"Now the veil is lifted. The scions of Light must have interwoven their influence with your fate. A labyrinthine conundrum deserving of further scrutiny, albeit not in this place, nor in this moment," Ilberius immersed himself once more in profound contemplation.
Suddenly, he straightened halfway, his gaze fixated on the young sorcerer, and commenced speaking. "Let us consider Caleb, your loyal companion. He bears a rather predictable disposition. He relishes in the thrill of adventure, yet fundamentally, he yearns solely for survival. He is a fortunate soul, expertly guided by an enigmatic mentor, obediently adhering to their every command."
Then he turned his gaze to Brad. "But you, noble knight, you are an entity set apart. Merely by gazing upon you, I discern a distinction. You remain unaware of your own quest."
"I seek a fragment of the Book of the Damned. No other quest consumes me," Brad declared, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The tides of his patience waned.
"So, you yearn for a shard from the Tome of Damnation, eh? Whoever divulged such knowledge to you is either ignorant of its true nature or concealing it from your grasp. Even the most minuscule fragment of that tome wields an unimaginable power. I speak not of a mere leaf, but of a diminutive piece, one that encapsulates dread and pandemonium. It is a mystical dermis, neither dead nor alive," he uttered, his body trembling with an eerie sensation.
"Then swift we must be to locate it and unleash its annihilation," Brad interjected solemnly.
"Do not jest with me. You speak of an element capable of toppling the carefully established equilibrium forged fifteen centuries past, yet remain oblivious to the gravity of your words. Pray tell, who among you possesses the fortitude to shoulder such weight? Which of you?" Ilberius scrutinized them from head to toe, his gaze piercing. Then his attention turned to Caleb.
"This is the pinnacle of achievement for your enigmatic master. At least he employs honest and well-intentioned pawns. Alas, you are naivete incarnate, shrouded in ignorance. Perhaps these feeble assets are all you possess against..." Ilberius's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Pray that the mystical relic evades the grasp of those well-versed in its usage."
"And who might these individuals be?" Brad inquired.
"The vestiges of an ancient world, known to me as the Lost Gods. Some call them the Archaics or the Uniques. They bide their time, eagerly awaiting the imbalance that looms."
"I have been acquainted with the fabled saga of the Uniques and the Archaics," Brad revealed.
"This is no mere saga," Ilberius exclaimed. "I have beheld them with my own eyes. This wretched curse has granted me glimpses into both realms, wherein I have borne witness to every scene. Alas, I am bound by the strictest prohibition to recount my experiences. Curse it, I am even forbidden to utter their names. The rules that safeguard the delicate equilibrium between the twin worlds are unforgiving. Should I dare to transgress, they would annihilate me. Nay, I am ill-prepared for such a dire fate." He mumbled.
At this juncture, Brad had more or less ascertained that Ilberius teetered on the edge of madness or deliberately sought to test the limits of his patience. Perhaps this is a test of his own resilience, he ruminated.
"What upholds the delicate equilibrium between these parallel realms?" Caleb inquired.
"The Seven Gods, without a doubt. Who else could assume such a role?" Ilberius retorted, his words laced with a tinge of scorn.
"Now, let us contemplate the scenario where one of these enigmatic forces seizes hold of this mystical artifact. What ramifications would ensue?" Brad queried, though he yearned for a rational response from the venerable apparition.
Ilberius emitted a fractured laugh, his voice laced with a touch of morbid amusement. "Envision, if you dare, the fateful moment when this enigmatic artifact falls into the clutches of a sorcerer who truly comprehends its profound purpose. In the realm of the most audacious of possibilities, Barnachia, the pulsating heart of the illustrious Illuthar continent, would undergo a cataclysmic transformation, transmuting into a vast cosmic abyss. Such a fate, reminiscent of the ominous doom Romdaht unleashed upon the once flourishing Ankyra Continent, would reduce once fertile lands to a desolate and gaping chasm. Alternatively, a colossal landmass might unravel, dissolving into the ethereal realm of oblivion, akin to the vanishing of the enigmatic realm of Endrarun. These cataclysms, etched into the sacred annals of our history, possess the haunting potential to recur once more. Alas, the saviors capable of halting the perilous cycle and preventing its spiraling descent have yet to find unity in purpose. They are late, if not too late. The convergence of their efforts would herald an apocalypse, an irreversible catastrophe," Ilberius's voice quivered once more, an undeniable sense of foreboding seeping into his words.
"In that case, we beseech you, bestow upon us a clue that may guide our quest to locate the sorceress," Caleb implored.
