My armoured fingers rattle along the xylophone of tablets. Each one's aged corners and magic hardened stone making such a curious song against these five digits. Pinks, tinks and tangs. A song that's brought to a halt each time by me finding what I want. Or, at least, what I think I want.
"Mmm... This is about the right date." I remark, double checking the details to make sure it is what I actually want. I've done enough back tracking thus far and I would prefer not to disturb the library staff. Or, maybe, I'd rather not risk them reporting details I want to keep under wraps for the time being. Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli is already under a lot of strain with the war and the problems bursting the pipes of order throughout the Valkinvar.
I don't want to be the final straw on her frail back, let alone the thousandth cut on her patience. It might sound similar, the meanings and the sayings. But, to a cautious mind like mine, it couldn't be any more so. A heavy load can be dismissed, more pain from an attack will lead to a rabid retaliation.
Patience is not like pottery... It does not break the same way regardless of how you smash it.
My eyes catch the edge of my tablet loaded table, and it snatches up my attention. I put the latest load of records down and go around to my seat. My half-armoured body sinks against the cushions and a sigh parts my lips. Back into the mess I go, back into the mess of details and records I do...
The latest one comes up, and my finger pre-emptively places itself in order to reface the tablet. Line by line, I take in the information. Some I read properly, others I back track towards. Some make my eyes glaze over completely, my attention only an externally observable thing. My eyes realign and my clarity comes with it.
I look around, turning my eyes back towards the magically-guarded gateway. The heavy key resting on the table, as rich with magic as any of the bars are. I even glance up, at the sign telling me I'm in the right place. This is the section for the current Zaphadren-Valkinvar, a Sister Gemorli in any other sense.
Yet... For all the security and pomp, it feels surprisingly underwhelming. She's no doubt a talent without compare, being a master of four separate magic elements. Enough to the point her hair is moulded by it, her eyes as well. Where most are lucky enough to work a shade of green or emerald into their eyes and hair, she's done the same. Then she did it with gold, ruby and sapphire.
But, that's really it. Her records are clean, they're... Expected. Instinctually, it all feels quite doctored but one does not become a Point of a Compass through fraud.
Much less given the circumstances for how she became it. The prior Zaphadren-Valkinvar was also a Valkinvar-Staguiffmani, a Sister Lanaeven. She, along with the entire male component and many sisters died in a single battle. One Sister Gemorli was able to survive with most of what remains of the Ordoar Staguiffmani.
I guess there's an odd thing in that the Ordoar Staguiffmani did not suddenly take the majority of sisters and brothers training to be Valkinvar at the time. But, I suppose one can make sense of that because of how drastic the loss was. They needed to get their internal affairs in order before they could start recruiting new initiates. Bringing them up to standard and so on.
It's certainly reflected in this other tablet I read earlier. It mentioned that the inductions of the Valkinvar in that period were disproportionately low for the Ordoar Staguiffmani. The event even forced them to change the way they recruited, which, I guess is odd, too. Yet, in turn, when you lose so many veterans and leaders, you need a controlled way of managing things and...
"Who'd a thought investigating someone's past would be this full of theoreticals I cannot do anything about or with...?" I sigh, putting a hand to my face and rubbing away at it. Footsteps echo my way and I look their direction, picking up on familiar hints.
Sister Pymonsia comes into view, her posture as regal as ever. Her extensive curtain of hair braided close together and held in her arms like a baby in a mother's. She offers me a smile and I return it, not caring much for her giggle and its hidden reason. She walks around the table, minding my mess and worming herself a place at the table.
One tablet comes to her hands and she inspects it only for a moment, "Any luck in your nosey quest?"
I shake my head, the point coming across quite clearly regardless of any words I might add, "Hard to say... It's hard to say. There are some details that stick out, but it all kind of... Smooths itself over?"
"I understand how you feel. I remember when we inducted her into her position as the new Zaphadren-Valkinvar. Admittedly, we did go about it a little lazily. Though I feel, at least until as of late, that our sympathy for so many lost Valkinvar-Staguiffmani did justify it." Sister Pymonsia explains, and I look up from the tablet. I watch the Eurultus-Valkinvar carefully, paying her mindful attention in only a superficial manner.
"Oh. She was given the position for the sake of soothing wounded pride?" I ask, my question perhaps a bit crude given the situation she just told me about. Sister Pymonsia closes her eyes, seemingly remembering the events. Her head bobbles about, nodding and shaking as she fails to come to any decision.
"At the time, it felt right. The other two agree. Brother Baalaeun. Sister Aimaboryim, too. It seems so strange saying that, actually. These cycles, it feels like none of us can agree. It all comes back to the Zaphadren-Valkinvar, but it would be unwise and idiotic to make certain accusations. Even asserting she's being immature is certainly pushing it..." Sister Pymonsia tells me, her voice wavering to a scoff as what was reminiscing feeds current pain.
