As I walked back to my room, the damp smell of the temple still clinging to my nostrils, I noticed that Nora was still following us. Her steps were light but steady—like a trained, patient dog.
I turned around, frowning. "Why are you still following us?"
She didn't hesitate. Her eyes fixed on mine with calculated firmness. "I have been assigned the task of protecting you, young lord."
I stared at her for a few more seconds, trying to read something beyond that cold expression. Beside me, I felt Niryn stiffen. Her silence seemed thicker, as if Nora's mere presence disturbed the symmetry of devotion. She didn't like that…
But I ignored it.
An idea occurred to me—obvious, but useful. "Are you good at fighting?"
"Yes, young sir. I am very good with swords. That is why I was assigned as your bodyguard."
I smiled slightly. Great...
"So can you teach me how to use a sword? And how to fight?"
"Of course. If the young lord wishes, I can teach him."
Relief came with a spark of excitement. Great. With this, I can try to learn at least the basics before being thrown into that damned cave. But my mind soon became serious again. I still need information... And maybe I'll find something in the books of this pubescent sect.
I turned to Niryn, still as still as a dark statue. "Are there any books here?"
She answered immediately, as if she had already expected the question. "Yes, master. There are all kinds: from history to human anatomy, including ancient experiments, legends, neighboring kingdoms, and treatises on mana, among others."
The term "sis" hooked me inside. It's now.
"Then... go get books on mana. And also on the neighboring kingdoms... and anything related to the Node."
She bowed slightly. "Yes, master. I will come immediately."
And he left.
I arrived at the door of my room. Nora, silent as ever, opened it efficiently. I walked in without looking back.
I sat up in bed, feeling the weight of the damp, heavy sheets against my still-tense body. The wood of the frame creaked slightly with each movement, as if whispering ancient secrets in the cracks.
I began to reflect on my encounter with the High Circle. Even now, alone, the sense of their presence still hung over me like a cloud of malice and restrained power. They exuded authority—even without saying much, even without trying.
That was suffocating...
The pressure I felt in front of them was brutal. A part of me wanted to run away, to disappear. But another... another was beginning to adapt.
But... at least they seemed to be treating me well. They called me brother... or was that just a facade?
Mmm... that doesn't make sense. Why would they lie to me? I'm still nobody important...
It must be some approach they decided to take with me.
And the way this place runs, I should be thankful for that. I bet they're a lot more ruthless with the others.
I lost track of time, sinking into a spiral of increasingly dense and confusing thoughts — until I was pulled back to reality by the squeak of iron wheels.
Niryn had returned. She was pushing a small wooden cart loaded with stacks of books of varying sizes and colors. Some were covered in leather, others in worn cloth. Some were dripping slightly, as if they had absorbed moisture from the temple itself.
Well... since they're treating me well... and I seem to be in a privileged position... then I might as well act accordingly.
The faster I adapt to this place, the better.
"Very well, Niryn."
My voice was firm, controlled—but the effect was immediate. His eyes lit up as if I had just offered him a sacred blessing.
"At your command, master!" he replied with discreet but sincere enthusiasm. He bowed his head respectfully.
I looked at the pile of books and let my eyes run over them. There were titles on mana, arcane treatises, maps of realms, biology scrolls, volumes with warning seals. But one in particular caught my eye: a white book with a cloth spine and a plain cover. The title was written in austere but well-preserved letters:
| History of the Node Sect |
Opening the book, I realized it was written in the common language of this world—a language I had already mastered thanks to the memories imprinted on this body. The handwriting was firm, meticulous, as if each letter had been carved with devotion. On the first page, the words began without introduction.
On the first page, in letters carefully drawn in dark, firm ink, it read:
|The Three Founders, Elarion, Vessha, and the Nameless Man, were once prominent figures in the long-dead Kingdom of Vael'Tharyn, a nation nestled among mountains, riddled with war and bloodshed. This kingdom, known for its exquisite magic and proud armies, fell after a disastrous war. In the aftermath of the defeat, the king was beheaded, the mages hunted, and the civilians left to starve and die.
Taking refuge as deserters and traitors, the three traveled through forbidden regions, guided by feverish visions and prophetic delusions. During their pursuit, they hid deep within the ancient ruins of a forgotten empire buried at the roots of the world. There, starving and on the brink of death, they heard for the first time the 'wet voice'—the whisper of the Node.
They found him sealed in a cocoon of petrified flesh, bound by layers of roots and ancient symbols. When they freed him, the Node marked them with its blessing: regenerated flesh, eyes opened to the Truth of Decay, and power. In return, it demanded devotion, sacrifice, and expansion.
In time, they built the Temple on the ruins, planting the doctrine of the Seed, Pain, and Perfection. With the first converts, they created the High Circle. Then came the crazed alchemists and magicians of the Research Circle, followed by the Acolytes—fanatics blinded by the promise of flourishing. The sect was born there, over two hundred years ago, among fungi, bones, and roots.|
After I finished reading, I frowned. There was something... too theatrical about the way everything was described. "The Whisper of the Node," "The Truth of Decay"... Every sentence seemed carefully constructed to embellish, almost sanctify, what was clearly a bizarre, perhaps even desperate event.
Of course they've turned this story into a foundational myth, I thought. A trio of starving fugitives encounter a sealed entity and decide to worship it. None of this sounds divine. It just sounds convenient. A twisted salvation painted as a miracle.
I closed the book slowly, feeling the weight of his words resonate within me like thin roots trying to wrap themselves around my thoughts.
I thought about what I had read for a moment, but quickly turned my thoughts away. Dwelling on those words now would not help me at all—not with time so tight and so much to understand. I should leave the philosophical questions for later. Right now I need tools, not doubts.
I looked away to the cart. There were several volumes stacked together, each one stranger than the last, with leather covers engraved with embossed symbols and titles. Among them, one caught my attention: a book with a black cover, well preserved, with a discreet shine on the edges of the pages, as if it had been cared for by patient hands.
On the spine it read: | introduction to Mana: Foundations of Arcane Essence. |
Without hesitation, I picked it up and opened it.