Chapter Text
“In the beginning, there were the Gods. As time passed, the Gods created big and small, though it was never enough. And then Amari, queen of the gods, created the first of greater creations, the elder brother and his companion, the first dragon. And, so they were blessed. Dunne, goddess of war, in her jealousy created the first sister, and her companion the first gryphon, and so they too were blessed. Malek, god of death, in answer to his queen created the younger brother, and wanting his full attention did not create a companion. In his hubris, the younger brother asked “Why have I been forsaken a companion when my favored siblings have not. To be able to create and use the power of the bonds as my siblings before me have?” And Malek told the younger brother I created you, I the Ruler of the Dominion of Death and Decay, and so you shall always walk in the light.
Title: Unknown, Author: Unknown, Subject: Creational Texts, Pre-Unification, Status: Heretical texts to be burned
Violet waited until the sounds of the Library settled in around her. Scribes should all be in their dorms by curfew, but a few would still linger, those with extra duties and permissions. The librarians on guard duty would settle into their rotations until after midnight. Violet could not sleep in the meantime, instead she would study, her classes had already piled on the classwork, and her professors had high expectations from her father and Markham that she would excel.
The bell for midnight struck sooner than she expected, setting down her quill and rolling up her parchment where she was writing up an in depth paper on the Necessities of Uniformity within a Prosperous Empire, she thought Markham would like this one.
Slipping on her softest set of leather slippers, hoping they would help keep any sounds of her movements quiet as she crept through the hallways. Picking up the key to her fathers office from its hidden spot in her desk Violet slipped it under her light blue scribe robes. The darkness of the library bent down on her as Violet as she shut the door to her dorm room. Here, Violet should not feel scared. This had been her home since her mother took charge of Basgiath War College, and her father had taken over her studies.
Making her way to the main corridor the atrium opens up before her. The light of the moon slants through the glass dome that covers the top of the Library. Looking around at the darkened and shadowy stacks, the tiers around her seemed to add weight to her. Violet was on the second floor of the main levels, the main archive that regular Basgiath War College graduates and librarians could access. There were the more secure levels where only other librarians were allowed and as her father had alluded to chambers that went farther down that ended in the vault for vital documents, ancient texts, and artifacts that only the heads of the College and the King could access.
Reaching the door to her father’s office she pulled out the key. as she inserted the wardstone key, the blue light of the wardstone set within the head of the key highlighted scratches and burns in the wood around the lock. Violet ran her fingers over one of the small burns. only her father’s key would allow entry into this office, but the Provost, the head of all librarians, should have a spare. She swung the heavy wooden door open.
Her father’s office was a comfort, a large sitting area with a bookcase covering the entire wall to the left side of the room. His desk, with its usual scattering of papers and scrolls, askew, books on the verge of toppling to the floor. Violet tapped the ward stone that sat on his desk, making the light flare. More books and scrolls were thrown into relief, the jumper she had discarded the last day they had been in the room together lay over his chair, scattering pencils and quills threatening to roll off the edge of the desk. Her father, the untidy scholar. Violet had almost expected to see him bent over a text, his head resting in his palm, his fingers stuck in his reddish brown hair. The soft sounds of his quill scratching filling the silence. The emptiness and silence filled Violet, the crushing weight of her father’s absence overwhelmed her thoughts as she looked over the office, wishing she would see him sitting at his desk when she opened her eyes.
Prying at the boards of the floor under her fathers desk, Violet tried her hardest to pull the boards up and out of their positions. Her father had made it look so easy when he showed her the hidden spot in his office that he had decided to put all his research into. She remembered questioning why he would hide his research, all of his scrolls and books, his office locked. But her father’s amber eyes had hardened in that moment, as he scanned over her face, before lowering more items into his hiding spot.
“Violet, my dear, trust is not to be given to all those around us, you will need to learn in the future. Whom to trust and those you keep close, but never confide in.” She did not understand what her father had meant at the time and had told him just that, but he had responded that she would learn; time was the best teacher.
