《The Chronicler》 Season I | Episode I | Chapter I Season I | Episode I | Chapter I 365 days until Affliction Day Happiness is a commodity. It¡¯s even more true in uncertain times. It¡¯s easy to wallow in hopelessness when each new year is a countdown culminating in the ground swallowing you up or the ocean sucking you in. Thus Tarrick likes to give away tiny pieces of happiness. In the form of books. Thankfully, he thinks his books are still all right. Golden lights flicker on. The backstore is amazingly empty. Everything is as he left it. The comfortable chairs, the bookcases, even the lamp on the desk. Nothing moves. Nothing has moved, that¡¯s the important part. Tarrick felt a deep rumble during the night, but nothing more. A good thing. Relief washes over him. Tarrick runs his paws over the thick volumes and smiles. Everything will be fine. ¡°Mr. Booooookkeeeeeeepeeeeeer! Mr. Bookkeeper, Mr. Bookkeeper, Mr. Booooookkeeeeeeepeeeeeer!¡± Tarrick¡¯s ears perk up. He leaves his backstore and climbs to the middle deck. Tarrick pushes on the lever. The steel plate armour unfurls itself around his boathouse and the side of the Lennox opens up. Gentle, warm sunlight pours in. Then he sees them. The cubs of High Tobain galop down the cobblestone path and onto the river dock. Feet and hooves pound on the ground. For some, their little band may not seem much. A handful of preteens, a pocket change¡¯s worth of school-aged cubs, a toddler or two¡­ For Tarrick, they¡¯re more than enough. Besides, they¡¯re enough to make a commotion. Especially in these tranquil parts, where only the wind blows and some birds chitchat in the trees. The late morning sun lazily warms up the breeze blowing in Tarrick¡¯s light blue fur. The cubs pile around the little boathouse, jumping up and down on the rickety old planks. Water gurgles. Wood cracks and groans. ¡°Mr. Bookkeeper!¡± they chant. ¡°Mr. Bookkeeper, Mr. Bookkeeper, Mr. Bookkeeper!¡± ¡°All right, all right!¡± Tarrick laughs from behind his counter, sticking out from the side of the Lennox, his trusty old companion. In other words, his boathouse. Eyes closed from smiling so much, Tarrick lifts both paws up. ¡°Calm down, cubs! At this rate, you¡¯ll wake the dead! What is it?¡± One of the oldest girls, Ralofina, who also happens to be his cousin, pushes forward and offers him¡­ ¡°Happy graduation day!¡± A bouquet of wildflowers. Tarrick gasps, a paw sitting above his heart. ¡°Aw, you¡¯re too kind!¡± He catches the flowers Ralofina tosses him. Then he bows. And hits his head against the counter. Smooth, Tarrick. ¡°Thank you, thank you very much!¡° Giggles abound. ¡°Now, now, you lot haven¡¯t come to me this early in the morning to offer me flowers! Why else would you come here on Solace Day, hm? Oh! I remember! To get some freebies, perhaps?¡± A toddler, Jax, claps his chubby little paws. Tarrick smiles further. ¡°Hm, hm, hm, let me see what I have here¡­¡± Tarrick rummages around, grabbing at his inventory sitting on shelves inside the counter. Glass potion bottles, the bronze cash register, weighing scales, another book or two¡­ Ah! There! There¡¯s a big red bag full of books waiting for them, tucked away in the bottom-most shelf. Tarrick picks it up and pulls on the lever. The side of the Lennox closes up, one wood panel sliding back into place. Darkness follows. He climbs up to the top deck and walks the plank. Tarrick settles the red bag down on the dock, making a show of how big the thing is. ¡°Oof! Not good for my back.¡± He stretches, paws on his lower back. Something cracks. ¡°Now, now, now, what is this I have here¡­¡± His whole arm fits in the bag. Not only his arm. His head and his torso do, too. Tarrick¡¯s fur is ruffled when he shows them one of his latest treasures. A beautiful night blue and gold tome. He moves it around, inspecting every side. Tarrick flips through the pages. Page¡­ by¡­ page. Tongue sticking out of his mouth. Someone taps their foot. He grins. Tarrick offers the first book to Sagna, the baker¡¯s daughter. Her eyes are wide and full of wonder. But he takes the book back.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Ha, ha, ha! You know what the currency is today, huh?¡± She offers him a big, wide smile. ¡°Wonderful! You got it. A book for a smile. Here you go, little one.¡± The cubs pass the books around. Murmurs bubble up in the crowd. Oohs and aahs are shared as they look at the cherished titles. Some already plop down on the dock to read. Pride swells inside Tarrick. He¡¯s created a cult following of readers. How amazing. He wishes these cubs find escapism like he did when he was their age. Finally, the last book is given to Ralofina. They nod at each other. ¡°Now, now, come along!¡± Tarrick shoos them away. ¡°There¡¯s so much to do today.¡± ¡°Awww! But, Mr. Bookkeeper¡­!¡± ¡°No buts! You know what your parents would do to me if you were late to re-build.¡± As if summoned, a voice calls: ¡°Cuuuubs? Cuuuubs! Come here, you¡¯ll be late for the festival!¡± Gasps erupt all around. ¡°Coming, Mommy!¡± The toddlers grumble, but the preteens take them by the hand and guide them up the path and up the hill. Ralofina is the last one to leave. She offers him another big smile. ¡°Can I have another one? Pleeeeeaaaaase?¡± Tarrick barks a laugh. He drops the big red bag and starts to chase after Ralofina. She runs away, squealing. He kicks the empty air where her butt had been a few seconds ago. She goes so fast up the hill, she¡¯s almost running on four legs. He puts two paws like a cone around his snout and shouts: ¡°You devilish cousin, you! Get on with it! No more free books until next year!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll never catch me!¡± And with that, Ralofina disappears behind the hill. With an eternal spring in his step, Tarrick finishes packing up his boathouse. He gropes around for any broken pipe. Looks out for cracked planks or holes in the hull. Nothing. He checks again. And again. Not even a book has moved out of place underneath the main deck. Good. Very good. He doesn¡¯t want to think ¡°almost too good to be true.¡± He prefers thinking ¡°extraordinarily good.¡± Tarrick climbs out of the backstore, where he, well, stores his books. He walks by the helm and steps out at the prow. Tarrick grips the railings tight and breathes in the morning air. The shimmering river serpents around the mountains. He smiles. Last night was Affliction Day. It could¡¯ve been worse. This year has been good to them. When Tarrick steps back in the captain¡¯s cabin, he hears a yawn coming from a box in the corner. Something stretches. The same something flutters down and lands gracefully on the floor next to him. ¡°Everything all right, captain?¡± He looks down at Prothea. Some would call her his pet, in name only since she¡¯s a cat-owl with the rare ability to talk, but he prefers the term ¡®familiar¡¯. Don¡¯t tell her that, though. She bosses him around more than enough to be considered a friend. ¡°Everything¡¯s great. Why do you ask?