Osric strolled as one in a garden through labyrinthian aisles packed with musty tomes and ancient scrolls. A bright orb of mage light floated before him, a lantern in the forgotten vault beneath the Elysian archives. The only sound was the rustling of his black robes and the steady tapping of heels upon the dust-covered stone floor. More crypt than library, the forgotten halls remained untouched for centuries, many of the texts it housed labeled as heretical or evil. It was as close to heaven as he could ever hope to achieve. He paused to inspect a collapsed bookcase, the wood having rotted and collapsing into a pile of ancient manuscripts. He brushed away a stray strand of his lavender-colored hair from his face with a pale, ring-laden hand as he searched the pile, a dreamy smile parting his thin lips. He never wanted to leave this wondrous trove of immeasurable treasures.

With the delicacy of a mother tending a child, he removed a large, old tome and began leafing through it. Besides him, his sister stretched and yawned in utter boredom. It was still hard for him to believe the woman she had blossomed into, full figured with a certain carnal appeal, she was the object of many a man’s desire in the camp. She also bore a painful resemblance to their late mother.

She absently tugged at her skirt’s hemline, which cut off mid-thigh, as she lazily perused the shelves. Flying in the face of military decorum, she wore her coatee, a short, tailed jacket with white and gold embroidery, open with rank and unit insignia pinned to her collar with the same reckless abandon with which she went through life. Her pale skin glowed like moonbeams in the magical light of the orb, reflecting off the millions of floating dust motes in the air. She clicked the heels of her leather-riding boots against the stone with a loud, exaggerated sigh and ran her fingers through her unkempt lavender-colored hair. Her crimson eyes shone like rubies under swooping bangs.

Osric closed the tome with a flurry of dust and handed it to her. She frowned before snatching it from his hands. Unfazed, he resumed his slow trek through the aisles. She yawned again and cracked her knuckles as she traced the worn titles and swept dust from the mildewed texts in her hand. He loved his sister, something he made a habit to remind himself of daily in the face of her more childish antics and slovenly tendencies. In a sense, she was the cause of this campaign, representing an oath to dead parents that needed to be fulfilled by a dutiful son.

“I did not ask you to join me, Maleah.” his voice and tone were as dry as the winter air as he stopped and turned to face her with a flourish of his robes. “You volunteered your services as I recall. Therefore, you are not permitted to complain, my dear sister.”

“Have I said anything, brother?” Maleah countered as she flicked a piece of debris off a nearby shelf.

“Your body language, my dear,” Osric frowned and nudged her to stand up straight. “I know you perhaps better than you know yourself.”

Maleah obliged like a scolded toddler, and Osric turned to continue his search. Ignoring the raspberries she blew at his back. His sister had always been a bit of a chore to deal with, but he enjoyed her company well enough. She also held a certain devotion to him did not find altogether unpleasant. A devotion to her older brother and the secrets they shared.

* * *

Maleah watched her brother gaily march through the aisles, picking up musty tome after musty tome with an expression of glee and mutterings of good fortune at his finds. She sighed and turned the book he had given her over to examine the cover—the words were faded gilt and in a language unknown to her. She sucked at her teeth and blew a cloud of dust, throwing her into a fit of coughs and sneezes.

“Don’t make that sound, it’s juvenile.” Osric admonished, bent over with his nose burried in a bookcase.

She glanced up at her brother as he retreated further into the shadows, perusing ancient texts with a glee she had not seen in years. The black robes and hooded cloak he wore was the standard garb for a sage of the dark arts. The violet sash at his waist was the mark of a teacher of the dark arts at The Academy of Magic at Asketill. The Rune tattooed in red upon his forehead however, identified him as an exile of the small mage nation of scholars and philosophers. It was a reminder of what the great taboo they had unwittingly broken, how he had taken the brunt of the punishment to protect her.

Osric paused to look back at her, questioning the delay. The light from the orb reflected sinisterly off of his golden eyes, eyes that held the hunger of a feral wolf. She shuddered and hurried to catch up with him.

