Chapter 9: By Decree of the Archives

  Aeor stood in front of the inn.

  Zoey turned. "What's wrong, Aeor?"

  "Do you even have any gold? Or whatever they use for trade here?"

  "I figured there'd be a universal currency. Something the Archives set up."

  "That would make sense," Dregor said, stopping to face her. "But if such a thing exists, the Custodians haven’t mentioned it."

  Zoey blinked. "No central currency? Then how do they manage interplanetary trade? That sounds like chaos."

  "Interplanetary trade?" Dregor raised a brow. "Aren’t you thinking far ahead?"

  "We’re not staying here forever," Zoey said confidently. "We’ll travel, explore, grow stronger, but without a shared currency, how do you buy anything across worlds? There has to be something."

  The group exchanged glances.

  "Who told you that?" Velora asked.

  Zoey hesitated. "Remember those stories I mentioned? From my world? A few had systems like the Archives. Universal money, that sort of thing, but I guess it doesn’t help Aeor’s question, since none of that’s been introduced yet. Sorry. Tangent."

  "To answer you, Aeor," Dregor said, pulling a coin from his tunic and tossing it to him, "this is called Solari. Local currency. As for the inn, don’t worry. The clergy is covering lodging for all new arrivals."

  Aeor turned the faded coin in his hand, observing its intricate carvings depicting a sun.

  "Rest tonight. Be ready for tomorrow. The Initiation begins soon."

  He turned back toward the inn. "Let’s go. I’m exhausted."

  Dregor opened the doors.

  The scent reached them first.

  A slow-burning stew filled the air, its aroma drifting out into the alley like a quiet promise. Lantern light shimmered above the doorframe.

  Inside, the inn glowed with a soft yellow-orange light. Wall sconces cast a gentle radiance over low tables and stone benches polished smooth by years of use. The floor was uneven in places, laid with thick woolen rugs that softened the clatter of boots.

  There were a few patrons tonight. Eight, by Aeor’s count. All human.

  Voices hushed. Heads turned.

  Three wore robes like the priests they’d seen earlier. The rest were clad in layered wool and leather.

  If Zoey and I dressed like that, we’d blend right in, Aeor thought.

  "Where’s Zura?" Dregor asked, scanning the room.

  A strong voice called from deeper inside. "I’ll be with you in a second."

  An orcish woman appeared, tankards in hand, foam spilling over the rims.

  Her amber eyes swept the room. Bronze-threaded hair was tied back in a short braid. Two small tusks peeked from her mouth. A woolen vest rested snug over pale green skin.

  Wait… she seems more human than orc, Aeor noted. Is she a half-orc? When I used Threadgaze on Gurz, he came out as half-orc. His features were more pronounced, though.

  He focused his sight on Zura.

  Name: Zura

  Race: Half-Orc

  Essence Tier: Awakened

  Essence Stability: Flickering

  Class: Inn Keeper

  Class Rarity: Flicker (E)

  Her eyes settled quickly on Dregor, who was hard to miss.

  "Dregor. You're back." Her gaze flicked to the rest of the group. "Gurz and the others?"

  "He went to the Sanctum with Barek. As for the others..."

  Dregor let the words hang. Silence filled the gap.

  "I see. I’ll clear out their rooms. Thank you for bringing Gurz home."

  There was a quiet weight in her voice. Not surprise. Just a dull, familiar grief.

  The otherworld initiates only started arriving a month ago. How many have already died? She’s used to this. Numb to it.

  "No need to thank me," Dregor said, slinging an arm around Aeor’s shoulder. Aeor blinked, caught off guard. "If anyone deserves your thanks, it’s him."

  "He saved our hides in Vaelkarreth."

  Zura gave Aeor a small bow. "Thank you for bringing my brother and this knucklehead back. I don’t have much, but I offer the full hospitality of my Vaz’Kural to you and your companions."

  "You don’t owe me anything. It was a team effort. Without them, I’d still be lost in those lands."

