Syma woke before Mirus. The dim recollections of the moments before she fainted glowed inside her mind. She surveyed her immediate surroundings. They appeared to have taken shelter within a library, as shelves covered every wall, each carrying hundreds of books and scrolls. She marveled at the sight. Even the many books of the Royal Library paled in comparison to this single room. The accommodations, however, proved spartan. A few slabs of stone provided seating and desks. Eternally lit candles which gave an otherworldly glow supplied a meager amount of light. Looking to her side, she found her master at her side, sleeping on the bare floor while she emerged from a blanket. Not daring to wake him, yet she instead approached a shelf.

Quickly skimming the spines of books, she found many titles on major topics which academics enjoy, such as history and magic. On other spines, she found subjects more appropriate for tradesman covering blacksmithing, leather tanning, and gem cutting. A deeper look provided a glimpse at niche texts detailing the precise history and design of an obscure mechanism used in farming or written papers describing the movements of fluid in mathematical terms. A generous fiction section produced many of the great written works of all mortal races along with private scribblings of first and second drafts of unimportant authors.

Despite her efforts, however, many of the books gave their titles in foreign languages, some of which she recognized and others so esoteric, she couldn’t identify the culture who devoted it to writing. While these at least provided some clue to their origin, most of the books simply lacked any sort of text on their covers. Countless, plain leather tomes adorned the shelves in unimaginable numbers. Driven by pure curiosity, Syma took a nondescript book and wandered to a table with a candle to investigate its contents.

When she opened it, she only caught sight of a brief few lines of text before the pages began bleeding with a noxious black ooze. Its cold texture shocked her hands, which immediately released the tome and let it fall to the table as she released a fragile yelp. A scent of ink and iron invaded her nostrils. She looked longingly at the book and then to the mess she made of her hands.

“The books aren’t for you,” she heard the court mage speak as he rose from the floor. “While Intekon collects knowledge, It also obscures it. The black ink, I imagine, provides a layer of protection from anyone else studying it.”

“We’ll see about that,” the apprentice replied.

Casting a spell, she telekinetically manipulated the black ooze off the page and spun it into a ball just above the floor. As the muck was removed, more flowed across the paper. She continued the process of cleaning, but for every drop of the bizarre excretion she separated from the tome, more endlessly seeped until a ball of black ooze several times the size of the book hovered next to her.

“Alright,” she conceded before she sent the waste into a distant corner of the room. “Perhaps another approach is necessary.”

As another incantation escaped her lips, she placed her hand on the book. A rush of energy transferred to pages, but nothing apparent changed. Mirus recognized the spell, however, as an alteration to ink which prevents it from smudging or washing away. They both used it frequently to preserve particularly important pieces of writing. She uttered another set of magical phrases to conjure a ball of water, which she forced to hang in the air next to her. Using her free hand, she dipped the book into the water. Immediately, the black slime flowed into the water instead of the pages. For a moment, some text revealed itself, but the production of the excretion soon outpaced the volume of water. The once pure water quickly degraded into dark muck obscuring the entire tome.

“Perhaps it was a fool’s errand,” Syma remarked as she placed the book back on the table and sent the dirty water to the same corner.

“It was,” Mirus spoke simply. “It’s good to see you regained your strength.”

The apprentice winced at his words. She paused and then look back to the elf. Her arms fell to her side. With a flat tone, she spoke, “I’m sorry. I tried to work with you, but I lost control. You asked before we crossed if I could handle it. I should’ve known the strain the spell caused and told you I couldn’t have done it. We could have come to different solution that didn’t endanger us both.”

The court mage sighed and answered, “The apology is appreciated, but regret does nothing but beget doubt. Learn from your mistake, but don’t dwell on it.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Now that you’re rested, let’s pack and move forward,” the court mage instructed as he began to neatly fold the blanket and pillow into his rucksack.

“Where do we go?” Syma asked.

“Within every kingdom of an Abyssal Monarch, they hoard the souls they take from mortals. Each monarch stores them in a centralized location, which many scholars describe as their hearts. After closely studying the matter, however, I think it better to compare their collection of souls to a stomach. As souls are infinite unto themselves, they serve as an endless supply of energy to whomever may harness them.”

