Image -- The catacombs.

******

Necromantic history.

That's what the King has tasked Gilbert, Quinnian Allura and I with—to find out more information about necromancers via ancient text, and if possible, Diomedes. It seems like a ridiculous plan to me when Gilbert and I barely have any knowledge of the Dark Arts, since it had been banished before we were born. Besides, there are so many Quinnians available, whom with years and years of experience under their belts, would have more success with the research than us. Even now, Quinnian Allura eyes the stacks of ancient necromantic books piled upon the table uneasily.

"I'm not sure if we should be doing this," grunts Gilbert. It's been a day after his very first vision; his face is still blanched with a sickly colour. He looks well enough to concentrate though. I, on the other hand, with a stab wound in my shoulder, several bruises and stiff limbs, look absolutely dishevelled. I confirmed that in my mirror this morning.

'I know who you are'. I do not doubt for one moment that the cryptic words as well as the deliberate returning of my knife were Diomedes' doing. It's odd, that I should be so sure of the fact when I have no proof to back it up. Perhaps it's because of the chill I felt when my fingers grazed the blade yesterday.

My fingers slip into my boot, feeling the worn leather grip on Miraterciel. It's an unconscious habit now. At least it can give a false sense of comfort to soothe my jumpy nerves.

"It should be fine, Squire Falkner," says Allura. She'd gone back to using formal terms to address me now. Likewise, I add her rightful title before her given name. "Most of the real necromantic books were long burnt. All of this are just remnants of an evil long lost."

"It doesn't make me feel any better, though." I find myself agreeing heartily with Gilbert. Remnants or no, these are pages into the Dark Arts. Fables of the purest of men falling prey to its corruption ring in my mind.

Tentatively, as if it is beckoning me towards it, my right arm reaches for one of the books—a grey, unassuming volume with a lock on it. I retract my hand, suddenly feeling as though we are all in immediate danger.

"Here's the key." Allura fishes one out of a pocket in her robe, the faint light catching the silver and making it flash like a star in midnight. I take it from her, unlocking the padlock keeping the book securely fastened. It opens with a 'pop'. With deft fingers, I unhook the metal piece from the book.

Then I stare at the cover.

I now notice that the room has gone eerily quiet—the scholar and my fellow Champion's attentions are all focused upon me. Seems like they expect me to start off the session.

With a deep sigh, I drag the book a little closer towards me. Time seems to slow down as I lift the volume in my hands, feeling its weight, testing every inch of its dimensions. I can feel Gilbert and Allura holding their breaths.

I open it.

From the twisted expressions my two companions are wearing, I nearly expect dark magic to swarm up from within the pages of the book and shackle me to my seat. Instead, the pages look breathtakingly normal. Aside from a few obvious drawings of hexes scribbled onto it, I might have mistaken it for any other volume in the library.

"Well, that was surprisingly...fine," Gilbert echoes my thoughts.

"Seeing as how the most 'dangerous' book among the catalogued 'necromantic volumes' hasn't harmed anyone just yet, I think we can safely open the rest now," the Quinnian pipes up suddenly.

My attention swiftly turns upon her. "So you are implying that the two of you had just watched me opening the most potentially dangerous book here? And you didn't mention it! What if I had been influenced by the sorcery bound in the book?" It's almost comical how my voice comes out as a combination of a shriek and a squeak.

Doing nothing to calm my temper, Allura and Gilbert give me amused expressions. "Constantine"—my given name rolls off the scholar's tongue so easily—"you were not influenced by any sorcery bound in the book, because there was none. Besides, I suspect that you, out of all of us, would be more able to resist minor sorcery."

Her voice is as dry as paper, sending a bolt of uneasiness rippling throughout me. Could she possibly know anything about my secret heritage that Abner had been so mum about? "Why? Gilbert has nearly the same abilities as mine."

"Because if you are under influence by sorcery, you're most likely to maintain logic at all costs, calmly thinking of a solution to the problem. Gilbert would immediately lose his head perchance he encounters such a situation."

"That's true." Gilbert flashes his signature crooked grin. "I'd be sure to lose my real head, all because I lost my head."

With a small smile, I put the banter to rest. Inside me, I feel a little deflated—I was hoping that Allura might know something about my bloodline. Although in reality, we know next to nothing about each other's backgrounds.

Allura and Gilbert's eyes are trained on me once more, observing the unnatural stiffness in the way I hold my head. I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension in my body. "Well, we shouldn't be wasting any time now. Let's begin."

Nodding their heads, my companions grab the closest books and open them, flicking over the brittle pages. I imitate their actions, until I feel a presence focusing on me. I look up, meeting the serene grey eyes of Allura. A reassuring smile is present on her face. It's almost as though she is applauding me for my sudden bout in leadership.

I return the smile and resume my work.

******

I never expected necromancy to be so boring.

In truth, despite having a natural fear of the Dark Arts, I was slightly intrigued by the long-forgotten magic. Now, all illusions of its power are shattered. Worse of all, I found absolutely no clues as to how Diomedes managed to resurrect himself. There wasn't even a hint on how to summon the weakest of wraiths in the text, just rambling nonsense on how to control them after they'd been summoned.

With an angry huff, I snap the book shut. Nothing here will help us in the imminent battle against Diomedes' ghostly army. "I'd like to walk around for a while," I announce.

Allura's eyes snap up to meet mine; Gilbert has already fallen asleep, his dark head resting on the table. Wearily rubbing an eye, the scholar gives a brief nod before returning to her calf-bound volume. I push myself backwards and stretch out my stiff limbs, taking in a deep breath of air. I proceed to walk about the room in circles.

At first, I go around in a brisk-paced walk. Eventually, I slow down, beginning to note every single detail of the room, from the way the candle light bounces off the rough and unpolished stone, to the way each crevice in the rock is formed by tracing my fingers onto it...and the gemstone embedded into the wall.

I blink several times. A gemstone?

No. I'm not hallucinating, it's a real gemstone. Onyx I suspect—the smooth black surface reflects yellow candlelight at certain angles. It beckons me to touch it, its deepness powerful and enticing, like there's a voice calling my name. My fingertips meet it....

I almost cry out in shock.

The first thing I notice is the cold—eel-like, slippery, yet with a surprisingly firm grip. Then darkness is seeping through my body, trying to bind me. I attempt to pull away, but find my fingers firmly stuck onto the onyx.

"Constantine!"

The scholar's voice seems to come from a distance, shouted over leagues away. In fact, it's a miracle that I am still able to hear anything, what with this strange buzzing noise in my ears...

"Constantine!" This time, the voice rings out clearly as Gilbert, who has been jolted awake, slaps my hand away from the onyx. Allura grabs my arms, shaking me back and forth, making my teeth rattle. I emit a gasp and wrench myself out of the scholar's grip.

"No!" Allura cries as I stagger backwards. My boot steps through air. Gilbert lunges forward, grabbing my flailing arms before I can fall backwards. I clutch onto his hand like a lifeline, using it as an anchor as I propel my centre of gravity forwards.

Instinctively, I wheel around to see what caused me to lose my balance. I feel the colour being leeched from my cheeks; I quiver slightly from imagining what might had been. In the ground, there is a staircase spiralling downwards.

It hadn't been there before.