  A smile tugged at Zura’s lips. She nodded. "I’ll get rooms ready. We serve meals too. Actually, I insist especially after the meat Dregor packed for this little journey."

  "Wait. You chose that meat?" Zoey stared at him. "I thought you caught it on the way or something! Like that was your only option!"

  A few chuckles rose from the room.

  "I never said that," Dregor replied with the faintest smirk. "I just didn’t correct your assumption."

  Zoey gasped. "Dregor. You monster."

  "I’ll take that as a yes for food then," Zura said, her voice lightening with the shift in mood.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "And get some ale while you're at it," Dregor added, heading toward the counter. He turned back to the room. "No one knows what’ll happen tomorrow. The trial and the Initiation... best we enjoy the night."

  "Is Bren here?"

  "Did you go blind on your expedition, Dregor?" a dry voice called out.

  An old priest stood. Hunched, pale, with thick brows and a clean-shaven head. He pulled down his hood.

  Gently tapping the table, he said, "This brute speaks wisely. Who knows what awaits us tomorrow? Let us lose ourselves in the moment. As faithful servants of Sol, I’m sure such minor indulgences can be forgiven."

  The priest beside him snorted. "Only if you didn’t indulge every day, Kindled Warden."

  Laughter followed. Warmth bloomed through the room.

  The night unfolded in a haze of voices, food, and flickering lantern-light. The weight of what loomed faded, just for a little while.

  Gurz and Barek returned sometime later, slipping into the crowd without fanfare.

  Drawn like moths to flame, more drifted in. Townsfolk. Otherworld initiates. The laughter spilled into the streets, and the inn filled with life that night.

  Aeor stirred, blinking against the glare of the morning sun.

  He shut his eyes again, groaning softly, then pushed himself upright.

  The room was small but warm. Light filtered through a narrow window slit, casting a soft golden light across a stone floor. A low table stood beside the straw bed. The air smelled faintly of hearth ash and sun-warmed pine. Outside, muffled voices drifted through thick stone walls.

  Folded black linens, a woolen coat, and a chipped clay basin sat atop the table.

  Aeor looked down at his torn, frayed clothes.

  I need to thank Zura properly.

  He went to the table, pausing as his eyes caught a sheet of parchment. Not Archive-given, just ordinary, worn paper.

  He picked it up.

  Hey Aeor, Zoey here. We’re planning to visit a weapons shop this morning. Not sure you’ll be awake by the time we leave, so I’m writing this just in case. Though after last night’s... incident, I doubt you’ll be moving anytime soon. Who knew you had such a weak tolerance for ale?

  The memories returned all at once.

  Aeor groaned, burying his face in his hands.

  Then a small chuckle escaped him.

  I must be going mad.

  After freshening up and dressing in the clean attire left for him, Aeor stepped into the hallway.

  It was quiet. Sunlight slanted down from narrow ceiling windows, painting soft streaks along the floor. As he neared the main chamber, voices became clearer.

  He stepped through the doorway and froze.

  Every head turned. His companions were already seated.

  And they were waiting.

  Expressions of pure amusement greeted him. Zoey, of course, wore the largest grin. Wearing an outfit similar to his, eyes bright with delight.

  Before anyone could speak, Aeor raised a hand. "Not a word."

  "So," Zoey said, disregarding Aeor's comment. "Feel like thanking the locals again, my lord?"

  Aeor groaned. "Are we really doing this?"

  "Oh, yes we are," Gurz rumbled, climbing onto a bench and raising his cup. "My fellow Sun-worshiping friends..."

  Velora’s lips curved faintly. "Then you blessed their bloodline, called Bren a spy, and sentenced him to execution."

  "In my defense," Aeor muttered, "he was standing suspiciously still."

  Despite his protests, the corner of Aeor’s mouth twitched in amusement.

  Bren, seated among the clergy, looked thoroughly entertained.

  They shared breakfast together. Spirits were high, laughter easy. The weight of the coming Initiation still lingered in the back of their minds, but no one voiced it.

  For now, they let it be. For now, they chose joy.