¡± She gazes at her paw, as if looking for a non-existent wristwatch. ¡°Well, only because your grandmother would kill you ¨C and would probably skin me alive ¨C if you, oh I don¡¯t know, happened to be late for your own graduation. So, pray tell, what are you still doing here?¡± ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s nothing. And Grandma won¡¯t kill me, she¡¯s too sweet!¡± ¡°Huh, huh¡­¡± Prothea cranes her neck to look over his shoulder. Tarrick cocks his head to the side. ¡°What?¡± There¡¯s a knock against the wooden doorway. ¡°Too sweet. Are you sure?¡± Tarrick spins around. And freezes. ¡°Heeeeeeey! Look who it iiiiiis! Graaaandmaaaa¡­!¡± Grandma looks at him over her round glasses, chin down and eyes unmerciful. She looks¡­ stern. More stern than she ought to look in her flower-covered shawl, pink dress and purple slippers. Her cane still knocks against wood. They stare at each other. Tarrick doesn¡¯t move, eyes wide and shoulders creeping up towards his chin. Then, almost imperceptibly, Grandma¡¯s brow twitches. Her fa?ade cracks. She bursts out laughing, head thrown back and ears flapping with each burst. She points at him with one finger. ¡°You should see¡­! Oh, fluffy pie, you should see your face! You look like you¡¯ve been caught with your paw in the cookie jar! Calm down, I won¡¯t hurt you!¡± All tension releases from Tarrick¡¯s body. He was only playing, of course. Like she was. This was their thing, though some found it strange. Teasing was fun. Grandma looks around. ¡°What¡¯s going on with good old Lennox? Hm? Everything in order, captain?¡± ¡°Everything in order, indeed.¡± ¡°Good!¡± She clasps her paws together. ¡°So you won¡¯t have a problem taking some minutes off your oh so important free time and get dressed up for today, then?¡± Tarrick gapes at her. He scrunches his nose, most probably looking immensely affronted. That¡¯s the energy he wants to send out into the world, anyway. Tarrick pats his torso. Then, he pats his bicorn hat sitting between his ears. It¡¯s clean. There¡¯s barely a hole in his socks and he washed his shirt two days ago! ¡°Dressed up? What¡¯s wrong with my clothes?¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong with your¡­? Ha! You¡¯re a funny little cub.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a cub anymore.¡± ¡°Right, right¡­¡± Grandma curls an arm around his shoulder and, with her paw gripping his shoulder and the other holding steadfast to her cane, she leads Tarrick out of the Lennox and onto the dock. She sends a look behind him and his ears twitch when he hears Prothea¡¯s wings flap as she follows. Prothea lands on Grandma¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Come on. We¡¯ll get you all dolled up. And after the ceremony, there¡¯s something I need to show you.¡± Season I | Episode I | Chapter II Season I | Episode I | Chapter II ¡°Zylgella, Tarrick!¡± Tarrick steps forward on the stage. People cheer. He looks around. The small square is packed. The stage¡¯s wood groans under their weight. They¡¯re a lot who graduate this year, the biggest class to finish school yet. That¡¯s a good sign. They¡¯re a little village and while it¡¯s mostly peaceful, they¡¯ve lost a lot of people on that dreadful day three years ago. He tries not to think about it. Now¡¯s the time to be hopeful, not dreary. Tarrick walks up to Mr. Pamks, his old master at the telegraph station, and accepts his diploma. Mr. Pamks beams at him, white nose twitching. Tarrick nods at him and takes back his place in the rank. He¡¯s the last one. The mayor steps forward, all toothy smiles and grand arm gestures. People clap. Now it¡¯s time for another speech about facing adversity. Well. They do need it every year. Morale is always good, in his books. Ha. In his books. ¡°People of High Tobain¡­¡± Tarrick tunes out the mayor soon enough. It¡¯s not that he¡¯s not interested, the problem is, it¡¯s the fifth time he¡¯s heard that speech since this mayor was elected five years ago. Three times each Solace Day festival. So three times five equals fifteen. It gets repetitive after a while. Something itches at the back of his mind. Grandma mentioned something earlier. While leaving the Lennox. Something about¡­ showing him something. Curiosity flashes through him. What did she mean ? He bites down a smile. Maybe she wants to show him her own diploma from when she graduated. Or maybe she wants to show him her playing cards collection. Does she still collect those from half a world away? ¡°Once again, we¡¯re thankful to our wonderful people for taking care of each other during the last Affliction Day. Now, come on, people! Time to start the New Year festival, shall we?¡± People cheer. Hurray! Now¡¯s the time to go talk to Grandma about¡­ something. People cheer when Tarrick walks them by. Too many people to count, the post officer, the baker, the gardener¡­ All those people he¡¯s known all his life. Grandma¡¯s waiting for him with open arms and teary eyes. He hugs her without a second thought. The crowd parts around them. Ralofina and her mother, Aunt Xutha, come to wish him well and walk away. Prothea jumps from Grandma¡¯s shoulder and onto his head, underneath his bicorn hat. Tarrick buries his nose in the crook of Grandma¡¯s neck and breathes in her scent. Peppermint and lavender. Her favourite. Tarrick glances around. Others are doing the same. Hugging their cubs, clinging to them. His throat feels tight. If there¡¯s any word one could use to describe Tarrick, it would be ¡°hopeful¡±. He hopes beyond measure, he wants to cheer everyone up with his books. But there¡¯s no denying reality. The future is uncertain for a lot of people. He¡¯s lucky he¡¯s got his bookshop. Tarrick counts his blessings. He closes his eyes and hopes this moment will last forever. Of course it doesn¡¯t. Grandma pushes him away. Two paws grasping his shoulders, she looks Tarrick in the eyes. Her body is rocked by one long breath. Her voice shakes when she says: ¡°They¡¯d be so proud of you.¡± ¡°¡­ Thank you.¡± Prothea¡¯s tail appears from underneath his hat. Flicking from left to right like a clock¡¯s pendulum. The disheartened atmosphere is shattered. Tarrick and Grandma rumble with laughter. Arms in, arms out, they start to leave the emptying square. People bustle around, chatting with their neighbours, opening windows wide. Spring has arrived and a new sense of purpose sweeps into the small streets and alleyways. The smell of baking bread reaches Tarrick. The air feels fresh on his fur. New. Life is resuming, once again. Affliction Day¡¯s protective gear falls away as they walk. High Tobainians can¡¯t afford a lot of Meaningful equipment, but the small amount they have goes a long way. Enormous bubbles pop, vine walls sink back into their pots and steel shields turn back into paper. Until next year. Until the next natural disaster.