“I hope that this campaign is for more than musty old books,” Maleah gasped through spasms of coughing, the air was far too dry and stunk of decay.

Osric barked a mirthless laugh. “I assure you, dear sister, I have come for more than mere books.”

He ran his fingers through his long silken mane, sucking his teeth upon noticing the split ends at his waist. Maleah tried in vain to stifle her giggles at his vanity, causing him to glare back at her with a slight flush to his cheeks. She shrugged and feigned innocence, to which he rolled his eyes and continued on.

“Much of the text here contains information on events not even recorded in Asketill’s ‘peerless’ library.”

Osric leafed through another text, a bundle of yellowed loose-leaf paper bound with rags and twine. Maleah folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to the opposite leg, sensing her brother was going to go on yet another diatribe about the 'anti-intellectualist Order of Dawn'.

“I am merely liberating this trove of knowledge that the priests so arrogantly squandered in their ignorance.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Black Gate, would it?” Maleah tried to gauge her brother’s reaction from the corner of her eye.

“Why,” Osric paused, then handed her the bundle of papers, “what nonsense has our brother Séverin filled your head with?” he continued his leisurely pace, not looking back to see if she followed. “Do you intend upon forsaking me as he has?”

“No Osric, I just—” she stammered as she hurried to catch up.

“Do you believe in my vision?”

“Of course, brother, I—” Maleah became red-faced as she tried in vain to express her concerns.

“Then do not question me again, Maleah. I shall not be thwarted by my own kin.”

Maleah tried to think of a means to continue her arguments, but any further attempts to question him would be futile. Her brother had spoken, and his word was law now. It had not always been that way; he often encouraged debate much to her chagrin, though she could hardly remember those days now. She bowed her head and adjusted the load in her arms.

“My apologies, brother.”

Osric smiled and raised his ringed hand to caress her cheek. She reflexively pulled away, but he persisted, pulling her into a clumsy half embrace. Maleah sighed and leaned into her brother, his affections were rare and few between. It was often she who would have to surprise him with embraces or a stolen peck on the cheek when they were small children. Back when the world was not nearly so large, and their burdens were equally small by comparison.

“You needn’t apologize to me, dear sister.”

As quickly as it came, his smile and affection vanished as he bustled past her once more. It was easy to blame his mood swings on the stress, and when they first set off on the absurd campaign, that had clearly been the case. He was often unsure of himself and avoided addressing the men due to panic. She had found her brother hidden away in his tent with his head in a bucket filled with the regurgitated remains of the previous meal on a couple of occasions, wretched from stress and lack of sleep, drenched in a nervous sweat. As they drew closer to Elysia, he did an abrupt one-eighty, and her brother became the insufferable bastard he was today.

“That should be enough for now, Maleah. Drop them at my quarters and meet me for tea later this afternoon. Be sure to change as well, you look like a harlot.”

She turned her eyes to the heavens and blew an exasperated breath at her bang. “Of course, brother. I'll be sure to polish your boots while I'm at it.”

Osric offered a halfhearted wave as he walked away, either choosing to ignore her snark or simply not hearing her. Maleah should have known better. Osric never discussed his plans unless he wanted to, and never changed his mind for anyone or any reason. At least, not anymore. She adjusted the load again, dropping several loose sheets in the process. She swore under her breath and bent down to pick them up. The text on one of the pages caught her attention and she angled it towards the light to read.

A strange language was written upon the yellowed pages in elegant script, in the margin however, someone had scrawled a message in Xanavien of all things: With the king of beasts deposed, and hell’s ranks bursting, who shall fill the vacant throne? I came to the Realm of Dusk. I saw the desolation, and now die under the unsetting sun. Light be with us all.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Maleah tried to make sense of the cryptic message, but had next to no context. She hurried after her brother as she wracked her brain for all knowledge she had regarding the Realm of Dusk, which was not much at all. She looked up to find that her brother and the orb had gone, leaving her alone in the dark. She quickened her pace to join up with Osric and his source of light.