I can say with absolute confidence that I’ve never in my life seen this many books before.

  Standing just within the entrance to Lanton’s Grand Archives, I felt tiny.

  Towering bookcases stretched from polished marble floors to ceilings so high they vanished into shadow. Some shelves were so tall they leaned inward like trees in a forest canopy, the uppermost tomes accessible only by magical lifts that drifted soundlessly between levels. The building itself, carved almost entirely from pale gray stone, exuded a cold, ancient grandeur. Light poured in through narrow, arched windows high above, catching on motes of dust that floated like stars in still air.

  The central chamber opened up like a cathedral, its ceiling lost to vaulted heights above, supported by ribbed columns carved with runes older than the kingdom itself. Interwoven throughout were spiraling staircases and arched walkways that meandered across the air like bridges suspended in a dream. Everywhere I looked, movement—quiet, deliberate, thoughtful.

  Bespectacled archivists of every age and background moved through the space like ghosts in long robes, some murmuring spells as they sorted glowing catalogues, others levitating stacks of books that floated behind them in orderly trails. The only constant sound was the turning of pages and the occasional flutter of parchment—an oasis of silence in an otherwise loud world.

  There was no sign, no herald, no ceremony—but the moment I stepped inside, I felt it. Like crossing into another realm. A realm where time slowed, and knowledge—forgotten, forbidden, or divine—waited patiently for those brave or foolish enough to seek it.

  And today, I suppose, that fool was me.

  To be honest, I had no clue where to start. I began by wandering around the towering book cases, pulling out the odd tome here and there, but quickly realized it was getting me nowhere. Eventually, I sheepishly approached one of the archivists, a frail gnome with a wispy white mustache and a pointed purple cap. He glanced up at me through his over-engineered monocle.

  “Excuse me…can you assist me?” I asked, attempting to be polite.

  His overgrown white brows furrowed as he looked me up and down.

  “What is it you need?” He said quickly, his voice sharp and shrill.

  “Uh… I’m looking for the section about ancient gods—specifically two deities named ‘Lun’ and ‘Ten.’“ I said, purposefully using the names I’d read in the tome Selene had given me.

  The gnomish archivist scratched his chin and looked around for a moment.

  “Follow me.”

  He scuttled off with surprising speed toward a magical lift. I stepped on behind him, hesitant. The lift hummed with bluish energy and began to rise at once. I had it in my mind that these things just went up and down, that was certainly not the case. After climbing to a dizzying height, the lift suddenly stopped, and then jolted to the right, sliding across in a horizontal arc toward one of the towering book cases in the center. I gripped the railing nervously—heights weren’t exactly my strong suit.

  We came to a stop in front of a section that was pretty sparse, adorned with some ancient looking tomes and books. The gnome flittered back and forth, trailing titles with his pointed finger, eventually coming to a halt at an empty socket, where a book should have been.

  “Ah, that's a shame, the book’s been checked out,” he said, with little actual empathy.

  A thought occurred to me and I pulled off my pack, fishing out the tome Selene had given me.

  “Is it possible—is this the book that belongs in that slot?” I asked, holding it out for him to see.

  He grabbed it unceremoniously, flipping it to the side to read its spine.

  “Yes—the very same,” he said, going to put it back in its slot.

  “Wait—I’m still using that,” I said, reaching for it back.

  He handed it back, grumbling.

  “Then, this is the only book about them?” I asked, just to confirm.

  “Yep.”

  “...well, in that case, do you know anything about the missing pages?” I asked.

  The ornery gnome arched his brows, clearly unaware of the pages that had been ripped from the tome. I quickly flipped it open, showing him where the pages were missing.

  He scratched his chin again, not saying anything for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he just shrugged.

  “Nope! Someone must not want anyone reading what's on those pages. Or perhaps they don’t want to forget the words themselves.” He said simply.

  My shoulders dropped in disappointment, and for the first time, his hardened features smoothed ever so slightly.

  With one eye closed he peered at me through his monocle, the eye beneath darting about my person.

