In the middle of a great depression was Kirisal, perched on a tall rock formation and sequestered from the mainland. Mist coiled around it like a giant dragon resting in its nest. White domes extended out of the stone buildings and towers loomed over the rooftops, their tapered tips piercing through the fog. Trees jostled for space and houses made of white stone were sprawled along the edges of the streets.

Patches of blue lichens and green vines enmeshed the city walls like a spider’s web, standing out from the sea of white. It was as if the city itself had been carved from the bleached bones of a giant. A sturdy bridge connected the mainland to the city gates. Two pairs of white tusks arched over both ends of the bridge, their tips meeting to form triangular shapes.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Clara said, squinting her eyes to get a better view of the city.

“Kirisal is one of the oldest cities in Aurion,” Tamer said. “Let us make haste. When the sun sets, we won’t be allowed to speak with the Great Scribe.”

Clara surveyed the scenery as they marched down a small hill, heading for the city. She looked at the mist below while they walked on the bridge. A thick blanket of fog blocked her view so she couldn’t tell how deep the depression around the cliff was. Five men stood at the gate, guarding the city from intruders. One of the guards stepped forth, his cold black eyes observing them as they approached the gate.

Homunculi, she thought, a feeling of dread taking hold of her.

She couldn’t explain her dislike for the soulless Homunculi. They resembled humans and yet there was something unusual about them, something that made her wary of their kind. If they had no souls then wouldn’t it be wise to assume they had no conscience? Were they created for the sole purpose of obeying their makers—the alchemists—or did they have freedom to do as they pleased?

“Who are you?” The guard asked, the silver loop on his left ear glinting in the sun.

“I’m Tamer. These are my companions and we’re from Amarant guild. We seek an audience with the Great Scribe.”

“I’m afraid the Great Scribe is ill. He may not allow any visitors,” the guard replied, folding his hands across his chest.

“We’d like to speak with him. It’s important that we see him,” Eryx said.

The guard sighed. “You may pass.”

The other men broke their formation and unlocked the iron gates. With a noisy squeal, the doors swung inward and they stepped into the city. Grey stones stretched out to a boulevard and branched out at the junctions. Passers-by watched them as they took the main road, their colourful clothes drawing Clara's attention.

Many of them wore robes of rich colors, tied by sash belts around their waists. Their wooden sandals tapped against the stone ground and their turbans bobbed on their heads as they hurried past them. Clara stared with unabashed interest as a humanoid male of a race she hadn’t seen before crossed the street, a silver staff with a curved blade on the end in his hand.

“Who is that?” she asked, pointing with her index finger and then lowering her hand when she remembered it was rude to point at people.

The male was of a tall stature. He had a green complexion. Tiny scales shimmered on his long arms to his elongated fingers. He had protrusions slicked back on his head, ending at the middle of his scalp. From below the protrusions, long shocks of red hair trailed to his waist. His ears were much like Eryx’s, fin-like and pointed. Clara stared at him until he entered a café.

“An Olek. It’s rare to find them on land. They tend to keep to themselves,” Tamer replied. “They live in an underwater city.”

“An underwater city? Oh, I’d love to visit such a place,” Clara said, a note of excitement present in her voice. “I suppose it doesn’t matter though. I need to get back home.”

“Are there scribes on Earth?” Eryx asked.

She bit her lower lip. “There were scribes in the early centuries but with the invention of typewriters, their services were no longer needed.”

"Typewriters? What are those?"

"Typewriters are machines used to type letters on a blank page. There are buttons with letters inscribed on them and when you punch a button, it will type out the letter on the page using ink." She scratched her head in thought. "I've never seen a typewriter though. My father had described it to me when I had asked him about it."

"Interesting," Eryx said. "Your technology must be different from ours."

Clara nodded. Ahead she saw a hexagonal castle with multi-coloured glass windows. It was a huge hulking structure that rose several stories high. Gargoyles of flying birds and four-legged creatures stood on the railings of the balconies like guardians watching over the inhabitants. A courtyard surrounded the tower where scholars sat on iron benches, their heads bowed low over their books, their hands scribbling notes on clean parchments with a vicious dexterity.

Tamer led them through the entrance gates and on to the moss-carpeted steps. They stopped in front of the double doors carved in ancient writings. Clara pressed her palm against the warm surface as Tamer picked up the knocker and let it fall with a loud tap. She stood back when the doors creaked and a second later, they opened on their own – an indication that it was the work of magic.

If the Great Scribe was well enough to see them, she would find a way to get back to Earth. She had mixed feelings about it. Findora was a different world but there was so much to explore. She was eager to learn the different cultures in Aurion, to meet the diverse races and to visit the vibrant cities. She had even grown to accept the three men as her friends. They had saved her life, they had welcomed her to their guild without asking for anything in return and they had treated her with nothing but kindness.

