I arrive at the tomb again around the same time the next day, but am able to get in much sooner in the day with an exact point of entry. I find the roughly disguised entrance and move the vines and grass that I used to conceal the stone hole.
My journey this morning began at sunrise and I left another note for my father before setting out. As much as this hope fills my stomach with whirls of excitement, I also recognize the importance of this place. And some part of my brain refuses to allow him into this sacred place. Whether that's the influence of the Demonclaws or my own personal demons, it doesn't matter. I'm determined to explore this place on my own.
The less my father knows, the better.
I make my descent, cover up the entry halfway with the slab, and set out down the spiral staircase yet again. This time, I think ahead and bring my lantern to light the torches lining the hallway. I keep my footsteps light to monitor for any potential intruders that may have found their way in.
But when I walk through the hall of lunar gods and face the door, I hear nothing outside of the sound of my own breathing and the crackle of the lantern hanging in my palm. I raise my knife in my other hand to the door and it begins to creak open again.
I sneak my way in and this time close the door until it seals with definite thud behind me. I set down my bag in the corner and walk again towards the brightstream in the middle of the room.
My mind is set at ease as the water mimics the same color as the brightstream flowing through the fountains in Starmill, a reassurance that every moment yesterday was not a figment of my imagination.
That same glow illuminates my face and a smile escapes from my lips. The first genuine smile I've experienced in... way too long a time. It's foreign to me, but I try not to question the energy that seems to be burrowing its way into my body. My strength feels greater just standing within this room.
With the water flowing at a slow pace, I decide to grab a couple of vials from my bag that I was able to find buried in our belongings. I take each vial and dip it into the water, filling it with that beautiful iridescent liquid. I place the vial up to the light and watch it swirl with some sort of delicate lilac sparkle. The swirls mesmerize me as I stare into the glass.
I blink quickly and carefully place the vials within a small pocket in my bag. I look back at the stream and inspect the rocks that are lining the bottom of the five-foot wide divot, the sharp edges jutting out into a rough surface. I carefully grab one of the rocks and bring it up from the trickling stream. Upon closer inspection, I notice the same crystalline matter transforming the bottom half of the stone. Anything submerged in that water has become a clear, purple crystal.
I pocket the rock and investigate a few more of the stones, all of which have been transformed into the same crystalline material. Dead Vestiges. All of them are Vestiges.
My eyes flare with anger and confusion as I get up from the stream to look around the room. I pull out one of the books I packed during this venture, A History of Timeworn Texts, and begin to leaf through the pages until I reach an earmarked section titled Lunarian Wordplay. The chapter outlines some of the basic tenets of the ancient Lunarian language, including translations of basic words and lettering.
I make my way over to the etching of the hands and peer up at the large wall of text next to it. I sit down far enough away to keep the whole excerpt within eyesight. Back and forth, my head tilts up to read and back down to the book to interpret the lettering. I scribble notes down with translations until I get a rough estimation of the text.
The words flow gently like calm water through a stream, gently trickling.
For the muse we sing
For the muse we cry
For the muse we shout
For the muse we die
A silent spectator
Guiding our souls through the darkness
Your force mighty
Yet, your voice a soft caress
Hanging in the heavens
A single pearl dancing on a string
We seek out your truth
Us gods, shimmering
It appears that there is a connection directly from the Lunarian people to the moon energy that beams down to the earth. Information that I already knew, but nice to have it confirmed. But what interests me the most is the connection to mind and body. That lunar energy somehow embeds within our skin and seeps into our veins to allow us to control the world around us.
Water, air, earth, fire, and... lumina — elements.
But that lunar energy is too unruly to be absorbed directly from the source. Our bodies cannot consume that power, just like our bodies were not meant to ingest heavy metals or solid stone. If there were a way to transmit that energy into our bodies with some sort of... conduit.
The realization gives me chills. The Vestiges are just a conduit. This brightstream carries the light of the moon into this chamber, nurturing it until it's ready to be used. The stream washes against the rocks, transforming them into moonstones, full of easily manipulated power that can be used to control the earth's elements within our grasp. But there is a time limit for efficacy and with the evacuation of the Lunari, no one has been able to maintain this gathering place for centuries.
That water she created was a miracle. Tears line my eyes in an eddy of joy, sorrow, and appreciation for this gift. I look down at my hands, almost a reflection of my mother's and I recognize the responsibility that's been placed upon my shoulders. Willingly or no, my power is not to be ignored. I stand up and face the hands embedded within the stone in front of me. I bring up my hand join the one on the right, rane. My fingertips drift within the divots in the stone and I let myself cry, not tightening my throat or gasping for air, but just letting the tears fall down my face.
After giving myself a few quiet moments of reflection, I turn back around and look at the aisle of stones in the center of the room. Rocks, oria. Water, rane. Each of these belong to the earth and I realize that the key is not just the moon's energy, but the connection to the earth. That power is embedded into us, not only from the moon, but also from the very elements that give us magic to begin with.
But as I look further into the stream, I recognize the gloom that haunts the water and I picture the ghost of the brightstream staring back, previously blinding in luminosity now dried up into a bed of jagged rocks. Why is it vanishing? Is it some sort of punishment? Or is this all the work of the Demonclaws?
And as the flash of talons jerks me back to the present, I realize in a panic that I've been completely distracted by the excitement of my discoveries. I begin to wonder if this place has been hidden from the Demonclaws or if they've been able to track me all along. If they've been anywhere close to the village, they must be aware of its existence, but the actual entrance may disguised with some sort of illusion. I check around the room, scanning the walls for any signs.
My eyes dart high and low until they come across a few symbols carved into each corner. I recognize the symbols from the staircase and open up the translation book I used on the poem. I study the pages quickly until I come across an entry titled Lunari Protection Practices and see a few of the corresponding symbols entered into the pages.