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Now¡¯s not the time to think about it. Now¡¯s the time to enjoy the blossoming day. People wave and congratulate them on the way to Grandma¡¯s house. Soon, Tarrick, Grandma and Prothea reach the end of the main cobblestone road and climb the hill over looking High Tobain. Tarrick stops a few steps away from the front door. He breathes in the pure air and smiles. This has always been his favourite part about living in Grandma¡¯s house. He had been living there before he renovated Grandpa¡¯s old boat into a bookshop. Anyway. This is what he enjoys the most. Outside. The view is beautiful up here, the tall snow-capped mountains touching the fluffy white clouds and casting shadows upon the deep valleys below. Green grass covered with fragrant violet and white flowers is hidden at times by pockets of mountane forest. Tarrick¡¯s eye follows the winding river, past the dock, down to the town and far away from it. Beyond the horizon, the earth cuts clean off into the sea. The Great Cliff awaits. Beyond, there is a great wide world Tarrick doesn¡¯t particularly care to see. He¡¯s got his Grandma, Prothea, the town¡¯s folks and his boathouse to keep him company. Oh, and his tiny pieces of happiness, too. How can he forget books? ¡°Tarrick? What are you¡­ What are you doing, exactly?¡± ¡°Enjoying the view, Grandma.¡± ¡°Right, right, right. Come on, I need to show you this. Hurry!¡± His curiosity piqued, Tarrick follows her inside the two-story red and white cottage. Inside is everything the outside is not. Green and blues turn to purples and pinks. The air becomes saturated with peppermint. Every surface available is covered in porcelain trinkets and old photographs. He sees them, all that Grandma¡¯s collected through the years, but he can barely think about them because of the smell. Grandma doesn¡¯t seem to mind, though. She guides him past the living room and up the flight of stairs. Then, she pulls on a string and the attic¡¯s ladder slides down effortlessly. Grandma points up. Tarrick stares. Prothea jumps from his shoulder and peeks upwards. Still, Tarrick stares. Is she¡­ Is she serious? ¡°What do you want to show me in the attic?¡± ¡°Humor me, will you?¡± ¡°All right.¡± He climbs. The attic is everything¡­ well, everything you¡¯d imagine an attic in your grandother¡¯s house would look like. Piles upon piles of cardboard boxes, wooden crates and bags, full of goods from time immemorial, obstruct every inch of space around him. Dust itches at his throat. Sunlight barely filters through the dirty round window. Prothea sniffs at a box and skitters away, her back arched and her wings¡¯ feathers raised, using a cat-owl body language¡¯s equivalent of ¡°nope, nope, nope!¡± Tarrick still looks around. There¡¯s nothing he considers to be¡­ out of the ordinary. ¡°What do you want to show me, Grandma?¡± Her head pops in the trapdoor. She huffs. ¡°This is what I wanted to show you!¡± Tarrick stretches his arms wide. He gestures vaguely. ¡°The¡­ attic?¡± ¡°Yes! The attic! That¡¯s your graduation gift!¡± ¡°You¡¯re¡­ giving me your attic?¡± ¡°Giving you my¡­?¡± Grandma laughs. A raspy, quick and quiet kind of laugh. ¡°No, not the entire attic!Wouldn¡¯t fit on the Lennox. I want you to pick something. Anything.¡± ¡°Anything?¡± ¡°Anything catches your eye? It¡¯s yours. But be careful: you can only pick one thing.¡± ¡°¡­ Oh. Um. Thank you?¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, fluffy pie. Now, go out and explore!¡± At first, he doesn¡¯t really know what to do. Everything looks the same. Then Tarrick¡¯s eyes adjust to the dark and he starts to notice¡­ things. A bric-¨¤-brac of things. Old-fashioned lamps. A worn carpet. A well-loved stack of books beg him to be picked up from their spots on their shelf, but he¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯s got all of those books already. Twice. A thought flutters through his mind, but wanders off too quickly for him to catch it. Tarrick starts to walk further away from the attic¡¯s trapdoor. At first, he thinks he¡¯s wandering aimlessly. Staring at too much stuff accumulated throughout the years and left to rot for a rainy day. But then Tarrick realizes¡­ no. He¡¯s not wandering. He¡¯s walking with purpose. There¡¯s something pulling him along. Not quite a purpose. But¡­ something else. The air prickles with energy. He looks around but nothing catches his eye. Until a crate falls down from its pile. Tarrick jumps out of the way, paws shielding his face. A loud crash bursts in his ears. A cloud of dust fills his lungs. Tarrick coughs. Once the air is breathable again, he blinks and opens his eyes. ¡°Sorry,¡± says Prothea, sitting on top of the pile of junk. She doesn¡¯t look sorry. Tarrick rubs away the dust on his coat. ¡°You could¡¯ve warned me.¡± ¡°My bad.¡± Tarrick takes a look at the fallen crate. The crash split it open. Inside, there¡¯s¡­ how strange. An old suitcase. Well, it looks old. It must be. It¡¯s old-fashioned. The top is covered with dust. But it almost looks¡­ brand new. Tarrick runs his paw on the reddish-brown leather. The corners are metallic, golden and scratched. Tarrick rubs away at a plaque and gold shines through old dirt. His father¡¯s name is engraved in the plaque. What a beautiful find. There¡¯s bound to be a story or two tucked inside. Something clicks in him. This is it. This is what he was meant to find in Grandma¡¯s attic. He doesn¡¯t know why. Or how. But he knows, he¡¯s certain, this is what Grandma meant by ¡°catching his eye¡±. Prothea glides down to him with a few beats of her wings. ¡°Want to open it?¡± she prompts. ¡°¡­ Yeah. I want to keep it.¡± A shadow spreads, long and wide, over him. Tarrick looks up. Grandma gives him a wide smile. ¡°Good choice,¡± she says. ¡°I knew you could do it.¡± Season I | Episode I | Chapter III Season I | Episode I | Chapter III They all sit in a circle by the round window. Grandma, who¡¯s sitting opposite Tarrick, pulls on the bronze latch. The old suitcase screeches open. Prothea covers her ears. Tarrick barely notices; he¡¯s too absorbed by this moment. For it feels like a moment, the kind you hold your breath for. He can¡¯t see inside the suitcase, but he can see Grandma above the opened top. Her face crinkles into a smile. Melancholy shines behind her glasses. As if she were seeing an old acquaintance. ¡°This¡­ is a Chronicler¡¯s best friend,¡± she says. Or an old friend, it seems. ¡°What¡¯s a Chronicler?¡± asks Tarrick. Grandma¡¯s eyes are razor-sharp when she looks at him. She spins the suitcase around and he can see inside. The suitcase is neatly organized in three sections. Leather-bound journals await him in one section. They look deliciously old. When he flips through their dust-smelling pages, he realizes they¡¯re blank. All of them. Entirely blank. In the next section, there¡¯s an ink pot, a feather pen, and a few spare ink bottles. Everything one might need for calligraphy. The third section tells him a lot less about what a Chronicler is. Tucked neatly in a corner is a pile of old-fashioned parchment maps. They¡¯re old, which means they¡¯re outdated, and every map is outdated when every year, the world changes at the pace of natural disasters. As far as Tarrick knows, there could still be a desert and a town over there, but he can¡¯t be sure. Tarrick puts down the maps. ¡°Is a Chronicler¡­ a writer?