“Please be careful. I like my eyes.” Rane tried to relax and stand still. Hard to manage when Atinas’ sharp nails kept his eyelids from closing. The man’s hollowed out eyes stared deep into his own.

“Amazing.” The archmage shifted to examine his other eye. “It’s perfectly aligned.”

“What is?” Rane blinked a couple of times after the archmage retreated, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“The nora you’ve made your own. Both strands of foreign magic in your irises are symmetrical.” Atinas tapped on the wood behind his back and the carriage started moving again. “A mage’s eyes are a window to their soul. Impossible to fake or replicate, they match the hue of their owner’s nora. Empaths are not exempt from this rule. The more death they witness, the more colorful their soul and their eyes become. In your case, the Nost girl’s nora is more prominent. Did it feel like you gained more from her?”

Rane thought back to his murders. Cause that’s what they were. Not simple death, but murder. The grim nature of this power sickened him still, made it impossible to forget what he had done. “A lot more.” It felt disgusting to even utter. “And I felt her emotions stronger as well.”

Atinas ran a hand over his bald head. Today too, he had taken his hood off when talking to Rane. “Unusual,” he said, pausing briefly. “She was only an apprentice, while that other man was a mage. Shouldn’t you have gotten more power from him?”

“I was hoping you’d answer that.” This was the first time Atinas had posed a question like this. Either way, Rane didn’t like to dwell on the subject. He rested his head against the wood and looked out the window. The district was a lot more mundane than the others he had seen, with less color, trees and people. “I thought contestants couldn’t leave the competition grounds during the Flames.”

“I make the rules.” Atinas put his hood back on and tied the front of his robe. “But if you want to deal with Caelus alone while I’m gone, you’re free to return.” The carriage slowed to a stop, and Atinas stepped outside.

“Where are we?” Rane winced as he got out, the wounds on his body still aching. No matter how advanced the tools and techniques used, a full recovery always took time. He was grateful that he could move this much after only two days of rest.

“The headquarters of my family,” he mumbled.

Rane followed his gaze to a tiny building. An emblem of an open book with a ball of fire suspended over it was carved into the stone. What headquarters? The house could barely keep two beds and a table.

Atinas grabbed Rane by the hand and almost dragged him forward. He opened the door carefully and entered without a sound.

Rane could feel the tinges of pleasure before he even walked through the door, like chilly raindrops against his skin. He heard the moans and grunts and saw the two people moving, grinding against one another under a thin white sheet. They had their backs turned and were too engrossed to even notice him and Atinas. Rane expected the archmage to grow angry, perhaps even punish them, yet he simply stood and waited. The woman noticed them first, and Rane turned his head away out of reflex.

“Archmage!” She threw herself off the bed, her partner following suit. The smell of sweat and sex followed after them. “We were expecting you later.”

Rane heard their voice close and turned to look, only to flinch away again. They were naked still! Not only that, but they didn’t even make any effort to cover up their nudity. What sort of family was this?

“Sorry to interrupt,” Atinas said. He placed a palm on Rane’s head and made him look. Rane didn’t resist, but looked up at the ceiling regardless. “Sageous, explain it to the boy.”

“Ah, a newcomer!” The man exclaimed, turning his attention to Rane. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can look.”

Rane hesitantly lowered his gaze, focusing on the man’s face. He fought hard not to ask the obvious question, but in the end he couldn’t help himself. “Why are you naked?”

Sageous laughed. “Because I’m a Moreno mage. We make no concession in our quest towards knowledge.” He finally covered his genitals and pointed down to his feet.

Rane could see red markings starting from under the man’s feet, like tattoos aglow with magic. They formed in interweaving lines and reached all the way up to his knees. Past that, they faded. The woman’s had progressed a bit more, reaching her lower thighs.

“Seeing each other’s tattoos is great motivation,” Sageous continued, “and making progress is something to take great pride in.”

“Most members of my family are scholars,” Atinas said. “Instead of using their magic for battle, they store it on their bodies throughout their lives. Completing the spell formation is the final goal of any Moreno mage. Which is also why we’ve paired these two virgins together. They get to experience more, through each other.” Atinas glanced down. “I see you’ve made some progress too, Minerva.”

“Yes, archmage.” Minerva did a half bow. “I can feel the power gathering.”

Rane nodded. Albeit weird, it did make some sense. If the markings grew to cover their entire bodies eventually, it’d be hard for them to be visible under clothes. That’s probably why they were both shaven clean, save for their heads. “What happens then?” Rane asked. “Once the formation is complete?”

Sageous and Minerva looked at each other, furrowing their brows. None of them answered.

“It will be easier to show you than to explain,” Atinas said.

