18 Legacy #2
Vaelira nodded and wiped her face with a hand, then placed it back in his, the touch a welcome comfort.
“I’m not tired,” she said. “Before, holding a larger flame drained me, but now, even after all that, I feel like I could do it again.”
“Let’s refrain from full body manifestations for now,” he said, leaning on his knee as he straightened. “Focus on the controlled attack. You need a solid base to work from.”
Over the next few hours, she practised. Fire bloomed at her fingertips, leapt from her palms, and struck the stone. Black scorch marks spiderwebbed across the room. Every cast she threw grew sharper and more precise, the moonstone pulsing alongside each as if in silent approval.
By the end, her temples throbbed and her skin buzzed, as if the fire hadn’t fully left her. Sweat clung to her neck. It seemed precision demanded more than raw power alone.
“I never imagined I could do something like that,” she said, breathless.
“You always could,” Galfri said. “You’ll never know what you're capable of until you try.” He turned towards the door and held out a hand. “Come. You’ve earned a rest.”
They walked in silence back through the mountain's depths and slipped through a backdoor into the Index. Once inside the storage room, Galfri paused, letting her open the passage. She turned to him instead. “You’ve already done so much for me,” she said quietly, “but I wanted to ask one more thing.”
His smile was gentle. “Favours are all I have left to give.”
The words twisted something in her gut. She had come to lean on him more than she’d expected, on the steadiness of his voice and the way he saw her, not as a weapon, but as someone in need of guidance.
“We haven’t found anything solid on the summonings. Not who these people answer to, or what their goal is. We need answers before they strike again. I need to research. Perhaps I could slip into the library at night and see if I can find anything?”
Galfri rubbed his chin. “There aren’t enough people here at night for you to go unnoticed.” He frowned, thinking it through. “Perhaps in the early hours… yes, that would be best. On your next free day, come before breakfast. You’ll be able to slip through the aisles unnoticed I should think.”
Before she could stop herself, she hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. He stiffened for a moment but relaxed into the embrace, chucking softly.
She stepped back and crouched to open the passage. She barely had to think before it slid open, her essensia moving so freely now. Grinning to herself, she jumped into the dark.
On her next day off, Vaelira slipped into the hidden passage before breakfast. Her heart thudded as she sprinted through the tunnel, her palm held aloft, a tall flame lighting the way for several feet.
She hadn’t bothered stopping by the mailroom that morning.
She had no immediate use for her weekly pay, and Freya had never replied to her letter.
Maybe it had been lost, or perhaps the return one had.
The silence hurt more than she’d expected, but people grew apart all the time.
At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to hear from her friend, until she hadn’t.
Freya had been the one to remind Vaelira of the Royal Library, of the knowledge it held and the answers it might offer.
She still wanted to know who had killed her brother and why, but her thoughts kept circling back to the summonings.
Somehow, the two were connected. She could feel it.
How else would a demon get into Anhaven undetected if not summoned?
When she emerged from the passage, Galfri was already waiting, pale robes folded over one arm. She dressed quickly and joined him in the corridor.
“Keep your hood up,” he said, tugging it into place. “Don’t speak unless you must. If the Queen gets wind of this…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to, Vaelira’s position was already precarious. If Queen Mairese found out, her training, and access to this library, would be over.
“Demon lore and history are on level five, aisle twenty-three,” he said quietly. “Aisle twenty-four is mage history and essensia. References only. Nothing leaves the library. Return everything to its exact place.”
He glanced down the hall and back to her, squeezing her arm. “No food allowed. If you want to eat, you’ll have to leave and come back.”
“I’ll manage.” Her eyes drifted towards the corridor beyond, where footsteps echoed faintly, and a strange glow spilled around the corner.
Galfri nodded and stepped aside. “Try not to stare up.”
She frowned, but he only smiled and gave her arm one more squeeze.
As she stepped out of the Index and into the library, the world seemed to fall away. Shafts of light streamed down from above, casting the vast chamber in a kaleidoscope of colour. The air was warm yet crisp, as if she were atop the mountain, not within it. She looked up and stilled.
High overhead, the ceiling vanished into a forest of vertical shafts, each one capped with a flawless circle of stained glass in every colour; crimson and amber, turquoise, emerald, violet and rose.
Hundreds of them, maybe more, bored through solid stone all the way to the surface.
The light that streamed through was clean, untouched by snow or grime.
Essensia. The mages had left this place over a century ago, yet their magic remained.
This was their legacy.
Her legacy.
Along the walls, angled mirrors caught the beams and scattered them across the library, bathing every row of shelves, every balcony, in shimmering rainbows. The mountain stone, once dull and grey, seemed to blaze. What she had once thought plain and simple, now felt sacred.
A figure brushed past her, heading towards the Index. Vaelira forced her eyes down and willed her feet to move. She kept her expression neutral, her stride even, as if she had seen it all before.
She found the aisles easily, though the relevant sections were at the end of each. This part of the library was silent, and only occasionally did she glimpse a figure passing between the rows, but no one came close.
She gathered a stack of books and carried them to a nearby desk.
The light here was brighter than it should have been this far from the main chamber.
Smaller mirrors atop the shelves focused the beams to the end of each aisle, chasing away the weight of stone and shadow.
She almost forgot the mountain above her.
She flipped through the books, catching herself humming under her breath. A lullaby from her childhood.
She reached for another volume. This one detailed demon classifications: minor, major, and greater. Each section listed names, preferred dwellings, and known traits. She skimmed until a familiar image stopped her. A great black wolf, with white, pupil-less eyes and sharp, pointed ears.
Morgia. Shifter demon. Minor class. Often appears as a wounded animal. Transforms into a massive black wolf or other monstrous form, using fear to paralyse prey before consumption.
Had that been what the demon in the woods had been planning after the archery task back in Anhaven?
To scare them into submission? Vaelira’s jaw tightened as she remembered the second demon she had encountered on the road to Allen.
The only one she’d ever seen up close: a minor Drekal.
Lipless and hunched, its mouth dripping with black drool and rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Its screech echoed in her skull.
She slammed the book shut, then reached for another book at random.
A History of Mages. She skimmed a few pages, until a heading caught her eye.
Conduit Stones. Her hand moved to her pouch.
Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she drew out the moonstone and set it gently on the desk. It shimmered in the library’s light.
Crystals and gemstones have played a significant role in essensia practice for well over a millennium.
While their precise origins as essensia tools remain subject to debate, it is widely accepted that their early uses straddled both the practical and the aesthetic.
Some scholars propose that ancient mages imbued these stones with minor enchantments for domestic purposes such as illuminating dwellings or enhancing objects such as jewellery.
Though this interpretation is contested.
According to these accounts, the stones have served one purpose above all: to channel and stabilise essensia. The truth likely lies somewhere between these positions, shaped by shifting cultural attitudes and the gradual decline in essensia literacy.