beyond that, this is a valuable piece of historical item. No matter if Varenhaim has a hundred students remembering every line and every word in this book down to the letter, to have the real, authentic thing---the very pages Theriadore himself touched---lost forever would be a tragedy! I would love to bring this tome with me, if you don't mind. I am sorry, but we will have a lot of opportunities ahead of us, and I am sure we can retrieve more than just two artifacts."

Vesmir could only offer an easing, thoughtful smile to the human mage. Fia seemed to accept his reasoning diplomatically and shifted toward Stepan.

“At the very least, I’m surprised our dear Stepan hasn’t said anything. He seemed to be most into the hidden treasures we’d find than most. I wonder where he has gone?”

The mercenary was not far, leaning on the wall near the entrance with arms crossed on his chest.

"I am still here, lassie. Don't worry." He approached them with a brow furrowed. "Been thinking a lot about what that ghostly fella said earlier. Those who came before us. They were doomed because ain't none of them could agree on what shiny trinkets to pick. I don't want ours to end like them, infighting and all that crap. My share is what I get from my own sweat, and I am happy with it!"

"Then again." continued Stepan. "I'm more curious about the history of the land itself, anyway. Been meaning to ask that for ages, but I feel it would offend you elf folks somehow. It's just... you have a vast and fertile land here, boss. Why abandon it? Monsters?" he shook his head. "Don't believe elf-folk couldn't handle that. The bossman, and that lassie with whitening hair are fairly powerful. Can't imagine specimens like you two are a rare sight in elf-land. So what is it?"

If the first question was a matter-of-fact that was commendable in nature, the second part brought up a sudden sense of uneasiness for the elves presented in that room, enough to have Mr. Elc roused from his idle daydream. Vesemir, who was the oldest of them all, raised his face to look at the masked ranger who observed the situation with shoulders tensed.

Both elves seemed to be in a process of weighing what answer should be told. Understandable considering the majority of people in this outfit were humans; Stepan could be forgiven as a questioner, and Akari was a foreigner with no significance in this matter, so the only person worthy of consideration was Fia and Rezello, who was a native to this continent.

"Would you like a blunt but honest answer or the easy answer?" Vesemir asked back.
@Randomness

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Fia chuckled as Vesemir finished speaking. While Fia considered that if they had cleaned out the vault, she could see Arcan’s alternate form, it was still too early to be pulling those kinds of shenanigans. “You are just fine the way you are, darling. You take that book and you treasure it. I’m sure you’ll get more value out of it any of us could with anything else. Except maybe…” Fia paused short of mentioning a cure to Jazdia’s curse. To seek knowledge over a cleansing artifact must mean that ancient artificer never designed such an object, or that it’s not here. Odd considering that he prepared a spell for combating liches. Fia stopped the conversation as Vesemir offered his sincere smile. Besides, there was also Stepan.
“Ah, there you are, darling. You were so quiet and to yourself I lost track of you. Glad to see you were not whisked away by some cursed trinket or nefarious djinn. We’ve only met the one, but given the state of things, there could be others hiding.” joked Fia after Stepan spoke up. However, it was clear that though he were only an outsider, he was curious about the twilight lands. They were valid questions. Fia knew very little of the lands herself. What she knew she learned from an elf she used to travel with and even then his answers were cryptic like it was some kind of secret. All he really said was there lied remains of what would be better off forgotten.
Fia looked back at the two elves, “Easy is always easy. But being blunt will better get the point across, darling. Go with that.”

Fia looked back at the two elves, “Easy is always easy. But being blunt will better get the point across, darling. Go with that.”

"It was the humans," Vesemir began. His words flew without emotion, as if the scholar were reciting a historical fact and nothing more. "After the Hero of Mankind Areston Lydus drove his spear through Queen Serensie's heart, the humans---being the victors they were---occupied the portion of elven territory we know today as the Land of Twilight."

He stopped himself, and when he spoke again, the voice of the enthusiastic, mostly positive scholar now thinned and edged with bitterness.

"Occupation brought a new set of conflicts. Barbarity from the occupiers was a common sight, justified by the resentment they carried as the former victims of a systematic tyranny. Queen Serensiel had brought untold suffering throughout the continent, and after her demise, the soldiers needed a channel to settle the old hatred, and factions in human governments needed to recoup their loss. Debts had to be repaid—and the common elven populace was the nearest mirror of the queen they despised. Always present, always within reach.

Strife begot resistance, mainly from the so-called Snow Terror Lythiel. Seeing things spiralling out of control, the provisional Government could not afford another war for the sake of our survival as a race.

Theriadore, supported by other statesmen, decided that an Exodus was the answer. The elves would fade to the west, starting anew so they would rebuild in peace, and there would be no more harassment or pretext for invasion."

"The most practical solution---realpolitik at its finest."

It was clear that Vesemir didn't like the simplification it brought, but what Mr. Elc said was, in fact, how it was. They have agreed to be blunt, and historical facts deserve the respect to be represented as they were.

"Practical, but it was also a cultural and spiritual amputation." Vesemir continued, instead of confronting, his tone heavy with lament. The book he held now felt heavier. It was written by Theriadore himself, and if Vesemir was afforded a chance to ask him, he would start with: was it worth it?

"They were not moving troops; they were moving families, elders, children, artisans, farmers. They were tearing people from their livelihood, from forests they have known for millennia, from the very soil that holds their history. Núria was not just a capital city; it was the heart of our civilization, now abandoned to become haunted ruins. We remember this region as Rhovan ar-Lúrëa, a collective mourning so profound it became a scar that would never fade. The name itself was a testament to our loss---the land where our Núr, our light, went out."

He looked away, as if seeing the twilight in his mind. Old as he was, Vesemir had not lived through those tragedies, yet elves are empathetic creatures by nature. The pain carried through stories passed down, and the ruins that remained echoed that sorrow deep within his heart.

"We elves abhor the idea of reclaiming this region because it reminds us of that tragic exodus, that every step westward was a reminder that we were not marching to victory, but fleeing from injustice. The 'peace' we purchased was paid for with the home of our people. It was a peace that tastes like ash. We don't speak much about it, because we have lost so much in trying to right the old ways our Queen had forged, and mankind did not make it any easier for us. Their part in this tragedy was merely an episode of cruelty from a distant antiquity, but for us, the elves, the scar still aches."
@Randomness