¡± ¡°Something like that.¡± Grandma taps her white snout. ¡°Let me tell you a story.¡± Tarrick leans closer and listens. ¡°A long time ago, there was Moffram. She was one of the poor souls who lived through the first Affliction Day. They say she was kind and unashamedly curious. Moffram was a powerful Academist, part of those few with an Affinity for Meaning. These people can imbue Meaning into objects, this power keeps us alive through these disasters nowadays. Well, Moffram came up with the idea of using Meaningful objects to protect people from the Afflictions. That idea travelled fast and soon, it saved countless lives. Villages and cities can be rebuilt in a matter of a day or two now! But Moffram wasn¡¯t satisfied.¡± Grandma took a dramatic pause. Prothea lies down on her back, eyes closed, enjoying a warm spot in the sunlight, but Tarrick knows she¡¯s listening. Her ear is perked up. ¡°Moffram was curious about the way the world works. She loved mysteries. How do people in far off places deal with Affliction Day? How do they use Meaning in their daily lives? What kind of creatures live out there, undiscovered? So she became the first Chronicler. She travelled far and wide to compile¡­¡± Grandma stops, as if to look for the right word. ¡°Everything.¡± ¡°Everything? Like what?¡± Tarrick asks. Grandma''s eye twinkle. ¡°You''ll know when you see it.¡± ¡°Me? What do you mean?¡± ¡°I¡¯m getting there. Moffram was the curious sort. But she was also never satisfied. Some say she travelled too far. What people say doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is: one day, she disappeared. No one knows how or why, but she was gone. She didn¡¯t leave nothing behind, though. She left her journals, imbued with Meaning. The same journals you¡¯re holding in your hands. She also left behind an apprentice who would continue her work as a Chronicler. For you see, after the apprentice copied Moffram¡¯s adventures, the journals erased themselves. For the purpose of a Chronicler is always to start again. The world rewrites itself every year; there¡¯s always something new to see or discover.¡± ¡°But what¡¯s all this to do about me?¡± Grandma¡¯s shoulders sink. ¡°Moffram¡¯s apprentice taught an apprentice, who taught an apprentice, who taught an apprentice. Years ago, I, too, was taught the craft of a Chronicler. I travelled far and wide, like Moffram before me, until I met your grandfather and settled down here.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Grandma stops talking. She opens her mouth. Closes it. It looks painful when she pushes the words out: ¡°Your father was my apprentice.¡± Tarrick¡¯s breath catches in his throat. ¡°My¡­ father?¡± ¡°My dear Jorty. He was trained. He travelled. Then, he met your mother and settled down to raise you. That¡¯s what tends to happen with Chroniclers, though not all of them do. Some continue well into their old age. But they all teach an apprentice. My son¡­ Your father never got the chance.¡± ¡°Because of Affliction Day three years ago.¡± Grandma shakes away the pain. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t teach you.¡± ¡°Me.¡± Tarrick gapes at her. ¡°You¡¯re really considering¡­ me¡­ to be¡­?¡± He sputters. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m flattered, Grandma, but I¡¯m not¡­ but¡­ ¡± The thoughts jumble in his mind. There¡¯s so much to consider. How can he sell books while, at best, on the run? How will they eat? How will they live? Still, he presses on: ¡°I can''t go on my own! I can''t leave you here! I¡¯ve got the Lennox and you and Fina and Prothea and¡­¡± ¡°That''s why I''m coming with you! And on the Lennox, too!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You own a boat, Tarrick! Use it!¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°It feels like I¡¯ve been waiting all my life for this!¡± Grandma leaps up to her feet. He¡¯s never seen her this agile before. She talks fast and the words blur past her mouth. ¡°Or, well, the past few years until you¡¯d graduate school and would be free enough to leave this dreadfully boring town.¡± ¡°You love living here,¡± Prothea deadpans, talking for the first time. But Grandma isn¡¯t listening. Her paws are clasped together and she¡¯s looking up. ¡°Ah, to live the good old days again, to see the world!¡± ¡°Wait, Grandma!¡± ¡°How many dangerous adventures await us? What kind of monsters will we face?¡± ¡°Grandma!¡± ¡°The life of a Chronicler. How exciting!¡± ¡°No, Grandma!¡± Tarrick¡¯s voice rings in his own ears. He rises to his feet. ¡°I can¡¯t leave High Tobain. I can¡¯t! It¡¯s not¡­ I want to. But I simply can¡¯t! Cannot! Don¡¯t you see?¡± Tarrick grabs his ears and pulls down. ¡°There is nothing you can tell me that will convince me to be the next Chronicler!¡± Early the next morning, Tarrick is packing his bags. Tarrick¡¯s hands tremble as he finishes tying his bag¡¯s straps. He looks around. It didn¡¯t take long to empty the few things he¡¯d left at Grandma¡¯s house when he moved out. The rest is already inside the Lennox. Yesterday was three-hundred-and-sixty-five days until Affliction Day. Now, there¡¯s only three-hundred-and-sixty-four days left. The tiniest ray of light filters in through the window. It¡¯s really, really early in the morning. No one in High Tobain rises before the sunrise. That¡¯s why it¡¯s called the sunrise; it rises first. Tarrick feels heavy. Not just from the lack of sleep. He feels heavy thinking about what¡¯s happening right now. He¡¯s leaving. He¡¯s really leaving. Towards¡­ who knows? Deadly serpents? Stormy skies? This is foolish. No, worse. This is dangerous. Grandma is going to get them all killed. Or worse. Is there anything worse than being killed? Tarrick looks at the door. Maybe this isn¡¯t¡­ so bad. There¡¯s a little voice inside him telling him rebellious things. If Grandma¡¯s not happy, maybe he should be doing this for her. Keep watch over her. He brightens at the thought. Right. That¡¯s a good point. He¡¯ll consider it like this: he¡¯s going with her and he¡¯ll chronicle their journey. Keep them safe. And sooner rather than later, they¡¯ll come back home. Safe. That¡¯s the important part. Being safe. And coming home. Tarrick breathes in. Breathes out. All right. Time to go. Grandma and Prothea are waiting for Tarrick on the front porch. Grandma has wrapped an old, almost faded shawl around her shoulders. She¡¯s sitting on the swing and one back paw pushes on the ground to make it go back and forth. A steady rythm. One paw holds onto the shawl and the other absentmindedly stares into the distance. She doesn¡¯t even see him, at first. And he¡¯s never seen Grandma like this. So calm and peaceful. Contemplative. Gazing out into the distance. Tarrick clears his throat. Grandma brightens at him. ¡°You¡¯re ready? Let¡¯s go!