As she began placing rolls of scrolls into a bag, and more and more books filled it to the top, she reached back down into the opening feeling around the bottom, before touching soft leather binding. Sidling closer and peeking over, Violet saw that a thin, old volume was stuck against the side of the hiding place. The binding was cracked and worn, and as she pulled it out, she could her the crackling of the pages within, so dry with age. On the outside of the little tome was a locking mechanism, with a key code, six letters long. Looking closer to the code she saw that it would destroy the book if the wrong code was placed within the mechanism or if tampered with. The rune that was drawn into the wardstone placed into the lock was for fire, to burn. Underneath the lock, a slip of paper. In her fathers scribbled handwriting, First love is irreplaceable. Turning it over in her hands she would have to take a lot of care with this volume. Instead of placing it in the bag with the others, she placed it inside the pocket of her robes. As she made sure it was situated safely she heard movement in the hallway outside the office, making her freeze in place.
Panic froze her in place and she could feel the cold dread racing through her body, following the path of her veins, cooling her as her blood made its way rushing through her body. Hurriedly she tried to place the boards back into place, as there was rattling at the door. Rushing, she dropped on the boards, pain searing in her wrist. Panic had made her act stupidly. She wanted to smack herself at the noise, in response whomever was on the other side of the door had stopped, but whispering had started. There was more than one person outside the door. She was going to be caught! Oh, gods! This was going to be bad, her mother was going to be furious and she would get expelled from the Librarians Quadrant. Violet pressed at her wrist,pain throbbed but thankfully not broken, just sore. Writing her papers would be difficult for the next week, if she did not get caught and expelled. She would not be getting caught.
Getting up, Violet swung the heavy filled pack over her back, looping the straps around her shoulders, the weight was heavy and it would take her much longer to get back up the staircase, she was not in shape like her sister or brother. Moving around the room, pressing her fingers to the wardstones, letting the lights extinguish at her soft touch, allowing the room to fall into darkness, she moved into the corner near the door, behind her father’s favorite reading chair. The rattling at the lock had begun again, her nerves were jangling in time. Violet felt that waiting to be caught was almost worse than being seen, but whoever was trying to get in could not be worse than her mother. Who are these people trying to get into her father’s office? What were they trying to get? Her fathers research, was her father right in being paranoid and hiding everything?
She crouched petrified in the corner behind one of her father’s heavy reading chairs, waiting. Sweat trickled down her back making her want to wipe it away, remaining still was torture. Minutes seemed to tick away as she crouched her knees aching in the position she had jammed herself into.
Slowly, Violet pulled herself out of the crouch, listening to the quiet of the room around her. Creeping towards the door and letting herself out, the pack full of books edging into her ribs uncomfortably. The darkness of the hallway seemed even darker after the brightness of the office. Shadows lurked, and dark spots seemed to undulate all around as if with a mind of their own. Hurriedly, she ducked into the hall, taking quick steps back into the main corridor and stairs. Violet wanted to get back to her room as quickly as possible. It was unlikely that the librarians on guard duty were down in the library itself patrolling, they mostly stood guard at the main doors or lounged in the main hall. The low humming of wardstones that protected and maintained the library and the low groaning of the inner structure seemed to overwhelm her ears, taking over the otherwise seemingly quiet night inside the library’s depths.
~~
Wardstone lights helped illuminate the main staircase in the nighttime. The glass dome sat over the ceiling and allowed the light of the moon shine down upon the beauty inside the main levels of the library.
Violet could feel the weight of the pack dragging off her shoulders; it was too heavy for her. The steps in front rolled, she lost focus stumbling. Falling forward, she threw her hands out, but as her sore wrist took the brunt of her weight she cried out. The sound ricocheting through the quiet, rising into the ceiling like a prayer against her.
Pulling herself up, her wrist burning in pain that shot through her arm and up into her shoulders, ricocheting through her joint as she pushed herself up. Light moved closer to her from the main entryway of the library, the sound of footsteps following behind. The guards made their way slowly toward the balcony on the first floor. Violet hurried and huddled over against the railing, flattening her body to the baluster posts. The muted murmurs of voices made their way down to her ears, and Violet felt the panic begin to rise within her. She could not make it upwards to the second floor and her dorm room now. She would have to go down.
Creeping down to the lower levels would be her best bet at the moment, but she might get trapped and caught. Violet knew that there was one entrance to a secret tunnel on the seventh floor that she could escape into, but she would have to make it that far first.
The darkness of the lower floors called to her, and she began to make her way farther down as a call from one guard called another forth, more light came with the guards as they moved closer and closer.
