Chapter Text
Esha POV
Esha was perched on the top of one of her filing cabinets. The spot allowed her to see across the whole of her archives, the mirrors around the ceiling allowed her to see down each row and see that each book was in its place.
This spot was in the far side of the back corner, tucked neatly against the wall.
The pillows she had up here kept her comfortable while she observed her archives.
Not her archives – they belonged to the Nevarran University – but this room was basically hers. She had been acting archivist for years.
So, her archives they remained.
In the back room she had a restroom a kitchenette. She had brought a bed in here once, but Vorgoth forbid her from sleeping in the Archives and insisted she return home in the evenings… not that she made it home every night.
Outside the few of students came to collect books for research projects, she was left alone. With so many things being digitised now there was little reason for others to come down here.
Esha liked the solitude.
Away from people, and away from the constant twisting Strings.
Esha was a Seer of Strings – a Weaver of Fate; something so very silly sounding. Like out of a storybook.
For how silly it was, it was real. She did see the Strings of Fate, the threads that connected each other to their fated Soulmate.
Seeing all those Strings all the time was something that Esha struggled to cope as a child. Even now as an adult with more control and methods to help it was still very overwhelming at times.
It was why she had been brought to the University in the first place. As a young girl, she had been adopted by Headmaster Vorgoth, when she turned up with just the clothes on her back and not much else… Even memories from before that day were sparce.
Vorgoth was invested in the strange happenings of their world. He himself held three Doctorates in Thedosian History, Magical History, Spirit and Spirit communication and after adopting Esha started on one about Elven History – wanting to know as much about his ward’s people as possible.
He had achieved it a handful of years ago, not long before Esha graduated high school.
Vorgoth was old and mystical. People were sure that he was hundreds, if not, thousands of years old. Magic wasn’t as common now as it had been in ancient times, but the headmaster wielded it like it was an extension of himself.
With his mysterious nature it had been a surprise to deputies when Vorgoth himself had taken the young Esha in.
She had only been eight years old, and from then had been in and around the University all her life.
With her deep respect for history, for books, for learning and sharing knowledge … It was only natural she became the heart of the school’s most precious archive.
The massive school stretched almost as large as a city. Holding classes for students as young as three years old to managing Doctorates for some of the brightest in the country.
Boarding students and students that commuted… many lived on the massive campus.
As Esha did, in a small flat in walking distance to her archive, where she had since she had become independent. She knew little outside campus.
She watched from her spot atop the shelves as the door opened. One of her regular students with a similar love of history and learning, Sparrow. She had two Strings, but one was severed; cut and dangling from her hand.
Esha had learnt long ago that it meant that the person with the matching String had died. Even if Sparrow was destined to be with another as her other String dictated, then she would never have that other part of herself.
“Hi Miss Esha.” Sparrow waved up at her private little corner and came to stand below it. Sparrow was friendly, young and energetic. Someone who respected her preference for privacy. Whenever she came in, she would often pick up what she needed and offer simple greetings.
So, this was new.
She peeked over the corner of the filing cabinet and down at the young student.
“A friend of Professor Emmrich is in today.” Sparrow looked up at her with big eyes. “She’s a tinker who specialised in the old magic artifacts all over those Arlathan ruins. He sent her down here to have a look what you’ve got.”
Esha blinked and grimaced. “And how much warning have you actually given me for—”
The door opened again and Esha felt a pull.
Sparrow offered a sheepish smile. “About thirty seconds… Thanks for the research, Miss Esha!” She bounded out of the archives before Esha could reply.
Esha didn’t hear a word she said.
The woman that stood in her archives was a pretty elf. Her hair was done up in a massive bun. Deep, beautiful black like the ink that stained Esha’s fingers whenever she did restoration work.
Her face was adorned in the tattoos of the ancient elves. She wore a large belt around her waist with various pockets of trinkets and tools and vials … and her hands.
Her hand.
Her finger – a golden String curled around her fingers, pulling, twisting dancing between them, connecting to Esha’s very own.