¡± Fog clings to the mountains as Tarrick, Grandma and Prothea walk down the hill. They turn east of the path, towards the river dock. The Lennox awaits. Solemn. Yet, not alone. Tarrick smiles for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, it seems. The cubs of High Tobain have all come to see him leave. They¡¯re here. All here! Some are yawning and rubbing at their eyes. But they¡¯re here! Ralofina suddenly points. ¡°There he is!¡± The ground rumbles under the footfalls of a dozen pairs of paws. A crowd runs to him and a dozen pairs of arms wrap around him. Tarrick almost falls backwards, but Grandma keeps him upright with a push of her cane. Tarrick grins at Grandma and she smiles back. He laughs. The kind of laugh that releases all tension in your bones in stressful times. Tarrick blinks away tears of mirth. He didn¡¯t want to leave before he could see them. He really didn¡¯t. ¡°You all came!¡± ¡°Of course, we did, Tarry!¡± Ralofina put her fists on her hips. ¡°You thought we¡¯d let you leave without saying goodbye? How rude!¡± ¡°Thank you. Thank you so much.¡± There¡¯s not a dry eye as Grandma, Prothea and him finish packing the Lennox. Tarrick counts again in his head. Enough food, enough water, enough potions in case someone gets sick, enough ropes¡­ The steel shields are operational, the sails are sewn tight, the motor sputters to life. And they have enough books to sell for a lifetime. Check, check, check, check. Good. They¡¯re ready. ¡°Tarry!¡± Tarrick lets Grandma take the helm and looks out the captain¡¯s cabin. ¡°What?¡± Ralofina smiles. A tearful one. ¡°Come back with more books!¡± He waves with his bicorn hat. ¡°You know me too well! Goodbye, cubs!¡± ¡°Goodbye, goodbye!¡± Thus they release the Lennox from its dock. And they¡¯re off. Season I | Episode II | Chapter I Season I | Episode II | Chapter I 335 days until Affliction Day Thirty days. A month. Thirty. Days. They¡¯ve been stuck here. For. Thirty. Days. Tarrick isn¡¯t bothered much, at least. He has books to read. But Grandma isn¡¯t that easy to entertain. Every day is spent pacing around the Lennox, baking, cooking, cleaning, exercising, playing cards, listening to the radio, doing everything she can to make the endless time go by quicker. Tarrick¡¯s great adventure as a Chronicler hasn¡¯t started as great as they¡¯d all hoped. As soon as they¡¯d reached the Great Cliff, a few hours by boat down the river from High Tobain, they¡¯d been stopped at the Border. Which meant the last canal blocking their path until they¡¯d fall to their deaths, down the waterfall and straight off the cliff. You¡¯d think that¡¯d be a good thing. To stop there. Fom what Tarrick had learned during his geography classes, the world had once been whole and then it had cracked in thin pieces vertically. Around here, the Great Cliffs weren¡¯t seen as the last step before death. They were seen as the first step towards the other side. The river fell into a waterfall, but above it had been built a bridge to let boats and travellers get to the other side. Not today, though. Not for a long, long time. The canal workers have gone on vacation. They won¡¯t open the water bridge to let them pass for the foreseeable future. Thirty days ago, they were stuck. They¡¯re still stuck. And Grandma is getting bored. Tarrick flips his page over. He¡¯s already read King Cathur and the Felines of the Round Table twice, but that doesn¡¯t mean he can¡¯t read it again. But then Grandma sighs. And again. And again. ¡°Yes?¡± he asks, clapping his book shut. ¡°You¡¯re always reading. Don¡¯t you ever do something else?¡± ¡°I cook and I bake and I do all the things you do. I like to play cards, too. Do you want to play?¡± She pouts. Meaning grace him, she looks miserable. ¡°No, not particularly.¡± ¡°Then what do you think we should do?¡± She looks around. For a while. For a really long while. From her seat in an armchair, Grandma eyes each book, each inch of table, each knick-knack she¡¯s collected over the years. For when Grandma moved in the Lennox - that is, thirty days ago now - she¡¯d moved in with a box full of knick-knacks she bought on multiple trips during her time as Chronicler. She¡¯d spent the first week telling Tarrick and Prothea all about each individual object¡¯s purpose and the stories behind them. But then she¡¯d run out of stories about monster teeth and tiny forks embedded with sapphires and there they were, stuck in the Lennox for the time being. Grandma sighs. Once again. She gazes at the two of them. Almost mournfully. Prothea¡¯s sleeping in a corner. He¡¯s reading. He had been reading before putting his book aside. Thing is, Tarrick can see it in her eyes, there isn¡¯t anything she wants to do. Not here. Not in here, at least. How are they going to survive travelling around the world for who knows how long¡­ when they¡¯re bored before they¡¯ve even left High Tobain¡¯s land? Tarrick sniffs the air. There¡¯s something strange at foot. The ceiling looks hazy. Is that¡­ smoke? ¡°Hey¡­ what¡¯s that smell?¡± BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Tarrick nearly jumps out of his skin when the alarm rings. Prothea does, though. Jump out of her skin. She¡¯s on her feet so fast, she¡¯s basically a blur. A long screech echoes in Tarrick¡¯s ears. And the alarm blares. Grandma grabs her cane and runs to the kitchen area. She grabs a towel and waves it around like a flag. Tarrick lets out a sigh of relief when the alarm finally shuts off. Yep, still up there, that¡¯s definitely smoke. It¡¯s thick and makes his throat itchy and his eyes water. Smoke leaks through a crack in the oven. ¡°Meaning be with me,¡± swears Grandma. The oven beeps shut. ¡°I forgot my pie!¡± ¡°All right, enough!¡± orders a grumpy Prothea, sitting on the arm of Tarrick¡¯s armchair. ¡°You and you, get out of here! I need sleep!¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°You sleep all the time,¡± counters Tarrick. Prothea closes her eyes and raises her chin. ¡°Maybe so. But not for a lack of reason! I haven¡¯t slept at all in days, let me tell you! Nights, to be precise! Your grandmother has been keeping me awake for too many hours to count with her snoring. And now this! I need to sleep. So please. Get out!¡± ¡°Well,¡± argues Tarrick, ¡°this is my boat and I will do as I please.¡± ¡°And,¡± adds Grandma, ¡°this was my boat before yours, dare I say!¡± Prothea scratches at Tarrick¡¯s face. He jumps away and shields himself with his paws. Prothea flutters over to a shelf. She turns her head and stares Grandma dead in the eye. With a flick of her paw, Prothea launches a poor porcelain polefox down onto the ground. It shatters into a thousand pieces. Grandma gasps. ¡°Scratchy, no! How dare you?¡± ¡°Get out of here or I¡¯ll do that with all those porcelain treasures of yours. Get. Out!¡± When Grandma protests, Prothea flies across the room, flapping her wings vigorously. Grandma and Tarrick climb half-backwards up the ladder and onto the first deck. Still, Prothea is unrelenting. She shows them the door. Soon enough, Grandma and Tarrick are thrown out of their own boathouse. Tarrick¡¯s boathouse. The boathouse that used to belong to Grandma. The Lennox. Anyway. Tarrick jumps ship and ends up on the riverbank. ¡°Wonderful,¡± huffs Grandma. ¡°Simply wonderful!