Quiet. Calm. Peaceful and quiet. Parth took a sip of tea, soothingly bitter, a complement to the dry, slightly musty air of the library. Other than the door, every single wall was lined with books, piled up into heaps, stacked up, some of the shelves even supported by nothing other than the books, necessitating an awkward reading order.

Many of the texts were ones she had never heard of, texts of ancient lore, strange magical rites, and similar arcana. Garbage, mostly, but amusing. The things some were willing to believe – all sorts of nonsense around magical circles and squares, and all sorts of messiness with blood. Fear and violence could force a result, but such things would pass with the seasons; only harmony could bring a true resolution to things. A thing must be dealt with at the proper time.

She carefully closed the book, a rather dreadful thing from the Old Imperium, containing just enough knowledge to be dangerous, without any wisdom to moderate it, and placed it back on the shelf, making sure to push it all the way to the back, hopefully enough to deter any searchers by surrounding it with a surprising number of cheaply-produced novels, focusing on the human coupling and mating. She took another sip of the herbal tea. For something produced by a human, it was sufficient, and acquiring fresh herbs here would be impractical. The servant girl’s wrath hadn’t transmitted itself into the brew, fortunately, although her anger had some basis in truth. And her vivid, angry heat was better than her older cold and tired weariness.

Before, she had been an echo of the house itself. Ice and frost and hate bound in by itself, a viper’s nest of pitiless power. And below, something slumber, like the book-bearer, but more knowing and aware. A bird, returning to its nest, glad to find it empty. A light, returning to where it had sparked. Still, even in this place, there was harmony to be found.

She left the library, moving silently, in case of awakening any errant spirits – not that she had encountered any yet, but such things could wait long ages before making their presence known. Or the servant girl; she greatly disliked her work being disrupted, and was swift in her wrath, requiring much placating with gifts to sooth. As Parth moved, she felt the air of the house, still and cold, warding away visitors. Although it was preferable to the costs for an inn or tavern. A private room was welcome, after their time on the road. Between the sun, the storm and the darkness, it could be tiring attaining balance and peace. She snickered at the memories of earlier travails, the stone-bringer and then the dryad. Far from the elegant sylph of human stories, a shame that the book-bearer had missed it; her reaction and disappointment would have been amusing.

The roof was a boundary, where blue sky and warm light fought the chill aura from below. The sun above was a welcome balm, the stone basking in the heat. Semari slumbered in the sun, sprawled out across the roof. Even in sleep, she wasn’t still, twitching and moving, bare fingerwidths from the edge and a long drop. Parth approached, looking down at her. Her sleeping face was vacant and slack, dribble darkening the stone.

She gave Semari a push, shoving her off the edge. As Semari dropped, she woke, arm shooting out and grabbing at the stone wall, flipping herself off a metal grille and hauling herself back onto the roof, landing back on the roof with a wide yawn.

‘Oi! Mean!’

Parth shrugged.

‘Come out of your book hole then? Cool. Hey, make some berries for me!’

A small request, simple to grant. Parth cupped her hands together, breathing between her palms, before separating her hands, revealing a sprig of berries. Semari grabbed them, shovelling them into her mouth, red smears appearing on her fingers and around her mouth.

‘Thanks, these are great!’

Parth leant on the wall, closed her eyes and felt the wind, the scents of the town coming through the air. So many people, so close together. Energy, but also deceit and shadow. Up above, the castle, stone-strong but guarded by people that could be swayed or tempted. And a power there, shadow guarded by light, ancient powers held by weak chains.

Her musings were broken by Semari flicking her ear. ‘Oi, no sleeping! Ready to practice?’

As Parth readied her bow, Semari ran then leapt across to the opposite roof, limbering up, jumping somersaults and backflips. Parth ran her fingers along her bow, feeling the familear curves and twists. A prayer to its spirit, to appease the tree which had been sacrificed for its making, her tool and ally. Then she nocked and drew, arrow streaking towards Semari. Semari’s hand flashed forward, plucking the arrow from their air and flinging it back, Parth ducking to avoid it getting struck herself. Whatever power moved within the woman, Parth didn’t know, but she possessed quickling speed and power, unfortunate that it wasn’t married to wisdom and thought.