The woman looked around, expression bright and hopeful as she immediately went to the first shelf closest to the door, fingers dancing across the spines.
She murmured under her breath excitedly, hopping from shelf to shelf. She pulled out one of the big books and opened it.
She gasped and giggled before moving over to the tables.
Esha leaned forward just a little bit too much and tumbled down from her perch.
“Oh!” The tinker’s attention snapped to her, and she was across the room in just a few steps, crouching at Esha’s side. “Are you okay? I didn’t even see you up there! That’s a really good spot to see the whole room!” She rambled. “Ooh! You’ve got a ladder and some pillows too! That’s so cool!”
Esha stared, looking into her brown eyes; the light of their String shone in her eyes, making her all the more beautiful. Esha’s heart raced like a jackrabbit in her chest, and the String thrummed between them as if plucked.
“Y-yes.” Esha stuttered finally when she found her voice. “I have… mats.” She pressed her hands on the spongy mats on the floor around her perch.
“Oh!” The tinker crowed again, looking around. Her smile turned sly and Esha’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s happened before then? What a great idea! I’d love to see what other ideas you have.” She smiled brightly. “I’m Bellara Lutare. Professor Emmrich is a friend of mine. Well… when I say friend… We’ve been writing…”
For a moment her expression became so devastated that Esha had to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching out to comfort her.
“I’m working towards my PhD; I had to transfer here from a tiny college in Arlathan… and the Professor has been helping me integrate here.” And just like that, the expression was gone, and the bright smile had returned – but Esha saw the strain in her eyes.
“He suggested I come here, that the archivist… that is you, I assume?” Esha nodded. Bellara’s smile grew less strained. “He said you have the best research material, better than anything I could find online.”
Esha’s face burned, to hear something like that always filled her with pride. She didn’t curate these books, but she maintained them, made sure that they were always accessible to students here.
“That is what I do best. I spend most of my time here.” Esha shrugged sheepishly. She pulled herself to stand and gestured towards her shelves. “I could tell you where anything is, from the legends of the Elvhen Creators, Andraste and the Maker, the stories and the creation of Arlathan…” When Esha looked back at Bellara, she was looking at her with stars in her eyes
Once again, the String between them thrummed.
Bellara rocked back and forth on her heels. “I’ve already found something that looks promising.” She bounced over towards the desks where she had placed her earlier prize. “I’ve already done heaps of research on Arlathan with–” She cut herself off and her expression fell again, lips pressing into a thin line.
She shook her head frantically. “I want to do something big, in my other research we found whispers about a spirit archive.” She said it in a chaste whisper, waving her hands about. “It’s only rumours, and it may not even exist! But if I write something like that than I’ll definitely get that ancient history PhD!” She gushed, tapping on the cover of the book. “I think this very book has information about it! It has information that even we—I haven’t seen!”
She corrected herself with a sharp breath and shook her head frantically. “I’ve seen so much about Arlathan and I was living there! I used to spend weeks out in the forest looking for information and searching ruins and making drones to capture all sorts of photos but this!” She gestured to the book. “This is just what I need!”
Esha listened to her ramble with rapt attention as Bellara went on, her passion for her work obvious. She stopped suddenly, eyebrows furrowing.
“Sorry, sorry.” She offered a sheepish smile. “I tend to ramble a lot. I get on a subject, and I can just talk for hours… I haven’t even got your name!” She turned back to Esha then, eyes suddenly wide.
“Esha. Esha Ingellvar.” She introduced herself. Bellara repeated her name, and the String thrummed again. Esha’s face burned at the way Bellara’s voice wrapped around it.
“Lovely to meet you, Esha!” She picked up her tome. “Do you mind if I take this?” She hugged it to her chest. “I need to pass by the Professor’s office and then I need to get to studying. This is really, really going to help.”
“Of course. This archive is available for all students who come here.”
She rocked on her heels, her smile becoming shy. “Thank you, Esha. For your help.”
“Anytime, Bellara.” The String twisted around Esha’s arm. “Anytime.”