  Later, Dregor, Zoey, and Aeor left for the smithy to procure new weapons.

  The city looked much the same, its towering walls carved with swirling sigils, its rooftops sloping toward the valley below. The sun crested low behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the narrow stone paths of Thar’Ezun. But something in the air had shifted.

  What had felt solemn the night before now carried a strange, quiet warmth. The wind still whispered between buildings.

  A few locals moved through the tiered streets. Priests in saffron robes swept snow from the paths. Merchants arranged crates of bread and dried fruit. Somewhere down the hill, laughter echoed from the direction of Zura's inn.

  Dregor walked in silence, his shoulders more at ease. Zoey kept glancing at the symbols carved into storefronts, as if she were on the cusp of deciphering them. Aeor listened, just listened to the way the city breathed.

  It still felt like a place built in the shadow of something vast. But today, that shadow wasn’t as cold.

  The smithy stood at the edge of the old district, where the streets widened and smoke clung thicker to the morning air. The building itself was squat and sturdy, shaped from dark basalt and timber. Steam vented from its sloped roof. Iron racks along the outer wall held tools, blades, and half-forged weapons.

  A steady rhythm rang out from inside, metal striking metal. Aeor knew that sound. It steadied him.

  Zoey had been searching for a water-aspected wand, only to discover such weapons didn’t exist here.

  Aeor, meanwhile, was surprised to learn that spears were unknown, not just to Dregor, but to the smith as well.

  Zoey chose a small dagger to accompany her skillet. Aeor settled on a sword. Both weapons had a blackened finish, faint gray cracks tracing across their surfaces.

  "These lines don’t weaken the blade," the orc smith said, running a thick finger over the metal. "They’re a result of the forging. A mark of the process, not a flaw."

  "Is this meant for monsters or people?" Zoey asked.

  The orc raised a brow. "Despite your earlier statements, you know how to ask the right questions."

  Aeor frowned slightly. "Am I missing something?"

  "There’s no weapon that works for everything," the smith said. "Some beasts have hides laced with strange metals. Like your friend here." the orc nodding towards Dregor. "This blade is duller than most, but it’s durable and holds against beings like him."

  "Oh! Aeor, you should totally get a second blade, a sharper one. You’d look exactly like a monster hunter from my world. You already have the hair. Wrong color, though. We’ll sort that out and get you a horse." Zoey beamed.

  "I thought your world didn’t have monsters."

  "Well... it doesn’t. Not sure how to explain the concept of video game to you. So just chalk this to my usual banter."

  Aeor turned to the counter. "I’ll take the sharper variation instead," he said. "I have something that can help reinforce it."

  Even though I’m still not fully sure how my death Essence works. I know I can strengthen a weapon... but shaping its edge? That’s untested.

  He exhaled quietly.

  Another addition to the ever-growing list.

  Suddenly a bell tolled once, deep and distant, then again, louder, spreading like a tremor through the city’s stonework.

  Dregor froze. Aeor felt it too, a chill rising beneath his ribs, sharp and immediate. Behind them, the rhythm of the forge fell silent. Locals halted mid-step, all eyes turning uphill toward the Sanctum of Sol.

  "Take it," the orc smith said to Aeor and Zoey. "I’ll settle with the clergy later."

  He vanished into the back of the forge, issuing sharp commands as apprentices began closing the smithy.

  "What in the hells is going on?" Zoey asked.

  "We head to the Sanctum," Dregor said. He paused, jaw set. "The Initiation is upon us."

  They moved quickly, weaving through narrow streets that felt suddenly too narrow. Doors slammed shut. Traders pulled back their stalls. A priest swept past them, saffron robes whipping behind him, his breath tight and hurried.

  The bell rang again, smaller chimes echoed from towers across the city in solemn reply.

  By the time they reached the Sanctum’s edge, dozens had already gathered, their eyes drawn upward by the same invisible pull.

  Something had shifted.

  The Sanctum loomed above, carved into the sheer cliffs of the mountain, its domed halls and soaring arches etched with radiant glyphs that shimmered in the morning light. Sunlight streamed through high windows, scattering like fire through fine drifting dust.

