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“Exarch! Exarch, look what we’ve found!” A clamor rose outside the Ocular, but he was already on his feet heading to the door. Being bound to the Crystal Tower as he was, the Exarch could feel when someone entered, and he had sensed excited feet rushing his way.
He was glad to see that it was out of excitement rather than terror. “What’s this?” he asked in amusement. “What has you out of breath at my door?”
“Sir! We found a treasure trove!” It was one of the Crystarium’s lead historians, a very capable elf. She had served for several years now, and he was lucky to have her. “Come see!”
The Crystal Exarch followed the historians out of the Ocular and into the Cabinet of Curiosity. Laid out on several tables were treasures beyond imagining—jewelry, tools, a mirror, books. He nearly jumped for joy upon seeing the books, but it was something else that ultimately caught his eye: an unassuming, carved wooden lily.
The lily pulled him like a magnet and he picked it up. It was clearly old, dated before the Flood, although perhaps not many more years before it occurred. “This is Voeburt in origin, I believe.” The writing was unmistakable.
“Indeed, my lord,” another historian replied. He was a drahn, still young enough that he hadn’t reached his full height yet. “We found all of this buried near Il Mheg.”
The Exarch looked up sharply. “Is everyone accounted for? No one was turned into shrubbery, were they?” Am I going to have to beg Feo to return my people to me? Not that he was sure that Feo knew how, but whenever one of his lambs got lost in Il Mheg, he was usually able to plead his case to have his citizens returned to him. Apparently, Feo Ul could be quite convincing to other pixies.
The group shook their heads vehemently. “Worry not, my lord. It was far enough away from Il Mheg that we were not in danger of inciting their interest.”
His shoulders relaxed in relief, allowing him to return his attention to the object in his hands. It was lovingly made, and from his eye, it was not quite a master’s work, but more than that of an amateur. The petals still had some strokes of paint left; it was a glowing yellow, made to sparkle by magic.
While the others were busy cataloging their find, exclaiming this and that over the objects (he could hear the librarians weeping for joy), he focused on the writing scrawled along the stem. The written language of the Kingdom of Voeburt was familiar to him; when he first arrived, the kingdom was still on its last legs and many in the Crystarium could still read and write it. He’d had to speed through learning the languages of Norvrandt, so that no one would suspect him, and this one was his favorite.
For my beloved Klara, the light of my life. An image that looked a little like an owl finished the message.
A man from Ronka carved this for his Voeburtian wife, he mused. Or, perhaps he just really liked owls. If they could find more information, they would be very lucky indeed. Until then, this small morsel of history would have to satisfy him.
Sometime in the past, someone had spent the time and effort to carve and paint a flower for his love. The Crystal Exarch turned the flower in his hand, and smiled as the golden paint glittered in the lamplight. Love, transcending time and calamities, showing us once more how to be human.