“An outsider? Can we really show him?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“He will not be an outsider for long.” Atinas placed a palm on Rane’s shoulder. “He is my apprentice. Now...” Atinas lowered his voice and waved his hand. The door shut behind them. “Who reached the end?”

“Sister Eln,” Sageous whispered. “She returned from her trip to the Aeon fog two days ago, complete. Some members have volunteered to take over her research.”

“Is she ready for the ritual?”

“She is spending time with her daughter,” Minerva said, “but she is resolute.”

“Excellent.” Atinas moved towards the other side of the room, where a winding staircase was half-hidden behind the desk. He held Rane by the shoulder and led him down. The inner pillar that supported the staircase was decorated by low burning torches, which cast a dim light on the books that lined the other wall. Parts of the stone had been carved in the shape of bookcases and filled to the brim with thick tomes. Rane could only catch glimpses of words as they descended.

“Do not concern yourself with common knowledge.” Atinas yanked his sleeve, urging him to walk faster. “Not when in the Cradle.”

The stairs ended, but the books continued, filling the walls on both sides. Countless shelves fanned out from the entrance, rows after rows of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward. The wooden bookcases were almost like a maze, save for the occasional leather arm chair or table. Atinas offered no pause, and Rane hastily followed. The smoky, earthy scent of old paper and dust filled his nostrils. He’d never seen this many tomes before. Just trying to imagine all the knowledge contained made him grow dizzy.

The Moreno mages were so engrossed in their study that they didn’t even raise their heads. Some of the older ones had markings that reached all the way to their chest. Despite the mages reading and all those that wandered the halls in between bookcases, there was a certain quiet to the Cradle. A silence not to be broken.

“Wait there. I will return.” Atinas formed the letters out of mist with his finger. He pointed to the side, at a table.

Rane recognized Mord’s clothing and saw the apprentice sunken face first between the pages of a book. He approached as quietly as he could, pulling back a chair and sitting opposite to him. Mord glanced up at him, then went back to reading. They spent a few long minutes in that awkward silence. “I remember you,” Mord whispered. “You’re the apprentice who advanced to the finals. Why are you here?”

“I am also Atinas’ discipline.” Rane wondered if Mord was going to see him as an adversary. Someone to replace him. That’s the first impression he got. Either way, there was no point in hiding it. “He told me to wait here.”

Mord furrowed his brows and brushed his hair aside, tucking it behind his ear. Now that he could see the man up close, Rane thought him a bit feminine, with soft features despite his frowning face. After his initial disquiet passed, there was no other emotion that Rane could feel.

“I see.” Mord went back to his book and turned the page. “You think you will last?”

“What do you mean?”

Mord glanced in his direction and squinted. “Most of Atinas’ apprentices quit after about a week. Some managed a month, but never more than that.”

“Right.” Rane chuckled. He had lasted months under Leylin. Atinas, scary in appearance though he was, had common sense and cared for him in his own way. Compared to Leylin, he felt like a saint. “I assume you’ve been with him for a while.”

“Since birth.” Mord said without lifting his head. “He saw the talent for magic in me, so he bought me from my family.”

Rane tightened his lips. Mord’s past was very similar to his. Perhaps that was the cause behind his bitterness. “Do you miss them?”

Mord shut the book closed. “Do you ever stop asking needless questions?” He leaned back in his chair, then sighed. "No," he settled. "I was too young, and knowing who they are never mattered to me. Atinas is my family now. As long as I live up to his expectations, he treats me well."

“Was he angry?” Rane asked. “After you lost to Veradin’s student?”

Mord gave him a look of sheer malice. “Thank you for reminding me,” he hissed, painting each word. He titled his head slightly, letting Rane feel the wisps of his frustration, like little shocks against his skin. “He had warned me that I couldn’t win, but I didn’t listen.”

“Funny. He said the same thing to me as well.”

“Naturally.” Mord scanned him over. “The fight with the Nost apprentice left you barely alive. You stand no chance against her.”

“You’re probably right,” Rane said. He looked down at his blistered, cut hands. How much had he been through? Even if he wasn’t always the victor, he had come a long way since the days of being locked up as a slave. Nothing seemed impossible anymore. “I want to try.”

Mord’s lips curved into a half smile, and he shook his head slightly. “I’ll be watching, junior.” He spoke with a weird mix of mocking and pity, like he already knew what the outcome would be. “Don’t embarrass the Archmage too much.”

Rane clenched his fists. He was about to retort, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Atinas hovered over them both. “Come. Everyone has gathered.” He spoke normally, and only then did Rane notice that no other mages were there. “The ritual will begin as soon as sister Eln is ready.”

Mord stood first, taking the book with him. Rane winced as he followed. A few minutes of relaxation were enough for his legs to grow numb and to start hurting again.

The inside of the Cradle proved more spacious than he had imagined and the books more numerous than he would have ever thought possible.

