Chương 46: Chapter 45: Myths and Legends

She walked to the desk where Corren had been only moments before. The coralwood still held the warmth of his presence, or perhaps it was merely the heat from the tallow lamps that Selena felt against her skin. She stopped before the table, her eyes scanning the spines of the books that, until now, had been nothing more than blurred shapes in the landscape, blotches of color in the gloom. Now, from this proximity, she could read their titles.

"The Oath and the Rod," one read, its golden lettering worn by time.

"The Great Royal Edict on the Eternal Flow," announced another, bound in brown leather with an official air.

"The Church of the Mushroom: Peasant Faith or Ancestral Wisdom?" a third wondered, thinner, almost a carelessly bound pamphlet. Knowing what he read tells me more about him than anything else, she thought immediately. Just books of ecclesiastical law... or so they seem. At the very least, he is a man dedicated to understanding what he criticizes. She sighed and finally sat in the chair Corren had occupied.

She placed the Compendium of Legends and Myths of Erabergh on the desk and opened it to the first page, wondering exactly what Erabergh was. A country, a continent, the entire world? She didn't know, but she was about to find out. The first page displayed a map. It was as detailed as possible, with mountains drawn in crude profiles, rivers snaking like blue veins, and cities marked with small symbols indicating their importance.

It spanned what appeared to be the entirety of the realm, and there, her first question was answered by enormous golden letters stretching across the top of the parchment: "The Great Kingdom of Erabergh." Her heart quickened, galloping in her chest with a mixture of excitement and vertigo. This is real, she thought. This world has a name. Finally, I have a map and answers. But she needed to read more. She turned the page with the delicacy of someone handling a treasure.

There, the author introduced himself as a prominent chronicler. He had studied under a scholarship from the King himself at the Royal University of Kaelburg, a city Selena mentally searched for on the map she had just seen. But more importantly, the man, guided by a heart in which, as he detailed, Zingari blood ran mixed had been led to the deepest places, roaming the world as an eternal wanderer for a decade until finishing this thick volume that now rested in her hands.

The introduction was meticulously dedicated to a constellation of places and people, a testament to the vastness of the effort. The names of cities peppered the page, each one a gateway to a corner of this world that Selena was only beginning to know: Hierophantis, Lumenburg, Mendralia, Corallia, Auranex, Porta-Savia, Volcryn, Rhalsburg, Ferulgaard, Cindaria, Mycograd, Thyllburg, Sangreal, Telarion, Crisol, Estercia, Fugaria, Rhalminster, Vigilia...

and a litany of lost towns, nameless villages on official maps whose legends, nonetheless, had been deemed worthy of being heard by this wandering chronicler. Numan, however, made no distinction of class. In his introduction, he made it clear that he had traveled gathering stories from the slave to the elder, from the child to the noble, to possess the complete truth, to leave no thread unfollowed, no voice unheard. Admiration swelled in Selena's chest. This man understood, she thought.

He understood that truth is not found only in wealth, but in all the people of the world. But she did not stop there. She ran her fingers over the names, almost longing to find the shapes of those cities, to see them, to inhabit them, to know those places Numan had traversed with his wandering spirit. A pang of desire, a yearning for travel, pierced her chest. But she set it aside. There was time. There would be time. As she turned the pages, the first legend finally appeared.

Numan described it as the best way to honor the crown: by beginning with the legend of the lord who unified everything, the first king, in the tale titled "The March of the Titans." Selena settled into the chair, rested her elbows on the desk, and read:"It is told that in the dawn of the kingdom, when the first King Volgthar was unifying the tribes through blood and fire, he faced an alliance of mountain clans on the stony slopes of the Rualfis range.

Outnumbered and cornered, the desperate King drove his sword into the earth and pleaded with Aelthra, She Who Flows, to grant him victory in exchange for a promise: to protect the forests and the veins of water of the kingdom forever. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. That night, an unnatural silence fell over the valley. At dawn, the enemy army awoke in terror: the great stony hills surrounding the royal camp were moving.