¡± In other circumstances, the canal owners might have prompted them to get back on board. But there¡¯s no one to tell them no and there¡¯s also no one waiting after them to cross the Border. Except¡­ A boat rides down the river. At full speed. Pushed along by a spell, no doubt. Someone is at the helm. Tarrick frowns. He sticks a finger in his ear. What¡¯s that sound? Some kind of insect buzzing? No. There¡¯s no insect nearby. Tarrick follows the sound. He gasps through the nose. It¡¯s the person on board who makes that sound. A scream. A long, petrified scream. That¡¯s when it dawns on Tarrick. That person¡¯s not stopping. At all. Tarrick looks at Grandma. Grandma looks at Tarrick. They start to wave. ¡°Wait! Stop! ¡°You need to stop!¡± ¡°There¡¯s a boat there, stop!¡± ¡°IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN¡¯T STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!¡± An idea springs in Tarrick¡¯s mind. He has to act. Quickly. If he wants to save the Lennox - and their trip around the world - before it¡¯s too late. Tarrick leaps back on board the boathouse. His heart beats furiously in his ears. His blood pumps at his temples. Tarrick skids down the ladder and inside the back store. Prothea perks up. Her fur becomes prickly, needle-like, and her wings flap. ¡°What. Did I. Tell you?¡± ¡°No time for that. I¡¯m trying to avoid a crash, so if you¡¯d please excuse me!¡± ¡°What?¡± Tarrick looks around. No time to explain. He sprints to the back of the back store. He pulls down on the lever embedded in the wall. Soon, the light filtering through the windows disappears. An eclipse when there¡¯s not supposed to be one. Tarrick grabs the closest thing he can brace himself on. The nearest bookshelf. Tarrick closes his eyes. Prothea is relentless. Her voice bellows in his ear. ¡°I beg your pardon? What do you think you¡¯re doing? What¡¯s going on? What-?¡± Tarrick wraps an arm around Prothea and pulls her close to him. Her claws dig into his side. ¡°What¡¯s happening? TARRICK!¡± There¡¯s the sound of wood grating against metal and the Lennox is propelled forward. Tarrick¡¯s grip on the bookshelf falters. He crashes to the floor. Prothea¡¯s flapping wings barely make any difference. The Lennox crashes. He knows into what. Into the canal wall. Up front. The Lennox¡¯s prow lifts up. Tarrick slides on the floor and into a table. It¡¯s not over. The Lennox falls back into the river. Everything shakes. Books fall from their shelves and a lamp crashes. Then all becomes still. Tarrick closes his eyes and waits. Nothing. Not a sound. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s finally over. Prothea squeezes herself out of his grasp and shakes herself. Slowly, oh so slowly, Tarrick tries to get up. He groans. There¡¯s a pain in his side from where he hit the table. Nothing seems to be broken. Tarrick lifts his shirt and looks. Oof. There¡¯s an ugly pruplish bruise already forming there. Upon his rib. Wonderful. He¡¯s going to feel that in the morning. Who is he kidding? He¡¯s already feeling it. At first, there¡¯s only silence. Then a roar cuts in through the ship¡¯s walls and into his ears. ¡°WHAT¡¯S WRONG WITH YOU??!?¡± Grandma. ¡°What was that?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me. That was your grandma. But what was¡­ was that an earthquake? What happened? Tarrick, tell me!¡± ¡°Nothing much happened. Someone just crashed their boat into us.¡± ¡°What?!¡± Tarrick doesn¡¯t answer. He limps up the ladder and onto the top deck. Prothea follows. Docilely. Which is out of character, to say the least. Tarrick figures she doesn¡¯t have another choice if she wants to understand what¡¯s going on. It¡¯s difficult, but he manages to get back on shore. Grandma has already boarded the other boat. It¡¯s a small dinghy, much smaller than the Lennox. To make such a ruckus, that thing must¡¯ve been going even faster than he¡¯d first thought. The dinghy¡¯s prow is destroyed, pushed down into the Lennox¡¯s stern. Tarrick follows the sound of Grandma¡¯s voice onto the dingy. He doesn¡¯t need to ask permission to board. Now¡¯s not the time for pleasantries. When he reaches them, Grandma is right in the driver¡¯s face. Tarrick blinks. He knows him. That¡¯s one of Rolafina¡¯s neighbours in town. What is Mr. Osxian doing here? Grandma doesn¡¯t ask him that. ¡°WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT, LAD?¡± She yells so loud, Tarrick fears they might hear her way back in High Tobain. ¡°HOW CAN YOU BE SO RECKLESS? YOU COULD¡¯VE KILLED US ALL!¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Osxian opens his mouth and closes it, opens and closes. His two paws grip the helm. He¡¯s trembling. ¡°I¡¯m trying to get away from my dead great-uncle.¡± Season I | Episode II | Chapter II Season I | Episode II | Chapter II Well, Tarrick¡¯s life as a Chronicler starts out weird indeed. He¡¯s climbing up a hill. After Mr. Osxian, Ralofina¡¯s neighbour and, now that he remembers, also her private music teacher. Tarrick¡¯s not following Mr. Osxian, though. He¡¯s following Grandma. Who¡¯s holding Mr. Osxian¡¯s paw into hers. As if he were a child crossing the road. They¡¯re only the three of them; Prothea decided to stay home. And take care of the Lennox. Why? If by some odd chance or miracle, the canal workers were back and they could be set off on their way again, she could come and tell them to come back. That seems unlikely, though. The sun is setting, turning the sky and its clouds to pinks and oranges. The moon appears, even before the stars do. Meanwhile, Tarrick climbs. And Osxian whines. And Grandma doesn¡¯t give Osxian an inch of space to whine. As usual, then. ¡°Mrs. Zylgella, please! Listen to me. I don¡¯t want anything to do with what my great-uncle had. I don¡¯t care about his estate! He was strange and distant and I never liked him. No one did.¡± ¡°I do know Old Leohomin, may he rest in peace, wasn¡¯t a great fellow. But he was my father¡¯s friend and he taught me how to play cards once upon a time and I won¡¯t let you throw away the chance to honour his memory! Do you know what he¡¯s gifted you?¡± Ah, yes. The good old ¡°my great-uncle gave me some strange inheritance and now I have to step up into his shoes even if I don¡¯t want to¡± schtick. Is that a schtick? In any case, it doesn¡¯t really matter to Tarrick. They still have to climb up that hill on the side of a mountain, even higher than High Tobain. He really hopes there¡¯s some warm food waiting for him. Or a bath. Maybe both. Both sounds amazing. What did Old Leohomin give to his great-nephew anyway? ¡°A legacy, that¡¯s what,¡± says Grandma. ¡°You don¡¯t have to follow in his footsteps. You can do whatever you want with it. But do it well. That¡¯s all I¡¯m asking you.