You don’t belong here. This isn’t your world.

She was aware of that. She wasn't supposed to be in Findora. She should be in San Cielo, building her life from scratch, trying to be independent. But even so, she wanted to think of this as an interlude, a period of time where she could be a different Clara.

She stepped in, her eyes registering the hall. A squeal freed itself from her mouth before she could stop it.

There were books everywhere, lining the shelves in dizzying numbers. She saw books of hard leather covers, books made of stone tablets, books sheathed in hides and books carved on wooden pages. The shelves rose and rose until they touched the arched ceiling, all carrying words of the ancient civilizations, manuscripts of legends and myths, tales of fiction and literature, guidelines of magical spells and alchemical experiments and biographies of extraordinary beings.

She sniffed the air, detecting the scent of crisp pages and musty parchments. A silly grin curved her mouth and her eyes danced with amazement. She dashed to the nearest bookshelf, her fingers stroking the bindings of the books with such delicacy that she might as well as have been caressing her lover.

“You like books,” Tamer said, a hint of humour flaking his voice. “This is the biggest library in Aurion.”

“No! This…this is heaven!” she exclaimed, her eyes boring over the titles.

Clara pulled out a few volumes, skimmed over the pages and smiled in approval. There were desks pushed to the edges of the hall, spiralling up the tower in rings. Stairs ran from the floor to the ceiling, connecting to circular pathways in the spaces between rows of desks.

She pulled out another book and made plans to borrow it from the librarian. When she heard Tamer clearing his throat from behind her, she wanted to ignore him but her traitorous thoughts reminded her that she hadn’t come to Kirisal to visit a library. Tamer faked a cough.

Shutting the book with a snap, Clara placed it back to its original position. “Alright alright, I’m coming.”

His response was a full white-toothed smile directed at her.

Her breathing hitched. She had meant to scowl at him but instead, Clara looked away. She had never seen him smile like that. His golden eyes had lit up with unrestrained mirth and his cheeks had crinkled to show the slightest of dimples.

When she looked up at him, he was gone. He had joined Eryx and Rai at the librarian’s desk while she had been distracted. She walked to them and heard the librarian’s reply as Eryx inquired about the Great Scribe.

“I am sorry but the Great Scribe Amberforte will not see any visitors,” the librarian had said.

“Please, we only need a few minutes with him. Lady Alora of the Amarant guild sent us here to speak with him,” Eryx said.

“Lady Alora, the Guild Master?”

“Yes. We only need to ask the Great Scribe a few questions and you’ll be done with us.”

The librarian pushed her chair back and stood up. She led them past tall bookshelves and solid pillars until they reached the farthest end of the hall. She stood in front of a bookcase and murmured a phrase in a language Clara couldn’t understand. The bookcase shattered into minute square pieces, each book dissolving out of existence until an open entranceway was revealed. She gestured them into an office and slipped out, the little square piece merging back to return the bookcase in its place.

Behind a table sat an old Zamari, older than any man Clara had ever seen. His beard was bone white, his robes were of the purest red, his grey eyes watched them with an unblinking stare and his dry lips parted into a hint of a smile. Wrinkles marred his dark features and gnarled fingers trembled as he picked up a handkerchief from his lap.

“Sit,” the Great Scribe said. “If Alora sent you here then whatever news you bring me cannot be good. Quite a cunning woman, you see. She would not ask for my help unless none of her sources found answers.”

They settled on the chairs facing the table. Clara swallowed when Amberforte’s eyes shifted to her. She fiddled with a loose thread on the cuff of her shirt.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Tamer said after greeting him. “This morning, there was an explosion at the Seira Temple...”

She listened while he spoke of an underground room that had been exposed by the blast and when he mentioned his dream, she found it strange. There was a shroud of mystery surrounding Tamer, secrets that he kept hidden behind those cat-like eyes. He hadn’t admitted it but Clara knew he could understand animals. Why had he left the guild to become a vagabond? How old was he? His youthful appearance hinted that he was only a few years older than she. She guessed he was in his early twenties.

Turning her attention to the sage, she noted the sour look on his face. His eyes had darkened to a bleak greyish color and his lips were a thin line. He asked, “What letters did you see in the orb, young man?”

“I don’t remember,” Tamer replied.

“Well, remember them!” Amberforte snapped.

 “I don’t know. They were from an arcane language, maybe from the old civilizations. I couldn’t read them.”