"As my apprentice, you can access all but the innermost section of this library. The books are free to read, but you are forbidden from taking them out of the Cradle." Atinas pushed an exposed book spine a little deeper with his fingernail as he passed, bringing it in line with the others. "There's more knowledge here than you can absorb in a lifetime. This, Rane, is your privilege for aligning with me."

"Thank you, Archmage…" Rane couldn't wait to dive into the books. Knowing more had always enticed him, but there was a prospect more alluring than any other. Perhaps amid all these books, he could find one that detailed the events eight years ago, when the city he lived in was destroyed. And perhaps hidden in those pages, a clue to the whereabouts of his family members.

The maze of bookshelves continued. Rane could tell they were getting closer to the center of the library as their wood got more curved. The Moreno mages that had gathered moved aside to let them pass, so he stuck close to Atinas, observing them. Most were naked, skin marked by tattoos in different stages of completion. Some wore clothes, sporting no tattoos or their faded outlines without a hint of magic.

The heart of the Cradle was cold, even with all the bodies around him. He gazed up, at the red liquid pooling on the stone ceiling. The fluid in it swirled and narrowed to a stream, connecting the pool above to a similar one on the ground below. The shape reminded Rane of an hourglass and was almost hypnotizing to watch.

A carved wooden banister separated the mages from the central area, where a flat white podium sat on slightly elevated ground. Rane sat on Atina’s right, almost facing the man behind the stone. The elderly mage gazed at him, scanning him over until Atinas placed a hand on his shoulder. The man simply nodded, then cleared his throat. The mages fell silent.

“I see everyone has gathered,” he said with a clear voice. He took a few glances around, as if to reaffirm what he had just said. “As you know, sister Eln has reached the end of her path. She ventured closer to the edge of the world than any other mage has. Given the significance of her findings concerning the Aeon Fog, she was given the time to document her findings before the ritual.” A torch sizzled behind Rane, snuffed out. The Cradle got a little darker. “We are ready for you, sister.”

Off to the side, Rane heard the muffled cries of a young girl. He felt a tinge of her sadness, stabbing the side of his heart as a middle aged woman walked towards the podium, clad in a thinly woven veil. The red of her tattoos shone strong through them, brighter than any other Rane had seen. They reached all the way up to the top of her shaven head, covering it in what resembled a flower. She carried a tome in her hands, bound by thin sheets of green metal. Was it blightsteel?

“Thank you.” She placed the book onto the podium and bowed towards the mages gathered. Her voice was soft, yet unstable somehow. The simple sentence had almost cracked it. Anxiousness and anticipation surged around her, like tiny prickles against Rane’s skin.

Another torch was snuffed, accentuating the light coming from Eln’s tattoos and the endlessly dripping liquid behind her. The room remained in that weird silence for a few moments, as Eln gazed ahead into some unknown depth of the library.

The man on the stage took his place back in front of the podium, undoing the blightsteel chains around the book. He motioned with his hand and a mage came out into the light, carrying a silver tray with a golden goblet. The last torch went out as Eln picked it up from the stem’s ruby with a shaky hand. She walked closer to the pool of liquid and slowly, almost reverently raised the cup to the stream of red. Atinas gripped Rane’s shoulder a little tighter.

“The last words of Truth written from Brother Kaizer's vision of everything,” the elderly mage turned the pages of the book and began reading from it. “The eternal sun crumbles as the mistcaller returns to end–” The man turned to Eln. “This is where it ends. Please, Sister Eln, grant us verity.”

“To my friends, my mentors, my students and my daughter. You have always been the light of my life,” Eln said, lifting the goblet with both hands. “So just this once, let me be yours.” She brought the cup up to her mouth, trembling whole. “An entire lifetime searching for truth comes to an end, for the briefest glimpse of all truth fathomable.” She closed her eyes and jerked her head back, downing the liquid.

“Argh!” Eln grasped her chest, goblet clanking to the floor. A wave of pain crushed against Rane’s chest, forcing the breath out of him. Eln’s skin cracked and peeled away, crimson spell light bursting from her body. She fell backward and opened her eyes. They smouldered and burned with radiance. “–the peace we had,” she screamed, mist erupting from her mouth.

Rane gripped the wood in front of him, drawn forward like a moth to the flame. His heart thumped in his chest and his eyes were wide despite the blinding light. The mist and smoke touched his skin, letting him experience sheer exhilaration and exultant death.

“The Mad king sings,” Eln’s words strengthened, even as her body crumbled and burned. “And the world dances to his rhythm!” Her face wrapped with pain as she formed each word. “Victory is the last word ever spoken. The one who walks through life is… is–” And she was gone, nothing but ashes and lingering, crimson mist.

“Did we get everything?” The man scribbled on the book like mad, glancing around the room whenever he could. “How many words was that?”

