Chapter 005

  Unlocked. That was a rarity. Father usually bolted the door from the inside when his work consumed him completely. Belmond pushed the heavy leaf and peered cautiously inside, trying to fish the scholar’s silhouette from the gloom.

  “Father?”

  The silence stretched uncomfortably, so he tried again, louder this time:

  “Father, are you here?”

  Nothing. He hesitated. Then he slipped inside. First a shoulder, followed by a step, treading warily on tiptoe. Father strictly forbade him to enter here alone. Ban notwithstanding, he had to check. Ethan’s health had been failing for several years. Aria was weakening too, though it showed far less often on her face. Sometimes she would just drift off in her armchair, as if her body were calling in an old debt. Father called it the price. For the expeditions. They had returned young and proud once. Only years later did they understand that necropolises and catacombs always exact their toll. Sometimes one remained there forever; sometimes one returned to the surface bearing the parting kiss of darkness.

  The study was drowning in twilight. Heavy velvet curtains choked the tall windows, admitting only narrow slivers of sun. The rays broke upon a brass shield polished to a mirror shine, spilling a warm, honeyed glow across the interior. Just below the shield hung a large map of Haalbara, densely marked with ruin symbols. These marks were not for decoration. Father was searching for something, though he never spoke of it aloud. Candle flames cast trembling shadows over the cluttered floor and the bizarre research tools scattered about. Shelves climbed the walls to the very ceiling, so high that without a ladder, the upper reaches were untouchable. Books stood there—some new, still smelling of glue, others with pages disintegrating like dry autumn leaves. Father loved them all. Worn spines and dog-eared corners betrayed how often he returned to them, and hundreds of makeshift bookmarks protruded from between the pages.

  In the centre of the chamber stood a massive desk, its surface vanished beneath stacks of tomes and loose papers. Some had already slid onto the floor, forming paper islands around the furniture’s legs. Empty chairs for guests waited on either side, but Father’s armchair was lost behind a wall of piling documents.

  In this silence, Father simply wasn’t there. He thought of the second workshop on the edge of the estate. It was there, deep underground, that the family artifact was kept, along with finds from subterranean ruins—mostly weapons from before the Fall of the Firmament. When Imperial envoys brought them under armed escort, Ethan would disappear into the depths for days, cataloguing and waking the powers dormant in the objects. Although true treasures were rare, Father held to an iron rule: no artifacts in the house. He preferred excessive caution to the risk that an alien force might bring misfortune upon his kin, should an object prove to be a Bane.

  Belmond turned on his heel and was about to leave when suddenly one of the paper mountains swayed and collapsed to the floor with a rustle. A hacking sound broke the silence. It sounded like someone choking, but a moment later it smoothed into a deep, rhythmic snore. He stopped mid-step. Between dusty tomes and yellowed scrolls, Father was asleep. His presence had been betrayed only by that accidental avalanche of documents.

  “Father?”

  The chair creaked as his sleepy father bolted up from behind the pile of books and stood straight.

  “I’m here! I’m up, Aria!”

  Something clicked quietly in his joints. His back protested. He had to brace his hands against the desk to keep his balance after rising so abruptly. A crumpled brown tunic hung loosely on his slender shoulders, and a few fair strands had escaped his messy ponytail, falling unruly over his forehead. He straightened after a moment and took off his spectacles. He rubbed eyelids red from reading. When he finally looked at his son, his face brightened. Crinkles of a warm, genuine smile appeared at the corners of his eyes.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Ah, it’s you, Bel. Is it that hour already?”

  Ethan beckoned his son closer. Belmond approached. He placed two apples on the desk for his father.

  “For me? Thank you.”

  Father placed a hand on his son’s head and combed his fingers through his hair, then grabbed a fruit and sank his teeth into the sweet flesh. Four greedy bites were enough to make the apple almost disappear.

  “What were you reading, Father?” he asked, standing beside him and peering over his shoulder.

  The man ran a finger over a yellowed page, and a spark of discovery lit his blue eyes.

  “Yesterday’s courier brought something interesting. It appears a fragment of Hardin’s journal has fallen into my hands. I’m not yet certain if it’s genuine, but...”

  He broke off and looked at his son with curiosity.