Rounding the corner and moving further into the stacks of the third floor, Violet found what she was searching for the dumbwaiter. It was decently big enough that large books, displays, and scrolls could all fit inside, making moving all these necessary items easier for the librarians—well, mostly their overworked scribes, the overwhelmed initiates of the Scholars quadrants. In the darkness of the third-floor stacks, she would have to walk around the staircase of the third floor skirting around all of the seating and desks to make it to the dumbwaiter on the other side. She scurried deep into the shadows of the stacks.
Footsteps followed her down the stairs, and in the distance saw three ward lights shimmering blue light down the stairs bobbing as their bearers stepped down to her floor. One broke off and came closer to her hiding place on this floor, but two others wandered further down the stairs, further into the library.
Pushing further into the shadows of the shelves, as the light bearer walked by, she held her breath and prayed. Sending out a small prayer to Zihnal, the god of luck, promising that she would get wine drunk if he would allow her to get out of this. Many people promised just a glass of wine to appease the god, but if you wanted to truly get something from Zihnal, many believed getting wasted was the only to make the god happy to answer your prayers again in the future, Violet was not sure she believed he would answer but was not about to fail to perform her side of the bargain.
As a guard passed by, his white robes flapping around his legs, Violet made the decision to move when his back was fully away from her. Either she could lower herself down to the lower levels, or hide inside, or worse case scenario, they would catch her. But no one would hurt the General’s daughter, a Senator’s daughter. No, a Senator’s sister. Brennan was the Senator now, not her father.
Peeking her head out, she checked that the guard’s back was to her before moving forward, out onto the platform, ducking under the desk sitting. Hunching under the desk she peered out from around the legs of the chairs and tables surrounding her. His blue light continued bobbing around, circling the main platform and the inner edge of the stacks. Soon, he would be between her and the dumbwaiter, and she would have to hope that he would not move back towards the tables she was hidden under.
As she watched the light, it lurched into the stacks. This was her moment. She took off, moving as quickly as she could, but hunched over, hoping that if she kept low, no one could see her in the darkness. She gripped at the wooden legs as she pulled herself further along. Her shaky breathing filled her ears, drowning out everything else.
She made it to the last desk, crawling through the legs, the blue light was dim in the tall bookshelves to her right.
Moving into the shelves she moved toward the dumbwaiter, it was right there, and as she made it to the furthest wall, the blue light swung back towards her. She spun back into the shelf, back towards the platform and the desks, pushing her back up against the inner end of the bookshelf. Peeking around, she watched as the man holding out his light moved closer and closer to the dumbwaiter, the light casting long shadows all around him. Edging around as he passed around the other end of the shelf, moving farther along the circular floor, Violet continued to creep forward.
Fingers shook as she touched the cold wooden doors of the dumbwaiter, and Violet forced a long deep breath in to still the anxiety that was pervading her body. Shoving the doors open, she slipped in her pack, taking care of her precious cargo inside, letting the bag slide along the bottom of the dumbwaiters cabinet; before crawling in after closing the door and waiting.
Violet wanted to scream at the pain in her wrist. The tingling in her fingers signalling to her that she had once again dislocated the wrist, not a new predicament for her but she would have to go to the healers quadrant; there would be questions. Thankfully, the healers were used to her and her injuries and would not ask a singular question. It sucked being so fragile and breakable, but she had been like this all her life. Tendons and ligament had been extra stretchy. Joints were always popping out of place, her muscles had been pulled frequently. Violet had never been able to keep up with other children her age. Some of the healers speculated that was why the bottom half of Violet's hair always turned silver. Even when cut, it would begin to turn silver. Her mother was adamant that it was something else,adamant only in front of her father.
Violet rested her head on the back of the cabin. She was almost there. Shutting the doors she started pulling the ropes hoping that the pulley system had recently been oiled.
Sweat trickled down her brow as pain traveled up her arm. Slowly, she lowered herself down floor by floor, the rope chaffed her hands. By Violet's count she was down to the fourth floor, and only had three more to go.Blue light swung around the corner of a large display. The tall man came barreling around the corner, Violet swiftly lowered her face, hoping the hood of her cloak kept her hair hidden. And continued pulling the rope, lowering herself quickly.
The peal of the bell went off, a warning sent through for anyone left in the library to remove themselves. The doors to the corridors to the dorms and class rooms would automatically seal themselves off before the library would be sealed and air would be removed killing off anyone that remained or attempted to sneak in. She sat silently, thinking through her next steps, there would be no sneaking back up, she woul dneed to continue down to the hidden tunnels.
