Chapter 52 #3
Careful to not touch the body he peered inside; astonishment distracted him from the overwhelming stench as the contents came into view. “Fuck me,” he said out loud, dropping his arm from his face as he glared in disbelief.
Inside the crate, protected by a shimmering, opaque energy sphere, lay a book unlike any Rain had ever seen.
Its cover was dark and pearlescent, reflecting a glimmering array of colours; each hue reminiscent of the rainbow spectrum he recognised from the stone in his dream.
The surface seemed to breathe, shifting subtly as though alive, the colours sliding over one another like oil on water.
This was Rainbow Aetherchrome. Before him lay proof of its existence, the unnerving pull beneath his skin, further evidence of his connection to the stone.
As Rain stared at the pulsating dome, he noticed a brass plaque positioned beneath the sphere. The inscription was clear:
The Prism Codex,
Property of King Ryant Royale.
Beneath the plaque, a cloth warning label had been affixed. Its message was unambiguous and ominous:
(Do not touch the energy sphere, death comes to all that do)
Someone must have skipped the warning label, Rain thought, braving a glance at the victim at his feet.
The corpse’s swollen fingers were curled inward, as though they had reached for the sphere in their final moments.
Though he could understand why; the warning label did nothing to diminish its hold, urging him to touch it, though he didn’t imagine it would have the same effect on mortals, or even aetherials of other bloodlines.
The pull was intoxicating; a magnetic hum that vibrated through his bones, whispering to him, calling him closer.
He resisted, taking a step back he folded his arms across his chest, unable to tear his eyes away from the book.
Ryant was the first blue king, his ancestor, Skylar’s son.
This had to be why he was here, he needed to get into that book, or at the very least touch it.
The desire to feel the essence of the rainbow aetherchrome was undeniably strong, he needed access.
Chewing on his lip, Rain weighed his options with growing unease.
He considered relocating the book without touching it, reasoning this was probably the wisest course of action.
Then perhaps, he’d need to speak to Isarion or consult the order in the hope that they might possess some knowledge of the book’s existence and how to access its secrets.
He vaguely recalled his aunt saying she had spent time with the Order, it would make sense for them to be aware of its existence.
On the other hand, he could simply touch the book and see what happened. After all, there had been no prophecy foretelling his death by energy sphere. All signs from the Gods and prophecies pointed toward a destiny far greater for him, so surely, he was immune to its power—wasn’t he?
Perhaps the true key was his rainbow blood.
Rain suspected that many before him had tried to free the book from its magical prison and failed.
Had died in the attempt. They lacked what he possessed.
He leaned in, reaching his hand towards the sphere.
It pulsated in response, the purple hue shifting towards blue as his fingers hovered an inch from its surface.
The air around it crackled, tiny sparks of iridescent light dancing along the barrier as though recognising him.
But doubt crept in.
Cold.
Sharp.
Unwelcome.
What if he was wrong?
What if the sphere didn’t differentiate?
What if the magic didn’t care about prophecy or bloodlines?
He wasn’t prepared to die; not here, not atop another unfortunate soul. A book, no matter how extraordinary, wasn’t worth that sacrifice.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped back and paced toward the window, seeking both distance and fresh air.
He opened the window wide to ventilate the space, leaning against the sill and gazing out blindly, lost in thought.
Cool air rushed in, cutting through the suffocating stench, but it did little to ease the tension coiled in his chest.
One thing was certain: he would not be leaving without the book.
Whatever the source of the ancient magic; whether the book itself or the sphere, it held Rain captive. He could sense, without knowing how, that it recognised him. The magic wanted him, and, undeniably, he wanted it in return.
With a decision finally made, Rain stood upright and, with a flick of his wrist, replaced the crate’s lid and sealed it shut.
Relief washed over him as the pull of the magic was immediately dulled, almost undetectable had he not felt it at its full capacity.
The barrier of the lid allowed him to think more clearly, the fog of compulsion lifting just enough for rationality to return.
He manoeuvred the crate down the stairs, careful to avoid the decaying body, and breathed easier as he left the stench behind. Wasting no time, he placed a call to the shadow guard, arranging for a ride back to his residence and alerting them to the mysterious dead civilian he had discovered.