  “If you want to know more about ancient deities, the Archives can only get you so far. You should really head to one of Lanton’s temples. For this matter I’d recommend the Temple of the Sunwarden. One of the oldest sanctuaries revering one of the oldest gods,” he said, attempting to be helpful.

  My eyes lit up and I thanked him profusely—why hadn't I thought of that?

  He grumbled uncomfortably as he guided the lift back to the ground. With a final thanks and a begrudging nod from the grouchy old gnome, I headed straight for the Temple of the Sunwarden. Perhaps there, I would find a clue.

  In Lyria’s dizzy slumber, her dreams came vague and fragmented.

  It was cold, dark—stinging pain emanated from her wrists. She couldn’t make out where she was. A single torch flickered into existence in the center of the stone wall before her. The room was dark, dank, and made her feel boxed in, as if the walls were closing in on her. Her breath came shallower and sharper until she couldn’t suck in any air at all. She gripped her neck frantically, desperately trying to pull in something, anything. In the darkness, the yellowed teeth of a portly man flashed into view, grinning down at her—sinister, disgusting.

  “NO—!” she screamed, eyes snapping open, panting heavily as cold sweat clung to her skin.

  She curled into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to push the memory of the dream away.

  Unconsciously, in her mind's eye, she envisioned a familiar face: a strong jaw, messy black hair with a distinctive white streak, and gentle, deep green eyes. The image soothed her. Before she realized it, the waking memory had melted into a dream. He watched over her, protected her—she finally relaxed.

  Her eyes shot open yet again—

  “…Yukon..?” she murmured to herself, scrunching her face, mostly at the throbbing pain in her head but also in slight disbelief at what she’d been dreaming.

  “Hm…? You say something?” Selene said, already up, folding some loose articles of clothing near the foot of her bed.

  Lyria pushed herself up onto her elbows, squinting to see Selene through her bleary eyes.

  “You okay? Got a fever or something? Your face is all red—” Selene continued, looking mildly concerned.

  “N–no, I’m fine—” Lyria stuttered, casting her face down and holding her throbbing head. “Hell of a hangover though.”

  Selene laughed and nodded. “Always were a lightweight weren’t you.”

  “Did I do anything embarrassing…?”

  Selene hesitated for a second, appearing to ponder the question, Lyria’s heart rate quickened by a step.

  “Nope! Not that I can remember!” Selene said, offering a reassuring smile.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Lyria glanced over to the balcony, smaller than the one they’d had during their stay in Tilver’s Crossing. A gentle breeze flowed through the room, a bit warmer now as spring began approaching summer. The sun was already perched fairly high in the sky. The vast openness, clear and blue, stretched over clay shingles atop the buildings across the way.

  She sat quietly for a moment, lost in thought, remembering her brief capture by the assassins, her unceremonious imprisonment, the rapacious merchant. She recalled her relief when Yukon came storming in, his eyes gleaming in an ethereal blue. Her slight fear at the power he demonstrated, and despite it all, her growing fondness for the peculiar ranger—

  Lyria sat up with a quiet breath, ignoring the dull throb at her temples. She slipped the blue ribbon from her wrist and held it lightly between her lips. Her hands moved without hurry, gliding along her cheeks, gathering loose strands with tender ease. Each motion was practiced, delicate—like smoothing silk. She drew her silver hair back into its familiar shape: half up, half down. A few wisps escaped, feathering her face. Her pale bangs drifted just shy of her lavender eyes, never quite daring to cross their gaze.

  “Hup—!”

  Sliding out of bed, Lyria turned to Selene. “I’ll go wake the boys, gods knows they're probably still out cold, you know how Bront gets—”

  “Don’t bother, Bront is communing with some orcish god to mend the rapture occurring in his skull, and Yukon’s already gone off somewhere—Didn’t even see him leave.”

  “Oh…” Lyria said, unable to mask her slight disappointment.

  In the very next moment, a heavy hand knocked on their door. Lyria went to answer it, knowing the sound of Bront’s knock from anywhere.