The entry summarizes a few details regarding Lunari protection wards, which were believed to ward off evil spirits. Drawings of long, dripping fangs and deep amber eyes are scattered between the lines of text. It seems as though the Demonclaws have been a threat for as long as the Lunari have been breathing. The wards defined within the pages seem to correspond with those engraved in the walls and I breathe a slight sigh of relief. I start transcribing the symbols into my own notebook, with plans to place wards throughout Grasshaven.
I turn my attention back to the brightstream and begin to ponder my next steps. Without the brightstream charged, our connection to that lunar energy could be gone forever. Something about this tomb is important and establishes an initial connection that can't be developed anywhere else. But if I could somehow start to feed this stream again, I might be able to recover it, whether with the existing brightstream or by dealing with the Demonclaws first.
I spend another hour writing down as much of my discoveries I possibly can, reciting everything in vast detail. I want to remember every single thing, no matter how small.
Once I feel satisfied with the amount of notes I've taken, I pack up everything in my bag and creep out of the large doors. I look both ways and check every crevice before quietly shoving the moon doors shut again and walking swiftly up the staircase. I extinguish each torch with a deep breath as I pass by. Facing each torch, I try and will more air to escape my lungs, but that kind of power will take more time to refine.
I pick myself out of the hole and bring myself to my feet on the soil outside. I cover the entrance again and begin to make my way up the hill and on my way home. It's darker than I expected, I spent entirely too long within the tomb and begin to kick myself for making such a simple mistake.
While my feet crunch on the blades of grass, my eyes dart around the darkened corners of the forest, evaluating the treeline for any sign of danger. The violet and blush shades of the sunset coat the trees in a sickly sweet hue and my eyes struggle to adjust. I follow the familiar path that I've created over the past couple of days with matted grass and footprints embedded in damp soil.
And as I walk, that's when I see it. Like bright topaz gems taunting me from a distance. I hold out my Vestigeknife and tighten my grip on my bag's strap. I can feel the thundering of my heart through the tops of my fingers as they rest against my chest. My breath stutters as the eyes begin to get larger and larger, and the tips of white fangs reveal themselves.
I start to back away slowly when that same dreadful voice pierces in my head. I will myself to move but my feet remained planted to the spot as I gaze into the eyes in front of me. I'm so fucking stupid.
"Oh dear, I just want to talk," he trails off with a laugh that makes my stomach churn. "It's been far too long."
"Not long enough," I spit.
"You may want to watch your tongue. You're way out of your depths here, little girl."
Those last words light a fire within my gut and I swear I can feel a bit of heat coming from my fingertips. I tighten my hands into fists to hide the possible flames. And as much as I'd love to throw a fireball straight into the demon's mouth, any magic that I could summon would be too unruly and unreliable to use in a fight. So I keep my hands closed and respond.
"You're feeling threatened. I like that."
I see the corners of his mouth downturn slightly. I smile smugly in that split second, eager to demonstrate some sort of confidence in the face of danger.
"You're playing with forces that are beyond anything you've faced before," he responds as that maniacal grin reappears in the darkness. "I'm merely the messenger."
"As the weakest of the bunch, I'm surprised you'd divulge that information."
It becomes a grueling effort to will stillness into my voice.
"Maybe it's because we both know how little of a threat you pose."
"If that were true, you would have killed me already."
And even though the grin does not disappear, he takes a pause.
"Well played. But you should know, it's perilous to poke your nose somewhere it doesn't belong. And no matter the amount of danger you pose, you're still a threat that needs to be... dealt with."
My confident veneer cracks slightly and I find my hands shaking, causing the Vestigeknife's light to jitter. He does not wait for me to respond.
"Now that's the right response. You will remain far away. You will not interfere. And maybe then, we'll make your death quick. We'll simply slice your throat instead of picking away at your flesh, bit by bit, until you slowly bleed out on the forest floor with no one to save you."
And then he sends an image in my mind, a cloudy vision of my mother pleading for mercy as she slides against a tree trunk. I watch as my mouth, his mouth, rakes across her skin like softened butter. I can almost taste the metallic bite of her blood as it coats his tongue. I try and close my eyes to lift myself out of the memory but nothing works as I'm forced to watch my mother's death through the eyes of her killer.
Tears spill out of my eyes unwillingly as I'm pulled out of the memory and fall to my knees in the grass. I hang my head. I feel those eyes pierce deeper into me, almost feeding off of the darkness that lurks in my mind, making a main course of my suffering. I take a moment to shake myself out of the paralysis that held me captive and lift my head up to my enemy, a new ferocity lining my eyes in a purple flame.
As the Demonclaw sees this new light, I watch him flinch.
"This means nothing. You mean nothing. We'll be back."
And before I can respond, he vanishes between the trees yet again. If I didn't know any better, I would have ignored the slight stench of fear that sat behind the thin veil of confidence as he made his swift exit. But I do know better.
This conversation, if you could call it that, was all of the confirmation I needed that these Demonclaws are the ones responsible for the darkness that's currently draining all of our energy and pulling us away from our gifts. And they have plans for so much more.
But, it's time for me to take a stand. I've sat by for far too long. Reading, writing, acting witness to a potential atrocity that's been happening right under my nose.
I'm done waiting.
They'll stop at nothing to see the Lunari destroyed, solely because we are the only ones that pose some sort of threat. My mother saw it before it happened, and those threats were the final attack that shattered her fragile mind. I have to do something, if only to make it up to her.
I'll come back tomorrow more prepared. Because even though they believe they have the upper-hand, I'm more than willing to demonstrate the number of tricks I have hidden up my sleeve.