Ilberius heaved a profound sigh and addressed Brad. "Venturing forth to seek the sorceress in this current juncture would pose great peril to you, the knight. The tendrils of your emotions towards her weave a convoluted tapestry. I perceive it. You are not yet equipped to face such a trial."
"What am I unprepared for?" Brad inquired. "Your words shroud themselves in excessive enigma, venerable Ilberius. It appears as though you witness much but remain silent, or perchance you weave fabrications. And it troubles me profoundly," Brad uttered in a tense and strained tone.
"I behold all, yet I cannot unravel every mystery. Such is the curse that besets me. Elect whether you perceive me as a seer or a charlatan. The decision rests with you," Ilberius replied.
"Then my purpose here draws to a close," Brad retorted with anger, distancing himself.
"Whither are you bound?" Caleb inquired.
"This man is either a lunatic or unduly insolent. He grants no answers regarding the sorceress Charlotta. He merely toys with us through tales of yore and embellished speech. I wish not to engage with such individuals," Brad replied.
Ilberius emitted another vexing laughter. "You are yet too verdant, young knight," he said, rising from the ancient tombstone. "Remember this until our paths converge again: You shall not glean answers from me when you lack the sagacity to pose the apt inquiries." He released a deep sigh and continued, "However, since you persist, allow me to assume the role of a seer and impart a message unto you. Should you impede the sorceress's departure from this city, you imperil your comrade. Preserve your life for a future clash. You shall encounter the woman once more. Yet, do the answers you seek truly reside within her?"
Brad hesitated, coming to a momentary pause in his steps. The thought of turning back and delving deeper into their inquiries flickered in his mind. However, an ingrained disdain for seers and fortune-tellers kept him at bay. He abhorred their elusive methods of divining the future, and he had no desire to entertain the prospects they conjured. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he chose to let it go.
Caleb hastened to catch up with the knight, offering apologies to the venerable ghost. Side by side, the pair navigated through the labyrinthine corridors. Brad sniffed the air, and it was then that Caleb's keen eye discerned tendrils of smoke gracefully wafting from the knight's nostrils.
"Has the ambient temperature plummeted, or is it merely a figment of my imagination?" pondered the halfling sorcerer aloud. If he could, he would tighten his belt and raise his collar, seeking solace within the enveloping warmth of his woolen robes.
Brad cast a sidelong glance at him and spoke in a tone of warning, "Never subject me to the presence of such charlatans again, Caleb."
"Indeed, Ilberius may exhibit moments of derangement, but he does possess occasional utility. I concede he was unusually irritable today," Caleb defended.
Silent moments ensued as they continued their path until they reached the very spot where Brad's eyes had first opened, the chill in the air causing Caleb to shudder intermittently along their journey.
Standing amidst the hushed sanctuary of the library's secret subterranean chamber, Brad gazed upward at the vaulted ceiling. "What course of action shall we undertake now?" he inquired.
"The influence of the Averan powder seems to have waned. Close your eyes and conjure the image of this room within your mind. Concentrate with unwavering focus, affirming resolutely that this odyssey has reached its conclusion. When you feel prepared, open your eyes," Caleb instructed.
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
Brad sealed his eyes shut, immersing himself in the imagery of rousing within the Scholar's Lounge. The tapestry of floor cushions, the crackle of the petite brazier, the intricately carved dragon figurine, and the panoramic vista through the alcove—drenched in the fiery crimson embrace of the sun. And in the theater of his mind, the countenance of a green-eyed, flame-haired enchantress materialized, lithely pirouetting with ethereal grace. A knowing smile graced his lips.
Caleb, keenly observing Brad, softly uttered, "Twirling glyphs, oh it could be runes." He pressed on, "Do you conjure visions of ensorcelled runes?" Unbeknownst to Brad, his words slipped past him. "These glyphs or runes exude vitality, undulating and writhing akin to serpents entwining your arm. Living sigils," Caleb faltered. "A frigid, bone-chilling sensation, an unsettling discord," he babbled, then reached out to graze Brad's right arm.
Instantaneously, Caleb was propelled toward the far recesses of the chamber—a distant realm, unfathomably remote. It descended upon him like a somber curtain... And the knight had vanished, long since departed.
"This absurdity reaches inconceivable heights," Caleb cursed, desperately striving to refocus his efforts on reawakening within the Scholars' Lounge.
Yet, all his endeavors proved futile. His eyelids grew leaden, burdened by the weight of an ineffable anguish besieging his thoughts.
How could one concentrate in such an environment?
His teeth clattered, and his frame quivered uncontrollably. The biting chill permeated the air, mercilessly bitter. The final tableau etched in his mind featured Ilberius, grinning enigmatically from a distance.