"I doubt any of you could've predicted what would happen now. The war was going as it always had been up until that point." I say, minding my manners even as my attention is absorbed by the tablets.
"It is, certainly. One can certainly look back and wonder if we made the right choice after Sister Lanaeven's death... We did skip proper tradition, after all. We were supposed to duel for the right. Though, I guess the sudden loss of so many Valkinvar-Staguiffmani left us all spooked. Whoever took Sister Lanaeven's life has not come at us again since then." Sister Pymonsia explains and I look up, a thoughtful noise building up.
"Perhaps *he* has?" I ask, suddenly feeling like there is a dot that can be connected to the other. Prince Jhrartur of the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra is certainly a character that fits the power to slay a Zaphadren-Valkinvar... His constant look of sickliness, in my experience, anyway, suggests he might've been gravely wounded at some point. An entire Ordoar of Valkinvar is certainly one way to die for most people.
But he's no ordinary man. The lack of any big shifts for a while perhaps even supports my budding theory. In his time injured, he could not pressure the war as he wanted to. Though, that does not really explain the reason that led to all these deaths... A duel, requested through proper Valkinvar tradition to the whole Ordoar. And, clearly, some kind of proof was provided that the Zaphadren-Valkinvar of then took it.
A chance to end the war...? A royal proof or seal to prove it was a heretic prince? Much the same as the death of one heretic princess started the war. A prince's death could've ended it. Certainly is nice to have something that makes sense in such a time as now. Where so little does.
"It's hard to say, Sister Vapooliar. We only know so much about the events and what sisters had show a willingness to open up about that night... Well, they died in battle since then." Sister Pymonsia explains, and I can't help but laugh at such a strange thing.
"If we weren't Valkinvar, that would seem almost suspicious!" I laugh out, the baffling thought a scary thing I don't want to process. Valkinvar traitors exist, I know that. I've seen one myself. Even my vision seemed to suggest it... But a conspiracy? Valkinvar have never had a history like that.
Such a story would stick out like a sore thumb, battered, black with bruises and crusted red with dried blood. Though, I suppose one must remember that the Chamber of Traitor's Judgement does exist. Such things rarely do exist without prior situations warranting it. Though, I guess like any army, the Valkinvar have it there as a precaution.
And, unlike so many other places in this world, it's all a fairy tale for so many of us. The only time it even gets used is scandalous and brings into question the judgement of our superiors. Even the Exalsonarden-Valkinvar, dressed so grimly in titles and armour are not what I expected. They're so underused that they're happy to have visitors no matter the reason!
"Is there anything perhaps here that relates to your vision, Sister Vapooliar...?" Sister Pymonsia asks, her voice shaking in a peculiar way. The idea of a vision is a strange thing. Many claim to have them and most of the time, they're wrong or nonsensical. Memories playing up in people's minds and coincidences that were always going to happen.
But, that is not what my vision was. It has happened twice now, in the same place, before something very specific. Not just some helmet, a divine artefact. The God of War himself is as close to us as ever in a chamber like that. He wanted me to see something, interact with it, even... Though, the first visit to that chamber was nothing like the vision that came after.
Before was claustrophobic, lacking in detail of anything and everything. What I had so recently was an actual event. With references I can use and ideas that cling to me. Valkinvar-Staguiffmani corpses all around, a night sky unlike any other. Divine intervention and a familiar, all-powerful face of our enemy. Both personal and national.
It's not the same at all... It's no wonder it sounds so baffling to everyone who knows so far. Why Sister Pymonsia is as curious and worried as she is. The ramifications are perhaps greater than even the Seventh Line falling was too me nearly a decade ago.
But that's the thing, now that it comes to my mind as much as everything else is. Is this a vision of the future? Or the past? Is this what will become of the Valkinvar? Or, maybe it's just like the visions many claim to have that amount to nothing. It's just me dreaming, my terror coming to me in a way that's influenced by divine power.
It's all so confusing...
"Bleughhhh." I let out, not making much sense out of anything. My thoughts, this information, or even my ability to make a coherent noise beyond simply blowing air.
"I am here for you, Sister Vapooliar. I understand a lot is on your mind as of late. There's a lot to keep you busy in a sense we never trained you for... The Valkinvar were never really prepared for all that has happened to you." Sister Pymonsia assures me with, though, her words are so low-hanging that it's impossible not to taste the bitterness of sarcasm.
"Lucky me..." I go, smiling as sincerely as I can even with the tone of my words.
"Lucky you." Sister Pymonsia repeats, her platonic love shining on through so dearly to me. Not just as the woman she is, but as my friend of many decades. And, hopefully, many more to come.