“So Intekon’s power is derived from mortal souls, such as your mother’s?”

“Correct.”

“So, how do we find it? You said yourself that the castle is too convoluted to navigate without Intekon’s direct aid.”

“I enchanted a tool for that purpose,” Mirus answered before digging into his rucksack. He procured a small piece of metal, which when opened revealed a compass. “The soul of every living thing releases energy. We usually don’t notice it in our realm because our bodies absorb and utilize this energy to help channel magic. Once the soul is stripped of the body, however, its energy freely radiates into the atmosphere. Usually, a single soul doesn’t produce a meaningful amount of energy to track, but a great reserve of souls will theoretically radiate a large enough amount.

“I attuned this compass to the soul’s energy. While I won’t know the precise path to take, the compass needle will always point into the direction of the souls. With this, we can at least start navigating the sprawling halls of Intekon’s castle without losing our way.”

The pair agreed to the plan and finished packing. Before they departed the library, however, they shared a portion of breakfast. Partaking in a ration of hardtack and tea, the apprentice found completely inedible. As she scraped her teeth against the hardened, dense biscuit, nothing but stray crumbs found her tongue. The court mage explained she needed to submerge the hardtack into her tea and let it soak. Once she finished drinking the hot beverage, he explained, the remaining biscuit would become soft enough to eat. Syma followed his direction but found the result bland although filling.

Once content to proceed with their quest, the elf procured his compass and consulted its spinning needle. With a direction acquired, the pair crept out of the library room and into one of the many halls of the castle. Barren, gray stone stretched into high ceilings which housed bare iron chandeliers. At an interval of every ten or so steps, a torch of either side of the hall framed a torch to illuminates the dreary path. Despite the otherwise spartan interior, a deep blue carpet resided beneath their feet, gently providing some padding underneath their steps. Casting a spell of invisibility and silence, they moved through the strange world of the Abyssal Monarch.

As they moved through the nearly endless array of halls and vacant rooms, they occasionally passed a daegon, which Syma facetiously referred to as librarians. Mirus found the comparison both amusing and apt. The float spheres of flesh, occasionally marred with occasional patches of warts or hair, patrolled the halls seemingly at random as their single eye scanned the castle for any intrusion. Presumably, their many, branching tentacles would enforce the castle rules. The court mage found the creatures fascinating because none of his studies mentioned the bizarre monster. At several points when crossing a hall with these daegon, he stopped to observe and made mental notes on their appearance and behavior.

The rooms they entered revealed bits of personality of their master. Along with the many winding hallways, they found several more libraries, each massive and covered from floor to ceiling with books. They also uncovered an alchemy lab whose apparent purpose involved mixing every combination of ingredients found across the realms under different conditions and record their results. A single daegon work as the master of alchemy, trying different approaches in a systematic manner, but taking no interest in the results.

Another room revealed a group of daegon quickly reviewing a pile of books and either cataloging to preserve them or throwing them into a furnace. Mirus hypothesized they destroyed anything already in Intekon’s collection to make It the sole master of their knowledge and kept any scrap of information not yet attained.

Within the castle walls, their judgement of time fell apart. No sun, either black or otherwise, permitted them an approximation of the hour. Very few windows peered outside of the edifice. Instead, the enduring sight of orange flame dancing against the gray brick welcomed their eyes. For the court mage, he thought nothing more than a few hours transpired, but his apprentice believed nearly a day passed. Despite the unknowable passage of time, they never doubted the progress they made. At the beginning of their journey, the needle of the compass only lazily drifted in a general direction, but as they proceeded through building, it pointed more resolutely as they drew more near the collection of souls.

With Syma’s increased exhaustion, however, they chose to settle into another vacant library. With more time to set camp, the court mage pitched a simple tent. The pair used an alteration spell to divide the blanket and pillow into two portions which they could use to sleep. Mirus even built a small fire, using the books on the shelf as kindling. He brewed another pot of tea on the fire and shared another set of rations of hardtack with his apprentice.

“Don’t you have anything other than these awful biscuits?” Syma asked.

“No,” he answered. “I needed to keep the most stable food I could find. Hardtack is used by the Royal Army and can survive upwards of six months in dry storage. They provide ample calories and sufficient nutrition.”

