Grace to the Ancients, Wylmon was finally out of sight. If Heron hadn't been as cautious as he believed and Master Salmior had known a city boy had spent one day in the royal domain, the Master either preferred to not to disclose that with Heron, or Heron would soon be scolded.

"I'll be escorting the Lady back to the palaces, Lord," Mainor said. It was early in the morning and even if the palaces hadn't awakened yet, Mainor was already fully clad in blue for duty. He stood behind Heron while Elana already readied herself to enter the carriage that had carried the city boy out of the domain.

Mainor finally addressed him as Lord. It had been Ron when they grew up, Brother once he realized he was never destined to be a part of the ruling council, and now Lord. "If you wish," Heron said dismissively. Mainor's boots shuffled on the ground when he budged to go open the carriage's door. And when Elana was finally inside, Heron asked, "You have been spending a lot of time with Elana."

"Father assigned me as her guard if that's what you are asking. He trusts me because I'm family. With rebels in the domain. You must understand how things are, after what happened to you."

"Father told you..."

"I am glad you escaped unscathed."

It had never been what Heron was asking. Mainor had successfully averted Heron's implication about him and Elana. "Alright. You escort her to the palaces." Heron eyed the four palaces in the distance, beyond the gardens and the vast courtyards spanning from near the ramparts where they stood. The questions he had about Wylmon and Davir already percolated in his mind. He immediately thought of instructor Arai and started walking toward the palaces.

"Well, if you are headed to the palaces, nothing keeps me from driving you, too, Lord," Mainor offered, smiling. "I know the palaces seem close to here but walking up to them can take a toll."

"No." This early in the morning the library of the domain was either opening or about to open. The time to get to the library gave Heron space to think. Mainor mounted and the carriage rolled forward.

In the end, after walking the equivalent of three hundred gallops to get to the southern palace of the royal domain, the library was still shut and instead of thinking logically and tactfully about the woman who had pursued him in the forest, Heron found himself overwhelmed by the fear throughout his walk.

He endured the mild cold of mid-sprout mornings as he waited for Tutor Arai in front of the edifice, his arms crossed against his chest for little warmth. When Arai finally rounded the corner of the arcade that led to the library, Heron had already been considering retreating to his chambers.

"Are we early today?" The instructor said. "It has been a while since I last saw you. How long?"

"Now that my father took over my training for enlistment, I have been awfully busy. It's my priority. But Master Salmior is aware and normally he should have told you about a brief interruption in my classes."

"I am aware of it all," Arai said dryly. "You know better than myself how highly efficient your master is." He turned the keys on the locks in silence, one by one. When he tackled the fourth, he said, "And I suppose you are here now because you need something from me?"

"Yes, I need your help."

Arai's expression bordered a frown.

Heron glanced around him. "I believe we'd rather speak inside the library."

"Sometimes I fool myself into believing nobles could be different. That they could be good to us simple-blooded. If only we show them kindness. That they could see that we are normal, banal people, as they are. As you are. But I guess I am wrong. As long as we don't serve you, you forget we exist and go about your noble lives with your noble people. Then you need help, and come running to us."

Arai's words felt like a fork shoved down Heron's throat. Heron swallowed it. "I have been awfully busy, that is all."

The nine locks were open now. "Should we enter?" he asked. "I know what you are after. I'll give it to you and it's the last favor you will be asking from me." He rushed inside the library.

Arai sounded as pained as he was infuriated and Heron felt the urge to make amends. To try to piece back together whatever he had broken.

"Teacher, please." He pondered, following the instructor. Yes, it was unfair that he had dumped his problems on Arai and then disappeared without saying anything. He had opened up with this man about all of his matters and his fears. He had made a friend and only realized it once he'd lost him. Heron's hand shot out to grab Arai's. "I understand now. I am awfully sorry. Of course, I should have passed by even if I was busy." His next words came out tentatively, "You are my friend. And I am hugely ungrateful. But I can correct things."