Rane was left slack jawed and still. “She– She died? But why?”

“Because that was her dream. She sacrificed herself for the sake of knowledge.” Atinas smiled, showing his sharp teeth. His grip tightened around Rane’s shoulder even more, bordering pain. “And you know what that means.”

Rane turned his head and the realisation struck him. The crimson mist over Eln’s remains seemed to move, heading for him. “Let go!” He tried to struggle free, but Atinas’ hold was firm. Eln’s magic swarmed his body, making its way inside.

“Why?” Rane looked up at Atinas. He could feel the magic heading for the left side of his chest, for his soul. He braced himself for what would come, but it was pointless. Pure ecstasy, freedom and the force of life itself tore him open. He dropped to the ground with tears in his eyes.

“Even if your body is injured, I can still train your mind and soul.” Atinas knelt next to him, placing a palm on his back. “Experience it.”

Rane screamed, grasping at his head. Pleasure and fulfilment beyond anything he had felt before wrought through his body, tensing every muscle and burning every other thought. It was like he had spent his whole life blind to emotion, only to feel it all at once in one sudden, blinding burst. The inside of his chest burned and it felt like his soul would crack open. A mere fraction of what Eln had felt threatened to overwhelm him.

“I see how it is.” Atinas’s voice barely registered. “The stronger your soul gets, the more magic you can make your own.”

Rane grit his teeth and forced himself to breathe. The raging emotions that had flared up like thunder settled down just as quickly. The pressure was beginning to die down, but the peculiar feeling of completion lingered. He panted and coughed, swallowing back the burning that formed in his lungs. It felt like he had been running for hours with a single breath. He worked through the buttons of his robe, exposing his chest to the open air. Parts of his skin had cracked outward and were charred black.

“Her magic… inside.” His voice came out guttural and rough. Rane glanced around and then let his head fall back. The Moreno were busy with their blighsteel-clad book and hardly anyone had paid attention to him.

“Being my apprentice comes with its fair share of responsibilities as well.” Atinas yanked him up despite his pained protests.

"At least warn me." Rane coughed. He put his weight on the archmage. It was the only way he could walk.

“So he really is an Empath.” Mord glanced at him with a curious glint in his eyes. "How does it feel to grow stronger without deserving it?"

"Horrible." Rane couldn't even muster anger. The emotions had filled him to the brim, and their sudden absence left him feeling numb and empty. He sat on a chair nearby with Atinas's help and the archmage observed his eyes.

"Amazing," he exclaimed. "Eln's strand has already formed."

Rane didn't need to be told. He could feel the woman's magic taking up space in his soul, a brilliant red intertwined with all the other colours. With a bit of conscious effort, he pulled it apart and called it to his fingers. If Sydell's nora was the deep red of blood, Eln's was the last brilliant ray of the setting sun.

"So all these people…" Rane looked at the Moreno gathering Eln's ashes with great care. "They want to die?"

"They crave it." Atinas touched Rane's cracked skin and he winced. "More than anything. They dedicate their lives to studying, gathering experiences and living to the fullest, in the hopes that they will one day find a glorious end."

"I don't get it. They go through all that effort… All that pain, just for a vision?"

Atinas scoffed. "It's not a simple vision. It's all of the truth that a human mind can grasp, squeezed into a single moment. For a few brief seconds, they see it all and utter whatever they can before their soul burns out. And so, little by little, the book you saw is being written. That's another reason I brought you here. You have to understand that death is part of life. Sometimes it is what gives it meaning."

Rane remained silent. He couldn’t argue against people fulfilling their dreams, even if those dreams ended in death. If that was the course they had chosen and they had made their peace with it, who was he to doubt it? He covered his face with both palms and leaned forward, rubbing his eyes. "How does magic like this even work? It doesn't make sense," he mumbled.

"You think you can judge what makes sense?" Mord snapped at him. "Just because you got lucky and was born gifted, you–" Atinas raised a finger and Mord visibly calmed. He took a few moments to collect himself.

"It's Primordial magic. Most of it has been lost to time, but there's a few rare instances of it left. Spells that call upon concepts, rather than matter or energy." Atinas drew one of the books out with his fingernail. He set it on the table and opened it up on a page with a very elaborate and life-like drawing of an eye. "Just like the Oaths are tied to the Arbiter and his Law, the magic of the Moreno is tied to Truth."

Rane tried to study the picture, but Atinas clasped the book shut. "Innermost section," he reminded, placing it back in its proper place.

"Fine." Rane stood and let his robes hang around his waist. If people were going around naked, he should be able to do at least this much.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Rane limped away, towards the outer sections. "I'm going to read and practice. I'm tired of being told what I can and cannot do or know." Right before he left, and for the first time, Rane felt a slight tinge of joy coming from the Archmage.