  “And how was training?” A mischievous glint danced in the corner of his eye. “I gather she didn’t spare you.”

  “Mother...” he sighed, rubbing his neck. “She was ruthless today. Not a moment’s rest, not a single mistake forgiven.” He winced, flexing his sore wrists. “Sometimes I think she wants me as good as her before I even cross the Academy threshold.”

  Father’s warm, rough hand rested on his son’s aching shoulder, and the gentle squeeze said more than words.

  “That is just her way. But you know what? It means she truly cares.”

  Belmond smiled wanly in response. Ethan’s gaze returned almost instantly to the parchment lying on the table.

  “But let us return to this.” He tapped the parchment with a finger. “I’ve told you of Arendel, haven’t I?”

  Belmond frowned, searching his memory for what his father had told him, and what people generally said.

  “Yes, you have. About the ruler who loved his wife above all else... and the artifact that was to cure her of an incurable sickness. The Alchemist of Red Ash wanted to seize it, correct?”

  The scholar nodded with approval.

  “You’ve remembered the details perfectly, lad.” He smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “Sit and tell me once more in your own words what you recall.”

  Belmond sat beside his father and fell silent for a moment, organising the knowledge in his head. Rarely was he the one telling the tale. Usually, he just nodded as Father spun his stories. After a moment, he spoke tentatively:

  “It is a story of a ruler who loved his queen more than his own life. When she fell ill with a sickness against which the best physicians threw up their hands in helplessness, the king fell into despair. He traversed all of Arendel and the neighbouring lands, seeking a cure. He reached the borders of the known world. Yet nothing helped.”

  He paused, gathering his thoughts. He took a deep breath.

  “And then, when hope was fading, a mysterious old man appeared at the castle. He claimed to speak with the voice of the One God. He brought with him an artifact made of a material no human eye had seen before. And it was this power that saved her. The queen recovered, but... greed lurked at court. The Ashen Alchemist. As soon as his gaze fell upon the artifact, he desired it solely for himself.”

  He picked up speed. Words tumbled from his lips, hands keeping pace with the images.

  “He wove intrigues, tried to incite the subjects to rebellion, even to poison the ruler himself! But when all his schemes failed and his treachery came to light, he fled to gather an army of ruthless mercenaries. He poisoned the drinking waters and struck at the kingdom with such force that the royal couple nearly succumbed. But then, the artifact truly awoke. It granted them the power of Veldran!”

  The boy lowered his voice.

  “Fire overtook the traitor. He burned in agony, which is why from that day they call him the Alchemist of Red Ash, for only red ash remained of him. Legend says that as he died, he screamed a curse that he would yet have his revenge...” He cleared his throat and returned to a lighter tone. “The King and Queen, however, understood that such great power is also a heavy burden. So they ceded the throne to their most trusted friend, a priest of Veldran, and set off into the world to serve others and aid the needy.”

  He stopped, frowning and searching his memory for any gaps.

  “That is all I remember, Father. If I am not mistaken, this legend tells of the origins of Erythra and of the Ashen Hand that is said to choke sleepers by the ash pit.”

  “Good. Very good, you can connect information from different sources.” Ethan nodded with appreciation. “That is how the story sounds, the one people are meant to remember. Simple and convenient.”

  Father smiled, but something sharp lurked in his gaze. After a moment, he continued.

  “Except that Hardin’s journal suggests something entirely different. Something that may alter our perception of this entire history.”

  “Hardin. Who is that? Tell me.”

  Ethan looked his son straight in the eyes, his face assuming a grave expression.

  “Before I tell you, you must give me your word—not a word to Mother about what you are about to hear. Do you promise?”

  “I promise, Father. Not a word.” The youth placed a hand on his chest, his voice taking on a solemn tone. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Besides, it’s not the first time we’ve hidden something from her, is it?”

  Ethan answered with a conspiratorial smile, placing a hand on his son’s head.

  “Your mother has many virtues, but sometimes... it is better to spare her certain information.”

  “Listen closely then, my boy...” The man leaned in even further, his voice becoming a barely audible whisper. His hands, still resting on the journal, trembled slightly. “What you are about to hear may change your view of everything you have known about the Empire. This story... is not meant for every ear.”