  A hungover half-orc was a sight to behold. Bront looked wrecked, he rubbed his head gingerly as the door opened.

  “Ahh… Lyria—someone here to see ya,” Bront said, stepping aside as a lithe, platinum haired elf, stepped out from behind Bront’s massive frame.

  Lyria’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat. Time folded in on itself—like the past had walked straight through her door.

  “Lyria—It’s so good to see you again—” Prince Elledor said, his voice smooth as polished silver, his white-gold-inlaid armor glinting in the sunlight.

  He took her hand gently and dropped to one knee, head bowed, as if greeting royalty instead of an old friend.

  “This city’s too damn big…” I muttered to myself as I stomped up the fragmented cobbles toward the temple.

  It wasn’t hard to find. Its pires were amongst the tallest of Lanton’s skyline. Pure white stone—maybe marble—scraped the heavens as if begging for the Sunwarden’s very hand. Curving outward, the two pillars arced away from each other, creating a massive semi-circle above the flat, crenelated roof crowning the Temple of the Sunwarden. Rather than just one main structure, the temple consisted of multiple structures, split by arched walkways, flowered courtyards, and intricate walls.

  As I finally made it to the entrance, I found myself standing in front of imposing—and pointedly—closed gates.

  “If this place is closed, I’m going to have Tenebrae do some serious remodeling—” I said to myself as I panted from the exertion of climbing all the way up here.

  The temple rested on one of the large hills nestled in central Lanton, not too far from the main keep where Baron Bradford lived.

  Just as I raised a fist to knock—or maybe start kicking—one of the gates creaked open with a low groan.

  “Easy there, you’ll wake the gods,” came a familiar voice.

  I blinked as the doors split wider, revealing Ron, the cleric I’d met on the road from Tilver’s Crossing. His light hair was tied back today, and he wore simple white robes with a thin gold sash—very different from the battered armor he’d had on the road. A gold sunburst medallion hung from his neck, glowing faintly in the morning light.

  “Ron?” I said, surprised. “You work here?”

  “Technically, I volunteer. But yeah.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “When I’m not chasing ghost artifacts or nearly getting robbed by bandits, this is home.”

  He stepped aside, gesturing me in. “Come on, before you get struck down for yelling at sacred marble.”

  I followed him through the open gate and into a wide, flower-filled courtyard bathed in warm light. Unlike the cold majesty of the Grand Archives, the Temple of the Sunwarden radiated something softer—like the light here was alive. It filtered through colored glass mosaics in the arches above, spilling gold, crimson, and amber patterns across the ground. Priests and acolytes moved silently along the inner cloisters, some in prayer, some tending to small altars beneath trees growing impossibly from stone.

  Ron kept his voice low as he walked beside me. “What brings you here, Yukon? You don’t strike me as the religious type.”

  “I’m not,” I said honestly. “But I’m trying to dig up information about some deities—Lun and Ten. You ever heard of them?”

  Ron stopped walking. His smile faded and his face turned inquisitive.

  “…Lun and Ten?”

  “Yeah… You know ‘em?” I prodded again.

  He exhaled slowly, his expression shifting from casual to curious. “Yeah. Yeah, I know the names. Not much else, though. Is there a particular excerpt or piece of lore you’re hoping to find…?”

  We paused beside a quiet reflecting pool. The sunlight didn’t quite touch this part of the temple, and the water looked darker than it should have.

  “I’ve looked through the archives,” I said, lowering my voice. “There’s only one book on them. The rest is gone—or missing. Pages torn out.”

  Ron rubbed his chin, then nodded slowly, more to himself than to me.

  “Look… I’m a cleric of the Sunwarden. I spend most of my time studying his teachings, leading prayer, lighting candles—that sort of thing. But…”

  He hesitated, brow furrowing.

  “When I was a kid—before I chose my patron—I remember reading something. Old names. Lun. Ten. I didn’t understand any of it back then. Just stories. Symbols. Forgotten gods in the margins of the margins.”

  I tilted my head. “And you know where to find them?”

  He looked around the temple grounds—peaceful, warm, quiet—and his voice dropped to a hush.