They were not hills, but the backs of ancestral Titanopods of a size never before seen, which had remained dormant for centuries, blended with the earth itself, their shells covered in dust and lichen. Awakened by the King's plea, they rose like a living wall, and their slow, unstoppable advance sent the highlanders fleeing, swearing they had seen the valley itself rise in defense of its lord.

Since then, it is said that the oldest and largest Titanopods, the 'Sleeping Titans,' still rest in remote valleys of Erabergh, and that in moments of extreme need for the kingdom, a worthy monarch could awaken them once more. It is the promise of the earth itself, made flesh in its most colossal creatures." Selena finished reading and let the book rest on the desk. It was nothing more than the mythologizing of a man, one of flesh and blood who had been turned into a legend over the centuries.

A warrior king, a lost battle, a desperate plea, and nature coming to the rescue. The same story, over and over, in every world, under every sky. She released a sigh, feeling a sense of resignation in her chest. The thought came first, clear and sharp: Always human. No matter where we stray, we find a justification anyway. She closed the book to think better. Resting her chin in one hand, her fingers tapped softly against the wood of the desk. I don't recall Aelthra coming for anyone, she reflected.

In fact, Kaela said it clearly: the compassionate goddess did not save her mother. She did not save Enara. She saves no one. A knowing smile formed on her face, a smile for no one but herself, for that part of her that resonated with Corren's words, with the heresy of the cave, with the freedom of critical thought. It's like they say, she thought. False gods. Mirrors that must be broken. Only then was she interrupted. Her contemplation shattered instantly.

A sharp, resonant sound —knuckles rapping firmly against the rocky entrance of the chamber— snatched Selena from the depths of her thoughts. The echo bounced off the stone walls, multiplying before fading away. There, framed in the threshold, was Kaela. The light from the tallow lamps danced over her figure, creating a golden halo around her silhouette. She held a bowl of turned wood, steaming with spirals of vapor carrying an aroma that made Selena's stomach growl immediately.

—They brought us food— Kaela announced, extending the bowl toward Selena. Selena stood up and went to take the bowl. It was filled with vegetables, chopped bread, and various tubers, and among them floated an egg, its yolk just peeking through the thick broth. It was a simple but hearty meal, the kind of food that restored not just the body, but the spirit. Kaela stayed a moment longer. Her gaze fell upon the book Selena had left closed on the desk.

Then she spoke, and her voice had a different texture, more relaxed, as if something inside her had come loose. —They told me the deal was seven crowns a day. Each. She paused, and a sigh escaped her lips, a sound that carried years of underpaid labor, of unrecognized efforts, of surviving on crumbs. —At least they'll pay us more than I've been given in my entire life.

Selena noticed how her shoulders relaxed, how her posture became less guarded, even though her face remained as serious as when they had made the deal. Kaela had never been one for easy expressions; her emotions betrayed themselves in small gestures, in muscle tensions, in the way she held a gaze. —Don't worry— Kaela said, glancing toward the hallway she had come from. —He's teaching me the letters first. Elian. And... I think I'm doing alright.

Selena felt the words crowding her throat, a surge of emotion struggling to get out. And then, before she could stop them, before reason could filter them, the words burst forth: —Kaela! The tanner stopped at the threshold, about to disappear into the passage, and turned slightly—just enough for Selena to see her profile. —Thank you for agreeing— Selena said, her voice trembling slightly. —Truly... it means a lot to me.

The sigh she released then was deep, freeing a tension she had carried since she crossed the threshold of the cave, since she had dragged Kaela into this world of heresies and dangers. It was the relief of not being alone in this abyss of uncertainty. The relief of having someone to hold onto when everything turned dark. Kaela didn't turn around completely. She didn't say anything. She made no gesture of acknowledgement.

But just as Selena looked down at the bowl of soup, steaming and comforting, she caught from the corner of her eye a fleeting movement in her friend's profile. A small smile. Quick and almost furtive, it traced across her lips before her figure vanished into the passage, swallowed by the gloom of the stone corridor. No more words were needed. That slight gesture said it all. The pact was sealed, not just by money, not just by circumstances.

It was a deeper bond, older and more powerful: a fragile thread of loyalty that now bound them beyond fear and heresy, beyond pyres and conspiracies. Only then did Selena smile, too.