Chương 184: Chapter 44: A Correct Hunch

The following morning, with the first cold, clear light of the mountain, they set out. The wagon and the load-bearing titanopods began their slow ascent along paths that grew narrower and more treacherous, carved into the very flank of the mountain. The journey lasted four days of slow progress, sleeping under the frigid, merciless stars of the high peaks.

Selena and Samira once again suffered from altitude sickness as they climbed, relieved only by the medicines the countess had prepared in advance, while the sound of the wind singing a constant hymn against the stone never abandoned them. When they finally arrived at Ashkharum, the landscape revealed before them was unlike anything Selena had imagined. These were not the majestic, open-air stone ruins of a fallen city with collapsed columns and weed-choked plazas.

Ashkharum was, in essence, a city of caves, a colony of dark holes and stony mouths dotting the side of a particularly steep mountain, like a honeycomb abandoned by a species of rock wasp. Visible from the wagon were black openings of various sizes, some featuring rough staircases carved into the stone that ascended or descended toward them, connected by natural ledges and walkways that seemed to defy gravity.

They dismounted in front of a low, rectangular building constructed from wood and stone brought from elsewhere, looking entirely foreign, a modern parasite attached to the side of the ancient cave city. It was the research and logistics post, easily recognizable by the massive sign hanging above its door. As they stepped down, they were received by a delegation composed entirely of men.

Most of them possessed a deep-rooted scholarly air, while a select few held a posture that belonged strictly to guards, standing out like a sword among books especially due to eyes filled with that distinct look possessed only by men who have isolated themselves for a long time. —Welcome to the magnificent ruins of Ashkharum!! —all the scholars declared in unison. Before any further conversation could take place, one of the men stepped forward to face them. He was one of the guards.

—To proceed with the welcome, your invitation letter and corresponding permits are required —he said, his voice that of a soldier following protocol. After presenting their permits and Lady Dinael's letter, the guard relaxed. The welcome resumed, and they were shown the entire facility, from the kitchens to the sleeping quarters.

Upon concluding the tour, their guide who introduced himself as Nalto, handed Selena a detailed map of the accessible caves, along with a long list of safety instructions that could be summarized in three core principles: do not enter caves marked in red, do not touch human remains, and report any discovery of metal or polished stone. —Remember not to eat inside the site —Nalto said, passing his fingers over his sparse, unkempt mustache— Now I wish you the best of luck.

May the goddess guide you so that you may understand all that you seek. The man formed the symbol of infinity over his heart. Combined with his greenish robe trimmed in earthy brown, she knew immediately that he was part of the Church. Without further delay, Selena set off, followed closely by Samira, who was nearly as prepared, carrying paper in her pack, while the Khelganor warrior kept watch from a distance, her hand resting near the pommel of her sword.

Entering Ashkharum was like plunging into the innards of a petrified giant. The caves stretched out in a labyrinthine network: some spiraled deep and damp into the earth, their steps worn smooth by millennia of feet, while others climbed narrow chimneys where sunlight filtered through high fissures. Most passages were just wide enough for a single person. The dwellings were natural alcoves or hollows carved into the rock, complete with niches that had served as beds, shelves, and hearths.

Selena, with her clinical and architectural eye, noted the efficiency of the space: it had been inhabited by at least a thousand people, perhaps more, an entire community living, loving, and dying inside the mountain. She transcribed this meticulously into her notebook, but her true goal lay elsewhere. She found the Veritasilba hours later after a methodical search, upon reaching a chamber wider than the rest.

This space set itself apart from the other caves; the ceiling opened into a natural skylight that bathed the area in a shaft of dusty, golden light. In the center, slab of smooth, clearly worked stone suggested an altar. On the surrounding walls, stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling, pictograms covered the rock like a tapestry of silent history. Selena approached, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and that insatiable curiosity that had always accompanied her.

The symbols were complex, fluid, and far more abstract than the runes she knew. She pulled out her notes and began transcribing, copying the shapes with a hand trembling with excitement. With effort, through sheer context and the few lessons provided by Lady Dinael, she managed to isolate a group of pictograms repeated across several minor inscriptions. —Gatherings —she whispered to herself, certain of at least that much. Then, adjacent symbols that appeared to be clusters of lines and dots— Numbers...

but I do not fully comprehend them. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. She kept reading, her eyes leaping from one section to another in search of a narrative thread. On a side wall, a longer and more elaborate sequence captured her attention. With a level of concentration that made her forget the cold of the stone and the passage of time, she began to decipher, mental word by word, symbol by symbol:"When Bashir shaped the world, he did so with the power to mold.

Reality already existed, yet by the will of his mind he carved it into all that is known...." The text continued, but grew denser, the symbols rarer, combining in ways she did not understand.