Arai exhaled. "Forget it. In fact, forgive me, Lord. No, you don't owe me anything. I apologize. Don't mention any of this to your superiors." He brought both his hands to Heron's and squeezed it. "Promise, Lord." His attitude had completely changed. From a disappointed father figure, he had turned into a servant whose meekness was completely unnatural for him. Then Heron knew something wasn't right.

"Yes," Heron said. Arai didn't look at Heron as he took his spot at the library's counter. Heron approached. He never thought he would ever say this, "Perhaps it's your turn to let out what's bothering you."

Arai pursed his lips for so long, they palled. He reached inside his drawers and retrieved a bound stack of scripts. He slid it on the table from his edge to Heron's. "I received a warning for this."

Heron read the title:

Inconsistencies in the Onus Krot: the last Forgotten Soldier has been forgotten by history.

The stamp of the Wisemen onto the document read:

Denied publication - Motive: attempt to disseminate false information that threatens order and peace.

Issue: Warranted intervention of the Black Guard in the subject's chambers and place of work. All copies should be destroyed within five days.

Everything was incredibly confusing to Heron. How Arai had been able to compile information enough to write a full manuscript on the inconsistencies they had found in the book of wars. Why the Wisemen would consider correcting historical information a threat to peace and order.

"Perhaps it would be better to publish it through one of the academies here in the capital instead. I will intercede for you." As soon as the words were out, a pang of guilt hit him. He could have interceded for him before the Wisemen had denied his work.

"You don't understand, do you?" Arai pulled the sleeves of his robes up, revealing spots of bruised skin. "They conducted me to the dungeons. Kept me there for one day forcing me to confess who I was working for. They destroyed my chambers to find copies of this work.

"I am prohibited from even mentioning any of this. I kept this for two reasons: to assure myself I hadn't reasoned with my arse instead of my head-that is covered, I am very sane still. And to give it to you if you came here on time. I supposed that is covered too.

"The guards will be here tomorrow. Do what you wish with the scripts but don't forget them here in the library. Else, I'm done. I'll spend what little days I have left in prison."

Heron grabbed the scripts. "If you're certain you have remained faithful to the truth, I still believe we should attempt to submit it to the academies."

Arai scoffed. "Oh, how naive you seem sometimes, poor, little doo." "There is nothing that threatens peace and order in this work. Apparently. To us. Who only know half of the story. The Wisemen do know all the facets of it and do not want aspects of forgotten history to be brought to light. It's deliberate. The Monarchy, your Monarchy, my dear, doesn't want it to surface."

"You believe there's a part of our history we are kept from."

"You! you keep the people from learning it. You will be the next Monarch, remember?"

"What else have you discovered?"

"You can take these manuscripts away from my sight and read it all. It's all there. And it'll be a pleasure to know I have at least one reader, that will keep the guard from butchering me to boot."

Heron pursed his lips, taking in the length of the work. The unnaturally small writing lining the pages. "Tutor, please."

Arai laughed. He stood, walked up to the door, and locked it. "I don't know what you have that makes me so eager to help you. And I say this very honestly. I'm thinking your late mother is to blame." He took his spot again. "I'll make it as succinct as possible because I am required to pretend all is well and keep working in the library which opens soon."

Arai seemed to ponder, and gather his thoughts before he spoke. "A few historians wrote about Galeda. Cere's fourth region, north of Ceres and bordering the nation of Maleys. I know the city was real because I visited its ruins long ago. It's hypothesized by many that the city of Galeda was destroyed in the years 1600, in the time of the 31st Tor. Coincidentally, the same time the twelfth Forgotten soldier and his father died."

"And the time he was anointed," Heron muttered.

"Right. I read other unrelated material on Galeda. Mainly things I got from very specialized vendors: family books, marriage treats, and tales. I compared it with material of the same sort and the same time from Maleys and Ceres. If you judge by the frequency of the name Davir and Arun- his father- in these documents, it seems they are not Maley names as one of would think. They are Galedean names. Further proof of that is that the bibliography shows the frequency of these names drastically drop when one descends south or goes up north."