“But eating nothing but hardtack for six months will drive anyone insane.”

“Perhaps, but I didn’t plan this trip for leisure. My first and only objective was to save my mother’s soul.”

A silence rose between them.

“Why did you come in The Abyss with me?” Mirus asked suddenly.

“It isn’t obvious?”

“No. Of all the realms to travel, terra abyssa offers the most hostility towards mortals. It’s filled with daegon who would flay your soul and dangers so abundant and horrific that you would look to death as a mercy. Your intervention disrupted my plans and plunged you into immediate peril. Why?”

“Well, growing up, my father actively disdained magic. He wanted to raise me to mindlessly do chores until he could find a suitable young man to court and eventually marry me. He only ever saw me as a way to gain connections in the world. I spent many of my teenaged years being introduced to sons of local wealthy merchants. My father would speak to their parents and try to give a pitch on my value to their family, but every attempt only led to disappointment. He never mistreated or abused me physically, but he never particularly loved me, either. He always felt distant and spoke with a flat, neutral tone.

“My mother proved a little better. She still wanted me to find a husband and marry out of poverty instead of becoming an independent woman, but at least she showed a modicum of love. With my father’s approval, she arranged my initial job as a maid in Ravenspire castle. I genuinely believe my father only accepted the idea in hopes that a prince would impregnate me. My mother, however, hoped I would find a lead butler or other high-ranking servant in the castle to marry.

“Regardless, I still studied magic in whatever discrete ways I could find. I made connections with mages who lent me second-hand supplies. I managed basic casting on my own. I could never tell my own family, though. My father would have called me a witch and forbid any further study or even mention of magic. My mother would have scolded me and told that me no man would want to marry a woman more established than him. Men have such fragile egos, she always explained.

“Anyway, while working as a maid, you know I snuck into the Royal Library to read about grimoires,” She paused for a moment.

“That’s where I first met you,” the court mage replied. “I walked into the library in the middle of the night to satisfy some pressing matter and I discovered a young maid attempting to move a candlestick with a telekinetic spell on her own.”

“I thought my career was over,” she continued. “I genuinely feared that you would call the guards to escort me to the dungeon. Instead, you took interest in me and my academic learning. You asked me to demonstrate what I practiced in secrecy from my own family. You allowed me to take pride in my work instead of burying it in shame. Once you became satisfied with my ability, you permitted me to become your apprentice.

“Mirus, you have to understand, these last two years, you’ve been more of a father to me than my own. You’ve taught me more than magic. You’ve given me wisdom and showed me how to become independent. You’ve raised me as most would their own children. You even saved up your salary to pay for my schooling. I don’t want to see you hurt or flayed or imprisoned by an Abyssal Monarch for eternity. I don’t want to ever lose you. Just as you came into this realm to save your mother’s soul, I came to save you.”

She choked on the final words, but the court mage heard them with perfect clarity. She wrapped her arms around the elf, and he enclosed around her. He felt her grasp constrict around his chest but didn’t make any remark. Instead, he listened to her breathing and sighed. A moment of silent contemplation overcame the pair.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he finally spoke as Syma broke the embrace. “For years, I’ve carried the weight of my mother’s soul on my back. I only wanted to rid myself of the burden. I never wanted you risk your life for me.”

“It’s not your fault, you know,” the apprentice offered. “You’re taking blame for something that happened before your birth. You had no control over the situation. You wouldn’t place that burden an anyone else, but yourself.”

Mirus only offered a pained smile.

“You may be right, but it doesn’t resolve my guilt. My mother made the decision for me and I live with the trauma she passed down. I know if I was never born, her soul would remain intact.

“Because of the decision she made, I constantly question myself. Did my mother ever love me, or see me as a curse which caused her to sign her life away? Do I deserve the right to the title of court mage, or does the daegon with whom she made a deal? Did I earn my position, or did I take it from someone more deserving? Perhaps I’m seeking validation in terra abyssa. By rescuing her, I can prove myself worthy.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

“Thank you, Syma.”

The pair sat together, neither saying a word. They only looked ahead and thought of their lives. With time, they agreed to retire to bed, content in the progress they made. Tomorrow would bring a new set of challenges as they neared Intekon’s Hall of Souls.