An odd silence cloaked the office as the old man gave a sharp exhale. He took his cane from the table and tried to stand up. Eryx offered to help him but he shoved off the younger Zamari. Clicking his tongue, he said, “Seira Temple. I remember that location. What you witnessed in your dream was a ritual. They found out the secret of the old legends. They destroyed the orb. One is gone.”

“What do you mean, Great Scribe?” Clara asked.

“Seals,” he hissed. “They found the first seal. But how did they know the location? Every mention of the seals in books and maps was erased, burnt in a huge fire that burned for three days.”

She frowned in confusion and waited for the scribe to continue speaking.

“Seals. They are the barriers that protect us from the army of Ghilan, the cursed beings who swore allegiance to Afreet. The attackers have destroyed one seal. Five remain.”

“Afreet and her army of flesh-eaters? Wasn’t that just an old myth?” Rai asked.

“A myth it was not. Ten thousand years ago, Afreet born of fire and darkness sprung up from the deepest bowels of earth. It was said that she was a creature of hell, the mother of all malevolent beasts. When she came, she spurred a plague that turned people to malicious monsters, a plague that spread across Aurion like wildfire in a dry grassland. These monsters did her bidding. They fed on the dead and the living and they took the appearance of their victims’ loved ones, taunting them, breaking them before tearing them apart. And then the victims were infected and they rose up, dead but still alive. The army of Ghilan, the most repulsive beings to ever walk on Findora.”

A shudder slid its way up Clara's feet to her arms. She cringed when the Great Scribe smacked the tip of the cane against the floor.

“Vanguards fought to reclaim their lands, to protect their loved ones and to defend the weak but their bravery and dedication was outmatched by Afreet’s army. The plague was too powerful, too infectious and the warriors who did not die by the Ghilans’ hands rose up to become one of them. When all hope was lost and every will to rebel Afreet’s reign was long gone, the mightiest of warriors changed the fate of Aurion.”

“Vanguard Naaji,” Eryx said.

“Yes. Naaji was strong enough to combat Afreet, to stand before her not as a mere mortal but as a being of equal power. He marched to Afreet’s lair alone. Not a single flesh-eater could stop him. They feared his power, they detested his pure soul. Naaji fought the mother of all beasts, armed with only a simple sword. And he won.”

“What happened after?” Clara asked.

“With the help of the remaining survivors, Vanguard Naaji created a portal using the most complex magic to lock away the army of Ghilan in a hellish realm for all eternity. It is the seals that contain his magic. Even as we speak, they still protect us.”

“How did Vanguard Naaji defeat Afreet? Surely, there must be an explanation,” Rai said.

“It was said that he had gone to the mountains of Ibisa, full of despair and fear and hate after his wife and child had succumbed to the plague. He stayed in the mountains in solitary confinement, mourning for the death of his family and vowing to purge the infection from Aurion even if it meant at the cost of his own life. A being born of aether and light felt his grief and sadness. It spoke with him and chose him as the saviour of Aurion, the harbinger of freedom from Afreet’s corruption and hope for a brighter future. It granted him powers beyond those wielded by mages and alchemists.”

Amberforte paused and took small tentative steps towards a pitcher on a stand. He filled his glass with water and sipped the liquid.

“The being made its home inside the locket of a necklace that Naaji wore around his neck as a symbol of love and remembrance for his wife,” he said. “The old scrolls had described the necklace as an antique heirloom with ruby gems and intricate patterns. No one knows for certain if Naaji’s past held any shred of truth for it could all be the work of a fanatic follower, gratifying the Vanguard’s tale. I say, if the being truly existed then it emerged to create a balance between the forces of darkness and light, to protect Aurion from wallowing in death and filth.”

The Great Scribe emptied the glass and went back to his seat. “When the war was over, Vanguard Naaji left the survivors. They neither saw him again nor heard of him. He left with a sword in one hand and his wife’s necklace in the other.”

Clara blanched and bile rose up in her throat. Her tongue tasted the bitter taste of nausea. Panic constricted her ribs and her chest heaved in rugged breaths. This wasn’t happening to her. It was too much to handle. She didn’t listen as the Great Scribe warned them of the seals and she didn’t look at Tamer when he called her name.

It can’t be. It can’t. It can’t be, the litany of words brimming with denial replayed through her thoughts.

She threw back her head as her vision swirled around her with dizziness. She shut her eyes and drowned out the voices from her ears. It couldn’t be. The old man was wrong. As he had said, the authenticity of the warrior’s tale might have been tampered.

“Clara?” Tamer asked.

She knew they were all staring at her. Clara couldn’t speak. She couldn’t look them in the eyes either and so with one fluid movement, she pulled the silver chain out of her shirt and let her mother’s necklace fall on her chest so that they could see it.