  “I know where somebody might’ve tried to hide what’s left.”

  That got my attention.

  “There’s a place beneath the temple,” he said. “Not part of the public sanctum. Sealed. Forgotten. Or… maybe just ignored.”

  I raised a brow. “Beneath the temple—What, like an underground vault full of god-secrets…? I think I’ve had enough of those…” I muttered, saying the last part to myself as my memory revisited the ruins where I first met Lunae and Tenebrae.

  I shuddered.

  “I’m saying,” he muttered, “there’s a door you don’t open when the sun’s still out.”

  He turned, starting to walk off before I could press him further.

  “Meet me back by the gate just after final prayer.” He said over his shoulder. “I’ll take you there…”

  “Wait—Ron.”

  He stopped, one hand resting lightly on a nearby column.

  “When’s final prayer?” I said flatly, clearly having no idea based on his cryptic instructions.

  “Ah, right… It ends shortly after sunset, when the reds and pinks are just fading,” he responded, nodding as he had to remind himself that not everyone prayed as often as him.

  And just like that, he disappeared into the light-dappled courtyard, leaving me standing in the stillness—one foot in the temple, the other in shadow—as the sun climbed toward its golden peak.

  I decided to head back to the inn while I waited for dusk to fall, my head still felt like Bront had spent the previous night using it as a drum.

  My mind grew distant as I walked, gripped by introspection as I considered everything I knew thus far. Lunae and Tenebrae were indeed deities, there was no room to doubt that fact. When I reached out via our mental connection to ask them personally, I was met with silence. Any questions regarding why they ‘chose’ me, what they really were, and how they were connected to the great catastrophe, was met with silence.

  I glanced over my shoulder more than a few times as I walked, the Fell threat ever present on my mind. Who knew when one of us would be next.

  With a fatigued sigh, I pushed through the creaky wooden door leading into Falcon’s Flight.

  I had to double take as I walked through the tavern on my way to the second floor. At a table in the corner sat Lyria, and across from her was a platinum-haired elf in sleek, expensive-looking armor.”

  I couldn’t help but stare—though I don’t think they noticed me. Lyria smiled at something he said. She looked... relaxed. Familiar. I slowed as I passed, unsure why my stomach twisted the way it did. I made my way upstairs, heading to my room, my mind spinning with questions.

  I walked past the girls room on my way to Bront’s and mine, and saw Selene sitting there with a pensive expression. She didn’t even notice me as I stopped by the doorway. I lightly rapped my knuckles on the doorframe.

  “Hmm? Oh… Yukon. You’re back,” Selene said, clearly distracted.

  “I am… what’s going on? You look stressed,” I said, stepping in gingerly.

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she responded dismissively.

  I frowned at that response.

  “Does it have anything to do with Lyria and that elf she’s chatting with..?”

  Selene glanced up at me, and then cast her gaze to the side, hesitating before she spoke again.

  “That elf—is Prince Elledor. One of the five Princes of the Moon Elf Kingdom.”

  My heart started to beat a bit faster beneath my chest. What did an Elven Prince want with Lyria...?

  “I don’t yet know what his intentions are, but…I have a bad feeling about it.” Selene finished, her pensive expression returning.

  “I—I’m sure it’s nothing…” I offered, not even convincing myself. “Maybe he was just in the area and wanted to check in on one of his kinfolk.”

  Selene looked up again, worry playing behind her gaze. “Lyria is not just another citizen of the Moon Elf Kingdom… Though she’s not pure-blood, her mother is a noble. A high-ranking one at that. And Elledor isn’t just any Prince. He’s powerful, calculating—and from what I’ve heard, not the type to drop in on old friends for tea. He—may be here to take her back…” Selene finally admitted.

  It felt as if the room closed around me, my mind spun with questions. ‘Take her back’? Why? Did she have some responsibility I didn’t know about? Would she come back? Or—would this be the kind of goodbye that doesn’t say itself aloud? The kind that just… happens.

  If she leaves… then—what of our party? What of… me?