Myra's question hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. She leaned back in her chair, her piercing green eyes flitting between me and Lyra. The faint hum of magic in the room pressed against me, heavy and almost suffocating.
"What are you willing to give?" she repeated, her voice calm yet laced with challenge.
"What does that even mean?" I asked cautiously, gripping the pendant beneath my shirt as its warmth steadied me.
"Knowledge isn't free, Vanguard," Myra said smoothly. "Especially not the kind you're asking for. You've stepped into a world full of secrets and shadows. If you want to understand it, you'll have to pay a price."
I frowned. "And what, exactly, is the price?"
"That depends," she replied, her tone almost playful. "Coin, favors, secrets—Ebonreach thrives on all three. But for someone like you, favors are far more valuable."
I tensed, exchanging a quick glance with Lyra. Her jaw tightened, her hand drifting closer to her sword. "We're not here to barter, Myra," she said sharply. "Just tell us what you know."
"Oh, Lyra," Myra said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Still charging ahead like a soldier in battle. But this isn't about brute strength—it's about strategy. And trust me, little sister, you've walked into a game you're not ready for."
Sister. The word still felt out of place, and I couldn't help but glance at Lyra again. Her expression was hard, her eyes fixed on Myra as if daring her to push further.
"What game?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension.
Myra's attention shifted back to me, her smile widening. "The game of power, Vanguard. The one you're already a part of, whether you realize it or not."
She stood and crossed the room, pulling a thick, weathered book from a high shelf. Its leather cover was cracked, the edges worn smooth with age. She placed it on the table and opened it, flipping through its pages until she stopped on one covered in intricate symbols and faded writing.
"Let's start simple," she said. "The Vanguard. You've heard the name, yes?"
I nodded. "People keep calling me that, but no one seems to want to explain what it means."
"The Vanguard," she began, "were more than just warriors. They were chosen—by the gods, by fate, by forces beyond comprehension, depending on which story you believe. Their power was immense, unmatched. But it also made them targets."
"Targets for what?"
"For destruction," she said bluntly. "The Shattering wasn't just a war or a disaster—it was an event that broke the world. And the Vanguard were at its center."
I frowned, the weight of her words sinking in. "The Shattering," I repeated slowly. "What is it, exactly?"
Myra arched an eyebrow, glancing at Lyra. "You didn't tell him?"
Lyra's expression darkened. "It hasn't come up."
"It's the foundation of everything," Myra said, her gaze shifting back to me. "A cataclysm that occurred thousands of years ago, shattering the balance of magic. Cities fell, kingdoms crumbled, and entire civilizations were lost. Magic itself fractured, becoming unstable and unpredictable. The world hasn't been the same since."
"And the Vanguard caused it?"
"Some say they caused it," Myra said. "Others say they tried to stop it. The truth is buried in fragments of history, and most of those fragments are locked away in places like the Scholars' Quarter."
I leaned back, my mind racing. The Shattering, the Vanguard, the watchers—it was all connected, but the pieces refused to fit together.
"And this Scholars' Quarter," I said slowly. "What is it?"
Myra chuckled softly. "The beating heart of Ebonreach's knowledge. It's where the city keeps its archives—ancient scrolls, relics, records from before the Shattering. If you want answers, that's where you'll find them."
"Then that's where we'll go," I said firmly.
"It's not that simple," she replied. "The Scholars' Quarter isn't open to just anyone. You'll need clearance from one of the guilds, and that's not easy to come by. You'll either have to pay a steep price or find someone with enough influence to vouch for you."
"And I assume you're not offering to vouch for us," Lyra said, her voice cold.
Myra's smile returned, sharp and cutting. "Oh, Lyra. You know me better than that. I'll give you advice, but my neck stays firmly intact."
We left Myra's house under the cover of night, the streets of Ebonreach dimly lit by scattered lanterns. The air was heavy with the smell of damp stone and the faint hum of distant voices.
Lyra walked beside me, her silence weighing heavier than the shadows around us.
"You're quiet," I said finally.
"You shouldn't have made that deal," she replied, her tone clipped.
"We needed answers," I said.
"And now you owe her," Lyra snapped. "Myra doesn't do favors out of kindness, Aric. She'll collect, and when she does, it won't be on your terms."
I didn't respond immediately, my hand brushing the pendant at my chest. Its warmth had steadied me earlier, but now it felt more like a burden.
"What aren't you telling me?" I asked.
Lyra stopped, turning to face me. Her eyes were hard, her expression unreadable. "Myra's family, but that doesn't mean she's trustworthy. She's dangerous, and if you give her an inch, she'll take everything."
"And what about the Shattering?" I pressed. "You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"
"It's not a bedtime story," she said sharply. "It's history, and most of it is speculation. What matters is that it changed everything. The world we live in now—it's because of the Shattering. And if the Vanguard were involved, then you're carrying the weight of that history whether you want to or not."
Her words hit hard, and I let out a slow breath. "So what's the plan?"
"We find a way into the Scholars' Quarter," she said. "And we keep our heads down while we do it. Ebonreach doesn't forgive mistakes."
As we wound through the twisting streets, the weight of Myra's words settled over me. The Vanguard, the Shattering, the watchers—they were all pieces of a puzzle I didn't understand. But the closer we got to the heart of Ebonreach, the clearer it became that understanding wasn't just a choice. It was a necessity.
And it wasn't going to come without a fight.