The opening for the next floor, was opening up to her, she saw it, she just needed it to be wide enough for her to get out. She moved into a crouching position, the cab swing a little in the shaft. Allowing her to get more force as she pulled again. She wasn’t strong enough to fight them both. The opening became larger, and Violet shoved her pack out onto the floor in front of her, with her feet, as she clung with her full weight on the rope, her shoulder was screaming in pain. Another giant yank from her and she cleared the seventh floor, and plunged out the opening. thanking Zihnal that some scribe had left the door to the dumbwaiter open that day as she hit the ground, falling on top of her pack, hoping she crushed nothing to badly.
Rough rattling filled the shaft as the cab of the dumbwaiter hit the walls as the two men yanked hard at the rope with her weight gone. Pain threatened to overtake her, her hands were throbbing, and her shoulder was on fire but she had to get up. Shoving herself back up to her feet, she grabbed her pack, slinging it onto her back. Moving forward. slowly, back towards the painting of Calatha.
Another peal of the bell, continuously informing her that once it stopped the doors would shut and the air would slowly be siphoned out of the library.
And there it was. The gilded frame of Calatha’s painting, sitting between two book shelves dark and mysterious. Violet pulled at the frame, using the absolute last of her strength to pull it away from the wall and the sharp bits of wood bit into her hand, enough for her to slip between with her pack on the wall.
As the darkness, the dank wet air hit her, she sank to the floor, sliding down the wall and dragging the pack into her lap, resting her head on it like a pillow. Beyond the thin canvas on the painting, she could hear the silence, the bell had stopped.= and she pulled the frame closed behind her. Taking in deep breaths to attempt to relax. How she was not going to get caught sneaking back up tomorrow or back in was unlikely now.
Fainting blue light continued ahead of her followed by the faint scent of sulfur.
~~
The walls of the passageway were smooth as if well thought out and planned, and Violet wondered at the ornamental carvings that adorned the walls. Tracing her fingers over the whorls and swirls, inserted within were ancient wardstones, giving off faint glowing light, these had not been recharged for so long that they had lost almost all power, as she moved downwards following along. Damp air, musty with stagnation fell over her in a suffocating wave as she moved further and further down the steep stairway. Whiffs of sulfur drifted up towards her, bringing memories of Aimsir, her mother’s green dragon, to the forefront of her mind. When she was younger, Mira and Violet had spent their days playing on Aimsir, climbing up and down his back as he slumbered in the heat of the sunlight, when they had been stationed in the Capitol, in Calldyr City. The warm days near the river, right near the sea, they had left before the harsh winter season set in, but the two had many fun days together before they had left. Brennan had not even needed to play his usual role of peacekeeper between the two of them. It had been a nice reprieve for the entire family. Her mother was no longer on the front lines, but somehow both her mother and father were strained. There were late-night arguments, dark shadows under eyes, and strained smiles, while their children played. The squad they had brought with them from Athebyne had relaxed, but her parents had continued to be stressed.
The light of her wardstone glinted off something, causing her to draw up short of taking her next step. Water. It trickled in from the ceiling of the passage, running down the wall, and following the pathway of the stairs, moving slowly downwards. Iakobus River was close and she wondered just how close she was, and if that was where that water was coming in from. The War College sat right on the edge of the cliffs above the valley of the Iakobus river lay in, and with the Library going deep into the rock beneath the college it must be close to underneath the river, though Violet had seen no sign of water in the bottom levels of the library.
An hour had seemed to pass before the light seemed to pick up a disturbance in front of her. The stairs became nonexistent and more like a ramp, slick covered in water and moss growth. The walls closed in, the opening tightened, and Violet stopped, contemplating whether she should move forward. The opening was wide enough for her to move sideways, but what if it became tighter, and she got stuck? She shook her head, not allowing the thought of her getting stuck to rattling around and upsetting her. This part of the passageway did not have any old wardstone giving off a faint light. It was just pure darkness. The wardstone light in her hand barely made a dent in the overbearing brunt of darkness that weighed down upon her as she pushed herself forward.
As she moved the roughness of the stone wall tugged at her clothing, crags of the rock pulling strands of her hair from its braid, her wardstone was held out in front of her, holding off the pitch black that seemed darker in the closeness as valiantly as such a small stone could. Every moment spent between the rocks seemed to move as slowly as a trickle of sweat down her back, one that she could not reach but was a constant irritant.