¡± They finally reach the top of the hill. Tarrick wants to die. Or turn into a puddle. Or, again, both. Tarrick leans his paws against his knees, catching his breath. Mr. Osxian does, too. Grandma barely looks out of breath. She taps her cane impatiently against the rocky ground. There¡¯s a beautiful view from up here, but Tarrick can¡¯t take the time to look. Grandma stretches her arms wide on either sides of her. ¡°You¡¯re sure this is here?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± huffs Mr. Osxian. ¡°The letter said to go here.¡± Right. The letter Mr. Osxian had woken up to in the morning, weeks after his great-uncle¡¯s passing, as he¡¯d explained earlier. But there¡¯s nothing here. Only a big grey rocky hill, some sort of middle step between the ravines. Empty. Wait. Not quite. Upon giving the hill a closer look, Tarrick sees¡­ ruins. They¡¯re small and blend in with the environment. But they¡¯re there. Too carved to be natural. Ruins. Old blocks pile in the shape of¡­ Tarrick can¡¯t really tell. Is that a wall? Could that have been a wall, once upon a time? Tarrick walks closer into the square of ruins. That was a wall. And that was another wall. But nothing else remains. He remembered Old Leohomin as a strange Davrian indeed, spending his last few days in the town¡¯s nursing home playing cards and telling everyone who would listen about how he couldn¡¯t wait when the time would come. Tarrick had never come to visit, but he¡¯d heard about him through the town¡¯s gossip. That was a few weeks ago. Was Old Leohomin strange enough to¡­ gift his great-nephew old ruins? Surely they¡¯d have to send for an archaeological team, now. There ought to be treasure hidden here. ¡°Hey¡­ what is that?¡± Tarrick spins around. Mr. Osxian has walked up to the highest standing wall. It¡¯s closest to the second ravine and almost completely blends in with the sheer rock. You can barely see the stones. Everything is covered in vines. Grandma takes out her pocket knife from inside her purse and starts to cut away at the vines. Tarrick steps closer. There! He sees it! There¡¯s a door. An old door, wood half-eaten by insects, bronze doorknob turned green in splotches. The keyhole looks¡­ brand new, though. How strange. Strange like Old Leohomin was. ¡°Should we¡­ try to open it?¡± Tarrick suggests. Unsure.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Great-Uncle gave me the letter,¡± says Mr. Osxian, paw in his pocket. ¡°He also gave me this.¡± A bronze key glistens in the sunset¡¯s last light. ¡°He gave you¡­ a key?¡± ¡°It was in the envelope. I wonder¡­ if¡­¡± The key fits right in the keyhole. Tarrick holds his breath. Mr. Osxian turns the key. Light pours in. Blinding. Tarrick can¡¯t see anything but searing white. Groans reach his ears. They¡¯re drowned out by a low sound. Kind of the screech of a cat-owl. But not quite. It¡¯s different. Raw. It becomes louder and louder. Higher-pitched by the second. He¡¯s never experienced Meaning that made sound before. Because this is Meaning. More concentrated than he¡¯s ever felt. Goosebumps bloom on his arms and he starts to tremble. Then nothing. Tarrick¡¯s ears buzz. But the sound is gone. Red and white luminous spots light the inside of his eyelids. But there¡¯s no more light. As soon as it has started. It all ends. Tarrick opens his eyes. And gasps. The wall has expanded. It¡¯s become the front entryway of a massive piece of infrastructure. There¡¯s a house here now. No, not a house. A mansion. Three storeys of massive windows are lined along a cream-coloured wall. Columns support the front door porch. The wall stretches out far to his left and far to his right. The mansion is as wide as the hill can stretch. That¡¯s when Tarrick realizes. His eyes widen. This is only the front part of the fortress. The rest disappears inside the ravine¡¯s rock. How far deep into the mountain does that building go? How fascinating! ¡°What is this place?¡± asks Tarrick. Even no-nonsense Grandma looks awed. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Rockwell Mansion.¡± Grandma and Tarrick both look at Mr. Osxian. ¡°You know this place?¡± ¡°I remember¡­¡± Mr. Osxian¡¯s voice is soft and low. Revering. His paw is still wrapped around the key in the keyhole. ¡°Great-Uncle Leohomin told me a story when I was a child. But I always thought¡­ I always thought it was just a story. A legend. About a mansion inside a mountain. Filled with Meaning.¡± ¡°Filled with Meaning?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± They stand there. Unsure whether to move or not. Grandma isn¡¯t one to wait, though. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go.¡± Mr. Osxian turns the doorknob and opens the door. Energy prickles in Tarrick¡¯s fur, from the tip of his nose to his toes. It¡¯s a feeling Tarrick has come to recognize, after he opened the suitcase he still keeps safely under his bed on the Lennox. The feeling of Meaning saturating the air. Tarrick steps inside the mansion. He¡¯s greeted by soft purple and gold-starred carpets that swallow the sounds of footsteps. Warm lights are lit in lanterns on wall sconces. A hundred coats and shoes pile on the floor. They¡¯re in a long, thin hallway. Not the kind of grand entrance Tarrick was half-expecting. Thump, thump, thump. Was that the door? No. That came from¡­ up front. Someone¡¯s coming. But he doesn¡¯t see anyone. Tarrick frowns. ¡°Hello?¡± A gentleDavrian¡¯s hat turns around the corner. Yes. A floating gentleDavrian¡¯s hat. It walks towards them. Up, down, up, down. With each footsteps. A gentleDavrian¡¯s waistcoat, white shirt, pants and shoes accompany the hat. But the person is¡­ how incredible¡­ ¡°You¡¯re invisible,¡± points out Osxian, gobsmacked. ¡°Good deduction, detective,¡± says Grandma, rolling her eyes. The invisible gentleDavrian tips his hat. Tarrick does the same thing. He jumps up and down and Tarrick can¡¯t help but smile at that. The butler walks around them and grabs their coats. It feels weird. Invisible hands grabbing his coat and pulling. Tarrick chuckles. ¡°Why, thank you!¡± Mr. Osxian¡¯s, Grandma¡¯s and Tarrick¡¯s coats all end up being dumped unceremoniously on top of the pile. He¡¯s a butler then. Probably. The invisible butler beckons them forward. At least, that¡¯s what Tarrick thinks he¡¯s doing. His sleeves move. Towards them and towards him. Tarrick squints his eyes. Is he actually beckoning them forward? It¡¯s hard to tell when you can¡¯t see someone¡¯s hands. Or when they don¡¯t talk. Because the invisible butler doesn¡¯t talk. Maybe he¡¯s just shy? Tarrick opens his mouth. He hears himself say: ¡°I think he wants us to¡­¡± Grandma takes the buffalo-cow by the horns. ¡°All right, boys! Let¡¯s go.¡± She starts after the invisible butler. Mr. Osxian looks at Tarrick. Tarrick stares back. ¡°She¡¯s your Grandma.¡± ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s my Grandma.