"You believe Davir and Arun were Galedean."

"And that whatever war happened at the time he died, was a war between Ceres and Galeda." Arai sighed. "I call it war, but genocide would be a better qualifier, because it's impossible to find Galedean descendents nowadays. There's a conflict. Suddenly, it makes sense that Davir would be anointed a Forgotten Soldier.

"But it gets confusing when you consider that he was Galedean, most likely, but him and his father were working for the capital's Monarchy in the guards.

"Perhaps the Monarch at the time didn't want to leave any trace of Galedean blood alive. But then why would the Monarchy anoint Davir ? That is a mystery I will never be able to solve. But it seems the ruling council can. And if you are willing to know. You are the best placed to get to the bottom of it."

• • •

Turning around in his room, Heron hesitated before finally leaving the scripts tutor Arai had produced behind.

He needed to be careful about the way he approached the subject. To confront his father about a past hidden from history, he couldn't incriminate his tutor.

Heron tucked the pile of scripts under his mattress and smoothed the cushioned surface to hide the slight bump it had caused. The walk to the courtroom was dreadful. Unlike Arai, Heron didn't grasp the intricacies of the subject he was about to expose in front of his father.

Still not bowing to him, the black guards keeping the door of the courtroom allowed him inside. Lomeon watched Heron intently as he approached his desk.

"Perhaps you should inform me before when you wish to come to the Courtroom. Here, I am your superior before being your father."

"This is urgent, Father," Heron said and Lomeon seemed to stiffen immediately. "I want to talk of Galeda." Now, it seemed lightning had struck Lomeon in place. His brows furrowed, a long moment of silence ensued.

"Your tutor spoke of it to you, then?"

Venom! His father was aware. "Father, if the black guard harms him I will never forgive you. He hasn't infringed any laws."

"If he abides by the orders he'd been given, he should be safe."

"I am serious, Father."

"And you suppose I'm not," Lomeon said dryly. "Sit down."

Heron did not. "I told why I am here, Father," he stated. "Why is Galeda out of the historical records?"

"It was an order," Lomeon spoke slowly. "If I have to repeat myself it's you the guards will be handling soon, not your tutor."

Heron yanked the chair, its legs scraping on the floor, and he slumped onto it, his teeth gritted up to the root of his gums. He trembled when he spoke. "As usual! You have me where you want first to offer me your respect. Happy?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lomeon sneered. "You were destined to know about Galeda as soon as you officially ascended as Monarch-in-Prospect, after your enlistment. This is how it happened with me, and with my mother. And all the rest. We'll talk once you calm down. Take the time you need. Then Let me know."

Seething, they watched each other. It was Lomeon who spoke, "Follow me if you are certain you are ready." Lomeon walked around his vast chair. He grabbed a lantern of white crystal dust off a wall and lit it.

It had always seemed to Heron that the chair of the monarch was plucked against the wall. In reality, it remained a small gap between the wall and the chair, where his father's frame just fit. It opened into a small path that Lomeon engaged, in silence, his shoulders brushing the wall.

The way stretched forward then dipped, leading them down a long slant of stairs that opened into a vast area. Heron realized the walls had turned rough, and blacker, and now gave off a faint sheen when the light of the lantern bounced over it. As if they ate the bulk of the light.

The air was thick with fug that layered the back of Heron's throat, and where they stepped, a layer of dust swallowed their boots past their ankles. Only their imprints marred the still coat of dust. It seemed no one had been there for years.

As Lomeon stepped further ahead, weapons of all sorts, made of the same material as the walls revealed: chains, swords, staffs, daggers, arrows, axes, spears. Spotting things required a sharp eye, as all shapes seemed to meld into the infinite blackness of and endless void.

Heron only realized they stood before a bulky door when Lomeon brushed a hand on it tentatively. He unbuttoned his coat around his neck and grabbed his pendant, taking a white key carved with Baalkan mineral.