“Oh, gods,” her voice came out as a hoarse moan. She could barely even hear it over the ringing in her ears. The need to curl up in a ball was overwhelming, but the walls of the tunnel held her firmly, as a scream tried to work its way up her throat. Tears and sweat trickled and mixed down her face, tasting of salt. Heat flooded her body, and she wished she had left her cloak in the tower, packed back in her trunk. Sharpness stung as her nails scrabbled at the rocks in front of her. Panic was consuming her and her breathing was coming in quick puffs.
A whiff of sulfur wafted into her nose, pulling her out of her spiral. A deeper breath, more sulfur her head stopped spinning. It brought her back to herself, reminding her of days with Aimsir and her siblings, and beautiful days in the sun. He would huff his hot breath onto her face, blowing back her hair and skirts. Violet inhaled another great inhale, focusing her thoughts on her memories. Climbing up and down Aimsir with Mira, as he took naps in the warm sunlight when the family had been stationed in Chakir, in the Elsum Province near the border. Her father’s study in the barracks; the family quarters had been small but it had had the most beautiful fireplace. On the coldest night of the year, when dragons could not fly and remained in their stables, they had all piled in in the warmth of the fire as her father read their stories.
Sweat trickled down her back. Violet wished badly to wipe it away, but her arms were as trapped as she was. She inched her way lower into the all-consuming darkness. Her wardstone fought that darkness with its blue light. Violet felt her heart rate slow, and the panic that had been overwhelming her slowly ebbed away; the all-consuming fear that she would die in this godsforsaken place slowly left her.
Pushing forward the path began to move upwards, Violet tried to ignore that the darkness pushed down on her oppressively and kept edging her way forward. She needed to make it back to her rooms before dawn, before the other scribes and librarians rose in the morning, before all the officers and servants crowded through the hallways getting ready for the day. Before all the guards switched duty on the courtyard lawn. Getting caught was not an option, getting kicked out of the Library was not an option. It would dishonor her family name.
The palm of her hand was raw and sensitive from scraping along the rough-hewn wall, but eventually, the walls became normal and easy to walk through, and ultimately, the carvings came back her fingers tracing the patterns once more as the wardstones that lined the walls here were more infused than the ones higher up the passageway and gave off more light, allowing Violet to place hers back into her pocket as she continued down into the depths, where an ornate archway awaited her.
A beautiful motif of soaring dragons and gryphons, suns, and stars framed the doorway into a high vaulted room. Stepping through debris and dust littered the marble floor around her. The reek of sulfur almost overwhelmed the musty, stale air that sat unmoving in the giant room. Surrounding her were beautiful murals. The paint had faded with time, but the artistry still held even after so many years later. From her research Violet knew that the tunnel had been old, but she was unsure of just how old this tunnel and this room were. She was sure it had been only a few years after the construction of the library but before the Unification Conflict when the Tyrrish had rejected the empire’s proffered hand to join the Empire and start attacking the shared borders.
She walked forward. Footsteps echoed in the hallowed-out empty room. Reaching out a hand, she touched the painted plaster, jerking her hand back as some crumbled underneath her fingers. Her fathers voice sounded in her head, telling her that preservation of ancient structures and text should be preserved and studied, saved for the future.
The blue light of her wardstone preceded her as she moved into the large atrium, flooding the room in a dim light. Squinting, she saw tall, dark walls and stood in awe at the eight dark murals. They had once been majestic, statuesque, and beautiful. But they had faded under the dirt and stone of the Archive. Mortar had crumbled from the edges and other marrings. Once the murals painted on the door faces would have been quite majestic, but time had faded them and brought their glory to a slow decay. Paint had faded and bits of mortar had crumbled from the walls around the doorways, taking away from the impressiveness of the atrium. Violet could see the dedication to the six, the original creators of Navarre, those that had fled from the Barrens and created the wards and unified most of the continent except the Isles and Poromiel, but who were the three extra people marked into the walls of the atrium.