  Before its entrance stretched a vast plaza, wide enough to hold the city’s entire populace. Flame-carved columns flanked the edges. At the far end, a tiered platform climbed gently toward the Sanctum’s sealed doors.

  The square vibrated with the quiet tension of a gathering storm. People filled the space, murmuring, waiting. A dozen high-robed clergy stood solemn on the dais, veiled and unmoving.

  Above them, the bell continued its toll. Slower. Heavier. Like a countdown in a language, none could read.

  Zoey’s eyes swept the crowd. "There. Velora, Gurz, others from the inn."

  Zura appeared beside them, breath quick. "Have they said anything?"

  "No," Dregor replied, eyes on the dais.

  Aeor’s hand found the amulet on his chest.

  A pressure bloomed deep within him. Cold. Certain.

  He could feel it.

  Death.

  "Be careful," he murmured. "Something’s not right."

  The crowd thickened, pressing into the sunlit square beneath the Sanctum’s arches. Hundreds stood shoulder to shoulder, breath misting in the frigid mountain air.

  And then, the bells fell silent.

  A hush settled like frost.

  Flameward Exarch Irralun

  From the upper balcony, he stepped forward, cloaked in saffron and white, a golden sash braided with glowing thread draped across his chest. His voice rang clear, reaching across the vast courtyard.

  "By decree of the Archives, witnessed by the Custodians, the Initiation has begun."

  A ripple moved through the crowd. Some gasped. Others closed their eyes in silent prayer.

  "Our world of Sol’Karenth is judged as Woven. Its soul shall be weighed by trial and burden. Twelve ancients awaken. Twelve tests of resolve. And twelve paths to salvation... or ruin."

  He raised a hand, fingers outstretched toward the carved mural of Vaelkar behind him.

  "These ancient ones, these dragons of fire and fury, shall be the arbiters of divine legacy."

  He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle.

  "Three paths are cast. Three factions bound by fate:

  One shall Appease, seeking unity through reverence.

  One shall Subjugate, forging dominion through strength.

  One shall Slay, severing the old to build anew."

  The crowd gasped. Dragons were revered as gods in Sol’Karenth, and to subjugate them, let alone slay them, was blasphemy.

  A flicker of fire shimmered behind the Exarch, violet and brief, as he continued. The air tightened with tension.

  "Each faction is tethered to a single purpose. They may not stray. They may not barter. They may only act. Each dragon carries a weight, the Weight of Existence. Each trial passed by appeasement, subjugation, or death shall tilt the scales."

  His voice sharpened, heavy with ritual cadence.

  "Know this. If the scales tip too slowly, if more than half of the scales remain unclaimed by a single faction, judgment shall fall. The world will burn, as the ancients will rise to deliver reckoning."

  Silence.

  Then he lifted a thin parchment etched in gold. His Archive status glimmered faintly as a new thread surfaced.

  "The current standings are as follows."

  "The Reigning Crown, led by Sovereign Vaireth Solenar, has begun the path of Subjugation. They hold 5 scales from the total weight of 100."

  "The Heir of Solenar, guided by Princess Serenya Solenar, bonded to the wyrm Naeysar, walks the path of Appeasement. They hold 9 scales."

  "The Reclaimers, united by grief for their lost heritage, embrace the path of Destruction. Their past, etched in Vaelkar’s death, grants them 20 scales."

  The crowd erupted in murmurs.

  "The Archives called the late king’s niece the Heir?"

  "Reclaimers? Who are they?"

  "Twenty already?"

  "The Reigning Crown has to subjugate? That’s sacrilege."

  "Silence," the Exarch commanded, and the crowd obeyed.

  "The Archives have granted individuals the ability to see the standings of each faction, and to know which faction they belong to."

  His voice darkened.

  "They can also discern the allegiance of others."

  Conflict unlike anything this world has known is coming, Exarch Irralun thought. Sol, Guide us in days yet to come.