"The last time I used this key, I was about your age," Lomeon said. "My mother showed it to me when I ascended as Monarch-in-Prospect. I was planning to do the same to you when the moment came this Drought. But it seems you have a knack to break traditions," Lomeon smiled at Heron despite how visibly uncomfortable the situation made him. "Obviously, she had prepared for this. I have not." Lomeon reached for Heron's hands. "Before she let me into the room, she gave me my key." He did likewise to Heron. "And she told me, our ancestors did what they needed to do so you and I would be here today. We enter when you are ready."

Dreading what hid inside the room, Heron nodded stiffly.

"Open it then," said Lomeon.

Heron's hand trembled as the key turned inside the lock. Three times. Lomeon pushed the door open. It seemed strange to Heron that one thing so guarded wasn't more secure than this. The room was a vast library that seemed to be twice the size of the library of the royal domain in the southern palace. Countless scripts, and books on shelves, piled on the floor, scattered about the ground after piles and shelves had broken and collapsed. Strange objects Heron could not name abounded in all directions, enormous timesticks, music columns, statues, and metallic pieces.

"This is the legacy of Galeda. It was the fourth region of Ceres until three hundred years ago. In the times of the Oneon, the 31st Tor of Ceres. Originally, Galeda started as a gathering of nomad tribes coming from northern nations that established itself between Ceres and Maley in the late 1200. They grew so fast that in the 1500, they were an important city with around one hundred thousand people. At this point, they were annexed to Ceres. It was a strategic decision of the Monarchy.

"The Galedean were masters of the supernatural. Gulgrarii, they were called. All forces of nature obeyed their command for reasons I made the choice not to fully learn. My mother had devoted some time to reading their knowledge. What I gathered is that Gulgrarii's life originates, not from the Origin through the Ancients, but from the Order of the Shadows.

"The Monarchy knew that if Galeda expanded, by virtue of their abilities, they would have the strongest military in the continent. Perhaps even beyond. Making them Ceri, meant the Monarchy could use Gulgrarii's knowledge to our advantage. But Galeda had always maintained its autonomy as a region. Its leaders refused to let Galedeans be mobilized for military services. Tensions grew until a civil war erupted. Ceres won."

"And what happened to Galedeans?"

Lomeon looked around the room. "What do you think?"

Heron shook his head. No! "The Monarchy practiced genocide?"

"Such is the nature of war, Son. Still, there was quite a stir at the time, Galedeans had been a part of Ceres for centuries then. They had married those in the capital, Tholos, Anuteh. Tor Oneon faced the strongest revolution ever seen in history. He did what was best for us, his lineage. Crushed the opposition, hunted the Galedean that were protected by the population, and even killed said protectors in the process. And he launched a prohibition of mentioning Galeda in Ceres punishable by death. All original Galedean material that survived the civil war is here, trapped inside walls of Opace where no Galedan could ever reach. They cannot stand even just the sight of this metal.

"After his death, at the beginning of the ruling of Onyeon's sister, Magana, the 32nd Tor, none dared to say speak of Galeda below the Ceri sky. And when the 32nd Tor died, the few children who already had heard of it thought of it only as a tale. Then time assured Galedeans were forgotten and erased from history."

Heron shook his head. He felt sullied by this legacy. "The Monarchy was ready to turn on its own citizens to protect itself."

"Don't fool yourself, son. It still is. We haven't chosen our sides. The best we could do is protect it. As the Galedeans had fought to protect theirs to the end. Had they won, they would talk about their victory with glory."

Lomeon's words disgusted Heron. "It's easy for you to tell if you have the military working for you to repress. Of course, the citizens will always lose against the Monarchy."

"Well, Oneon was ultimately assassinated by rebels. I apologize in advance son, but if you want a more tangible example, think about your mother's death. And your own desire for revenge. Or something else: you been killed by the rebels; they would chant victory. I, on the other hand, would suffer enormously. But they can't afford to consider my feelings."

Heron felt as if he'd been stabbed.