"... He ate, and never ceased to eat. Hunger consumed..." Is it a metaphor? Is it literal? she questioned herself, losing the context. The subsequent pictograms appeared blurred to her, worn away by erosion. The wall ended in a fracture in the rock, as if the story had been interrupted by a geological collapse or by the limit of her own understanding. She let out a sigh, sound of frustration and respect combined. She finished writing down her conjectures and copies.

Beside her, Samira, equally fascinated by the language even if she did not understand a single word, transcribed the symbols into her own notebook in a neat, rapid hand, creating a valuable parallel record. When they returned to the base building, exhausted and covered in the ancient dust of Ashkharum, they were received by Sulic, one of the veteran researchers, a man with a grizzled beard and eyes that had read more stones than books in recent years.

He offered them warm, spiced tea along with simple sandwiches of dark bread and smoked cheese, extending his hospitality to Fjora and Samira with natural ease that surprised Selena. Then, in a firm yet pleasant voice, that of a scholar accustomed to evaluating novice enthusiasm, he said: —Let me see your notes. It is always interesting to see how far a beginner gets with such a difficult language. —He took Selena's pages and read them carefully, his eyebrows twitching slightly— You are clever.

Better than I was when I started. Selena was not surprised by the words, but a familiar feeling welled up in her chest: the frustration of a philologist. Sulic noticed it and let out a short, dry laugh. —When I translated this for the first time, can you believe I thought it said something about how 'they would eat at gatherings with their god'? —He shook his head, somewhere between amused and embarrassed— You are sensible at least more than my younger self was. Tell me...

what you didn't write down, what you saw but couldn't decipher... can you guess what it says? Selena shook her head slowly, then chewed a bite of her sandwich and took a sip of tea to buy time. —I understand —Sulic nodded without disappointment, his expression carrying the patience of one who has seen many crash against that wall— You haven't reached that point yet, but later on, your brain will start filling in the blanks. It isn't as good as translating with a mastery of the language, of course...

but at least you can guide yourself approximately. That alone is tremendous progress. He returned the notes to her and smiled, a schoolboy smile acknowledging effort. Selena took them carefully and set them beside her. Looking up, she heard the man's voice once more. —Once, purely through context and the position of the symbols in a list of offerings, I knew a word meant 'gratitude.' It was a hunch, but it turned out to be correct. I'm sure you'll surpass me in a few years.

Don't give up, girl; after all, there's a reason it's the hardest dead language: Veritasilba isn't learned; it is intuited. On the second day, they woke early, the mountain cold clinging to their bones like a second skin. After a frugal breakfast of thick oatmeal porridge and strong tea, they resumed their exploration, this time descending through a network of caves that seemed to lead to deeper, more private levels of the ancient city.

Selena, guided by a mix of archaeological and philological curiosity, found what she intuited must have been the cemetery of Ashkharum. It was a series of niches and side chambers where the silence was even deeper. There were mounds of compacted earth, some containing simple clay urns filled with ashes and the dust of time. In other chambers, where the rock was more earthy and less damp, skeletons lay in fetal positions directly upon the ground, covered only by a thin layer of sediment.

Death here was intimate, austere, an integral part of the stone itself. Following the macabre path, she arrived at a room larger than the others. Here, the niches were not scattered randomly; they were aligned with a precision that spoke of clear intent. Behind each hollow, embedded in the wall, were small tablets of dark slate. And upon them, carved with painstaking care, were the pictograms of the Veritasilba. Selena approached, lighting a portable lamp to illuminate the rough surfaces.

With concentration that made her forget the cold, she began to translate, forcing her mind to connect the symbols with the somber context.

"Today died..." She did not know the number that followed; the numerical symbols remained a mystery to her.

"... since the tragic death of the priest, we were punished with this plague." A cold draft ran down her spine. Disease neither surprised nor terrified her ever since she had made it a central focus of her studies. She continued reading, straining with titanic effort to decipher isolated words and truncated phrases.

"Coughing blood... others have brittle bones... some simply grow rigid from the mouth down... I am afraid." It was clear: this was not merely a cemetery; it had been an infirmary, a place of agony and desperate observation. She noted everything down with a swift, steady hand, the ancient words taking on a terrible weight in her notebook. She followed the path as it descended further, until the ground turned muddy and stagnant water reached their knees. There were no signs of danger, only silence and dampness.

She pushed forward, and what she found chilled her blood: more skeletons, but these were tiny, minuscule, those of children and infants. The disease had not discriminated against. Beside one of the child skeletons, the skeleton of a woman, she knew it instantly by the wide shape of the pelvis, encircled it with her bones in a final, eternal embrace. A modern sign, carefully posted, read:"Do not move the skeletons — Historical importance."

Scientific rigor clashed with petrified grief, creating a haunting, overwhelming stillness.