The servants joked and chattered as they bustled about, the rhythm of their camaraderie filling the air. Mirak stood off to the side, observing them with detached curiosity. What did it matter, making friends here? He and Lock would be gone in less than a year, their presence erased as if it had never existed. Any bonds forged would only serve the mission and nothing more. That's all this was—just another task to see through.
Eventually, the group dispersed. Lock excused himself with an easy laugh, leaving Mirak alone with Min, who had volunteered to take him to the library.
As they walked, Min glanced at him curiously. "Lock says the two of you are great friends."
Mirak nodded absently. "We're partners."
"Oh," Min said, her tone thoughtful. "Partners? I didn't realize he—"
Mirak raised a brow, cutting her off. "Business partners."
A faint blush rose to Min's cheeks. "Oh," she said quickly, then added, "What do you think he'd like as a gift? I know we've only just met, but I think it's nice to make people feel welcome."
The two extra arms protruding from Min's back fidgeted slightly as she rambled, her nervous energy spilling into her gestures. Mirak bit down hard on his tongue, stifling a sharp remark. Finally, he said, "Lock likes subtlety. Get him something low-key, something meaningful—symbolic, maybe." He had no idea what he was saying, but Min nodded as if he'd delivered some profound truth.
"That makes sense," she muttered, almost to herself. "A ring, then. Handcrafted from ashwood. That should do it. Maybe it'll keep his attention from Kanni and the other girls."
She lapsed into silence for a moment, then tried to fill the void again. "So, how did you—" Min motioned vaguely with her head toward his missing hand.
Mirak frowned. "What?"
"How did you lose it?" Min asked, quicker this time. "It doesn't seem like you'd make a great servant without both hands." She added with a smirk, "I'd know—I have four." She waved her two extra hands for emphasis.
Mirak's expression hardened. "That's private."
Min shrugged but didn't back down. "Secrets don't stay secrets for long here. The servants gossip—trade stories for stories. A missing arm is the kind of thing people notice. Eventually, it'll come out."
"Not if I don't tell it," Mirak said firmly.
Min gave him a sly smile. "You will. One way or another."
Mirak's jaw tightened as shame churned in his stomach, an unwelcome, familiar weight. How could he even begin to explain the loss of his hand? To say it was taken by flame would be a half-truth, one that didn't do justice to Akash's sacrifice. It wouldn't explain the look of horror that had been burned into Daenys' face, nor the betrayal that haunted his own soul.
He swallowed hard. No one deserved to carry a piece of his shame—not Min, not Lock, not anyone.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, arriving at the library without another word.
The moment Mirak stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat. The library was immense, a towering sanctuary of knowledge. Shelves stretched from the polished stone floors to the vaulted ceilings, crammed with books bound in leather, vellum, and fabrics of all kinds. Two levels of shelves rimmed the walls, and the sheer number of tomes made his pulse quicken.
Min gestured broadly. "Welcome to the Fell library."
"It's… massive," Mirak murmured, his voice almost reverent. In his home village, the library was nothing more than a single shelf carved into a wall. This? This was a trove of knowledge beyond anything he'd ever imagined.
"They say the Fell treat their library better than any of the other Noble Houses," Min said, crossing her arms. "I don't get it. Why waste time on books written by old men? We're young—we've got better things to do."
Mirak's hand hovered over the spine of a nearby book. "Those old men had their own stories to tell."
Min rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just hurry up and find what you're looking for. I don't want anyone catching us in here." She glanced nervously at the door.
But Mirak wasn't paying attention. He moved slowly through the aisles, brushing his fingers over the spines of the ancient books, their titles worn but still legible. Time slipped away as he pulled volumes from the shelves, flipping through pages filled with forgotten knowledge.
"Hurry up!" Min hissed. "The last time I let that pretty boy trick me into helping his friend…" She muttered something else under her breath, but Mirak barely registered her complaints.
Eventually, he came across a book titled The Eight Noble Houses of Koona. A straightforward title, but it was a start. He flipped to the section on the Fell House and skimmed the text, but a glance at Min reminded him of their time crunch. Without hesitation, he stashed the book in the folds of his uniform and secured it beneath the black overcoat.
He turned to head back to Min but stopped abruptly. He was standing in a library filled with treasures—countless books that could hold the secrets he sought. It wasn't just about the mission anymore. This place was a wellspring of knowledge, and he couldn't resist its pull.
Ignoring the rational part of his mind that urged caution, Mirak veered deeper into the shelves. He began scanning for any texts that might mention Atta or Harmony. Most of the books he passed were dry treatises on ruling, commerce, or the arts. It wasn't until his twenty-fifth search that he stumbled upon something intriguing.
The title was etched in orange against a background of painted blue waves: Makeeth's Rage and the Lands Hidden Beneath.
Mirak opened it with trembling hands and flipped through the first pages. There, among the text, was a crude illustration of a serpentine creature crashing into dark waves.
The text itself was written in Kavish.
I was young back then. A noble of one of the lesser houses, known for our strife. My father, praise his foresight, sent me to Ustea to study. When I returned, I was no longer a mere noble—I was a scholar, a man of my twenty-sixth moon…
Mirak read on, devouring the words. The account spoke of a scholar accompanying a Sorcerer on a dangerous mission into Makeeth's Domain—a place said to be guarded by divine wrath.
"What an interesting choice," a voice said behind him.
Mirak yelped, the book slipping from his hands and hitting the floor. He turned sharply to find Lady Fell—no, Sanni—standing before him, her amethyst eyes glittering with amusement.
She picked up the book, brushing it off casually. "A text banned in most kingdoms. Tulius the Heretic is still one of the most controversial scholars in Lorian. People debate whether he was a liar, a genius, or just an insufferable contrarian."
Mirak stammered, "I-I… I was just…"
"Oh, do take your time," Sanni said, her smile growing. She thumbed through the book's pages. "You read Kavish?"
"Yes," Mirak admitted hesitantly. "I learned in the mines."
"The mines?" she said, tilting her head. "How fascinating. It's rare to find a Publici who's fluent in such a language."
She handed the book back to him and pressed a finger to his chest. "You'll do."
"For what?" Mirak asked, dread pooling in his stomach.
"As my personal servant, of course," she said breezily. "I spend many nights in the library, and you're clearly capable of keeping up. Congratulations, Mirak Windgust. You've just been promoted."