Another arrow followed, Semari dodging around it, catching and returning the next one, catching a third with a dropkick, smashing it onto the roof, hard enough to snap the arrow with the head falling to the street. She was getting even faster, strikes like lightning. The next arrow hit, glancing off a shoulder and drawing blood, Semari unconcerned as Parth kept firing until her quiver was empty. With that done, Semari took a run up and jumped back, easily clearing the gap, twisting her injured shoulder.

‘That feels better. Thanks! Want to go grab some food?’

Parth shook her head. Semari’s idea of good food was hot, heavy and cheap, miscellaneous meat from street vendors drizzled in overly rich sauce. Interesting to experiment with, but only rarely. All things in moderation, nothing to excess.

‘Cool, well, see you later!’ She dropped off the roof, making her way to the street by jumping and clambering off guttering and window-frames. Parth returned inside, feeling the spirit of the place wrap itself around her like a cold cloak. Sound trickled from downstairs, the servant-girl cleaning under close direction, Janaxia checking her work. Parth drifted in, admiring the work. The wood was emerging from beneath dust and age, restored to some measure of its glory. Despite the chill aura of the place, there was a beauty lying beneath, a legacy that could be reclaimed.

Good afternoon

Janaxia’s voice sounded in her head. Unnerving, sound without sound, a soul speaking to her own essence. The voice carried with it an ancient darkness, something old and bleak, married to a spirit that refused to look without, bound by itself, within itself.

Stathis has stepped out, without any indication when she will return. But Misutira is finally setting this place to rights. Much better now, I feel

Janaxia gestured around her – it was clear which parts of the room had been cleaned, and which hadn’t. Misutira glared at Parth, inspecting her for any dirt she might be tracking in from the roof. That one was hard, ice under pressure, only succumbing to heat rather than impacts. Parth tip-toed across the room towards the servant girl, feeling her angry-cold eyes judging and searing her. As she passed, she let her hand drop, passing over a sealed package of hazeroot leaves. Apparently sought after by humans, but common enough in elven lands, and a vital ingredient in delicious brownies. As Parth handed the packet over, she gestured to where Janaxia stood, several stray bits of dirt by her feet. Misutira sighed, switching her mop to a two-handed stance.

‘Mistress Janaxia, please move. You are making something of a mess.’

Parth gave a quiet snicker as Misutira chased her mistress away, mop more effective than any blade. An unexpected ally, and a useful one, both for the food, and for the entertainment. As she left, she moved to one side of the hallway, staying well away from the basement door. Whatever lay down there, old and cold and powerful, she wanted no part of it. Humans and their endless changes and innovations – all in search of something that even they didn’t seem to know, endless rushing and shouting. Entertaining, at times, but also messy.

She was suddenly blinded, as the front door opened, blazing sunlight piercing the darkness of the hallway, even diminishing the chill threads of doom wafting up from the basement. When her eyes adjusted, she could see it was Stathis.

‘Hey Parth, rare to see you out and about! Finally finished those books, or get bored?’

‘Seeking the sun.’

Stathis was carrying some food, greasy-smelling ground meat between cheap bread, spiced stew adding to the flavour. Parth had tried one, once – overly heavy, and something that would rot in days. Proper food should last at least a few months, but the human way rarely involved proper preservation. A drop of grease fell to the floor, staining the polished wood – Stathis must have been hungry, as she was carrying another, not yet started.

‘Janaxia hungers.’ A chance for amusement shouldn’t be passed by without good reason.

‘Oh, OK. I’ll go see if she wants this.’ Stathis left, Parth taking position in a half-hidden stairwell, a gap in the wall allowing sight into the main hall. From a pocket, she pulled out a thin slice of elven biscuit, chewing as she settled into place for the show. She watched as Stathis started to offer the food to Janaxia, only to get interrupted by the servant, angrily shaking the mop at her. Parth snickered, enjoying the performance, as both Janaxia and Stathis received a dressing down, before getting chased out of the hall. Parth shifted to find another vantage point, watching as the pair found somewhere quieter to sit, Janaxia accepting the spare food, although refusing to touch it with her hands, instead using her magical abilities to daintily dissect the thing and convey it to her mouth.