Warrick of Luceras, tall and formidable, his dark wavy hair framed a thin, stern face; his black dragon hovered over him in the background. Lyra of Morriane, her silken, blonde hair blowing past her, sat upon the great back of a green dragon. Her face had been slashed through three times, the jagged lines running through her eyes and mouth destroying the peaceful look painted upon her face. Next, Violet found her favorite, Calatha, serene and peaceful; it was a scene she had seen often. Clearly, copies had been made of this mural, as Calatha was sitting with her nose in a book, obscuring most of her face as black hair fell around her; her blue dragon flew in the background, making lazy circles. Lethia is of Calldyr. Her bright blue eyes contrast sharply with her dark, brown skin. Her red dragon looms over her. Next, Davian of Deaconshire’s orange dragon breathed fire in the background of his mural. Its colors were even more muted than the others. He had died in the unification battles after the war with the venin. Violet moved once again, bringing her mage light in front of the last mural of the six, Evrin of Tyrrendor, the black dragon at his back seemed to sparkle unlike the others. Evrin’s son would go on to be king of Tyrrendor before the war of Unification brought Tyrrendor into the fold with the other provinces. Evrin died in the battle with the venin along with his black dragon, the last of her kind.
Violet’s father had believed that Evrins dragon was not fully a black dragon but another breed of dragon, and Irid, but there were no other records of such dragon; only tales in random children's stories. There had been secondhand accounts within texts that soldiers had witnessed the dragon sparkle in the light when flying high above screeching after Evrin’s death and the disappearance of his body. Her father had no proof other than second hand accounts, it was one of his more outlandish theories he had had before his death.
Violet turned her attention to the last three murals, which were smaller than the six that she knew the names of. These faces and profiles were unknown to her. Her not knowing a subject should not phase her as much as it did, but history had always been her strongest subject, and languages, which she felt went hand in hand. How could you know the history of a place but ignore the importance of its language, even if it was no longer in use?
What was stunning to her was that all three murals had gryphons in them. Mortal enemies to dragons and the riders of Navarre, they had been at odds since the wars with the Venin had ended and the Unification War had begun. The first was a woman. She was thin, with her hand out in front of her as if grasping out to reach Violet. Her black hair fluttered around her dark face. Her eyes were heavily hooded and framed with beautiful lashes. She was beautiful, even painted on a faded and crumbling mural. The second was a pale man, everything about him was pale, his clothes, eyes, hair, and skin. The gryphon standing behind him was a pale blonde gold color as well, its sharp beak close to his face standing deftly at attention. The last woman had beautiful red hair braided around her head in a crown, a scar running down her face. A black gryphon lay at her side. Violet wondered who these gryphon riders were, that they had been allowed to be immortalized here with the Six. How could any great deeds they had done possibly outweigh being gryphon riders? They had defied decades of entreaties to become one and whole with the Empire and to stop this never-ending war with Navarre. These three had not done enough, because time and decay had lost their names, deeds, and murals. There were no names or any other indicators for whom they were.
The crack in the wall between two of the gryphons murals that led further down into the earth was large and gaping, and the reek of sulfur was almost overwhelming. Violet almost heard a noise over her breathing and the beat of her heart. It was as if something else was taking deep, slow breaths hidden in the darkness. She reached out into the dark.
A large huff of sulfurous air, blowing against her face, startling her and causing fear to course through her. She took a quick step, stumbling over the debris that littered the atrium floor, falling hard onto her elbow as she reached out to catch herself.
Laying there on the floor, taking in the aches and pains of her body. Gritting her teeth Violet checked her body slowly with careful fingers for bruises and breaks. Her right hand, the fingers, refused to move, numbness and tingling. A dislocation. The bruising and stiffness would be a problem to deal with tomorrow. Pulling a wrap of her pack, she wrapped it around her wrist and the runes burned darkly into the fabric. She was grateful that her brother was a healer and took the time to make an abundance of wraps for her, infusing them with healing runes to help her when she hurt herself. Tucking the ends in and tracing over the rune, feeling the magic compressed within she pulled at it with her mind setting it free, like clicking a lock open. Relief flooded into her wrist, the pain ebbed away, becoming more manageable. Her right hand was unusable, but at least the pain was no longer unbearable.
Glancing back at the hole in the wall she wondered what was down there? She wanted to take a look. The sulphur made her think again of her time with Aimsir but a dragon could not be down this far underneath the earth, she was sure. She stretched her wardstone light farther down into the fissure trying to see farther into the darkness, but nothing new was illuminated except more rock and moisture from another running stream.
Moving across the atrium, she made her way to another set of stairs, across from the ones she had just made her way down. Steep stairs. The dizziness was overwhelming just glancing at the steepness. Taking a deep breath, and then a step forward.
~~