¡± They follow after her. Old portraits of Mr. Osxian¡¯s family members - young Davrians wearing monocles, top hats, high-collared dresses, feathered fans and fancy moustaches - line the walls. There¡¯s an entire family tree on that wall and Mr. Osxian points at each one of them. ¡°That¡¯s Great-Great-Great-Aunt Lunxenida. She was a scientist. Blew herself up during an experiment gone wrong. I think she was trying to find the cure for the common cold. Oh! That¡¯s Great-Great-Great-Great-Uncle Stronomyorin. He loved to go swimming and was caught in a hurricane. That¡¯s¡­¡± Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But apart from that, this great mansion feels a bit boring from the inside. Tarrick swallows down his disappointment, though. He keeps moving forward. His bright spirits are soon rewarded. The hallway opens up into a grand room. Sounds fill Tarrick¡¯s ears. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s been underwater all this time and his head has just broken the surface. He hears them now. Squeals of joy. Laughter. Lively music. Loud conversations reach him. The room is as lively as the music. Bright colours cling to the walls. Snow falls in a cloudless sky through tall windows that should be showing nothing but caves. Young Davrians in brightly-coloured costumes dance around the ballroom while others, sitting in front of an enormous fireplace filled with blue fire, play cards. Blue and cream and orange puffs of smoke flicker in and out. A little colourful being, blue and cream and orange, appears and disappears. Its laughter appears and disappears with it. Green candles are lit up high in golden chandeliers. Tarrick sees¡­ He sees something in the flames. Grandma grabs Tarrick¡¯s arm and pulls him down. He hears the whistle a second later. A tiny train flies by on invisible tracks. It choos-choos happily. Yet none of those things seem to have grabbed Mr. Osxian¡¯s attention, Tarrick notes He¡¯s looking elsewhere. At someone, to be precise. An old-fashionably dressed Davrian arrives, a cup of unspecified liquid in hand. A young Davrian. ¡°Great-Uncle Leohomin?¡± Season I | Episode II | Chapter III Season I | Episode II | Chapter III A violin hisses to a stop. All music dies. The dancers stop dancing and the guests all turn to them. Tarrick stares. Grandma stares. Mr. Osxian stares. They all stare. Yes. That¡¯s unmistakably Old Leohomin. Except now, he¡¯s not old. ¡°Hello, Velliard.¡± ¡°Am I dead? Are you dead? What is this place? What¡¯s going on?¡± Old Leohomin chuckles. He clasps his paws together. His voice isn¡¯t like Tarrick remembers. It¡¯s less¡­ grainy. Deeper. Full of life. Much like he is now. He¡¯s younger. Almost Mr. Osxian¡¯s age. Maybe a tad bit younger, even. Old Leohomin¡¯s fur is no long tinged with white, he¡¯s taller and muscular, he smiles more, he¡­ he looks happy. Tarrick never saw the old man look happy before. And, Tarrick figures, he should probably stop calling him ¡°Old Leohomin¡± in his head. ¡°Why don¡¯t we go to my office, hm? We can talk there.¡± Leohomin leads them out of the ballroom through a side door. Tarrick pulls at his collar under the dancers¡¯ stares. Relief floods him once he closes the side door. They¡¯re in another hallway, wider than the last one. Leohomin walks forward. Grandma, then Mr. Osxian, then Tarrick follow. Rows upon rows of doors are opened on either sides. Tarrick risks getting whiplash from looking from left to right so much. He cranes his neck. Every room is different. Every room is beautiful. In one, cubes made out of crackling ice glide around a cavernous room full of stalactites. In another, auras glow in the dark. In a third, multi-coloured rings the size of Tarrick¡¯s arm spin around indefinitely. Another room Armours glint in the light of burning torches. Another room. Oozing bubbles. And another room. A pyramid deep under the ocean. And another room¡­ ¡°So what is this place?¡± asks Tarrick. No one answers. Tarrick doesn¡¯t know when he stopped. He blinks a few times. The world flashes in and out at the speed of his blinking eyelids. Was he dreaming? Was he sleep-walking? He looks around. Arms stretched out. Neither Grandma, Leohomin or Mr. Osxian are there. He¡¯s all alone. Amidst a hundred doors that don¡¯t seem that enchanting anymore, all of a sudden. ¡°Um¡­ Grandma? Mr. Osxian? Old Leohomin? Hello?¡± Tarrick cracks his head inside a room. Beams of light pour in from open windows. They¡¯re deflected by a hundred mirrors standing upright at different intervals around the room. Tarrick taps his foot. The ground is firm. Hardwood. The walls are light and airy. Huh. This place doesn¡¯t seem so bad. Not as alien as some of the other rooms. He walks inside. The door slams behind him. Tarrick jumps and spins around. He twists and pulls on the doorknob. Nothing. It won¡¯t open! Why won¡¯t it open? Wonderful. A trap. Tarrick¡¯s teeth clatter. It¡¯s cold. So cold. Was it that cold a second ago? He rubs his paws against his upper arms. He turns back towards the middle of the room. Ice blooms upon the floor and up the walls. Frost. Snow. It starts to snow. ¡°Hello? Is anyone here? I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m lost! Leohomin?¡± The mirrors crack and break apart. The clash hurts his ears. As if a thousand knives ripped through the mirrors. Broken glass falls everywhere. Tiny bits of glass reflect the light beams into a thousand colours, some Tarrick¡¯s not even sure he¡¯s ever seen before. A trap door opens up in the ceiling. Light pours in, reflected by a million shards. Bright. White. Burning. Tarrick covers his eyes. ¡°What the-? What is this room? Help! Help me!¡± No one answers. The sound, the scream, he¡¯d heard once before, when Mr. Osxian had put the key in the keyhole, overwhelms his ears. Louder. Louder. Loud. So loud. He can¡¯t take it anymore¡­ ¡°Tarrick! Where¡¯s Tarrick?¡± The door bursts open. Warmth floods in. The scream recedes. Someone grabs his shoulder.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Tarrick opens his eyes. He doesn¡¯t know when or why or how, but he¡¯s sitting on the floor now. On his knees. Covering his ears. The mirrors are intact. The beams of light are back. Inoffensive. They don¡¯t burn like a lightning bolt anymore. Everything¡¯s fine. He¡¯s fine. Tarrick looks up into Old-Young-Whatever-Leohomin¡¯s face. A serious, grave face. ¡°Are you all right, son?¡± He nods. ¡°Yeah.¡± Leohomin helps Tarrick to his feet and pulls him outside the room. He locks the door with a key on a giant key ring he produces from the pocket of his coat. A thousand keys clink together. Grandma¡¯s warm arms wrap around Tarrick. He closes his eyes. Her shawl is itchy. It pulls him back to reality. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to go into the Room of Deflections.¡± ¡°The Room of Deflections?¡± repeats Mr. Osxian. ¡°It¡¯s a long story. Come on.¡± Tarrick is barely aware when he¡¯s pushed into an armchair. Cushions press against his back. Grounding him. That¡¯s what he needs. To be grounded. Tarrick¡¯s eyes glean information, bit by bit, about his surroundings. He¡¯s in an office. Blue light roars in a fireplace. There¡¯s a desk of dark wood in front of him. Hundreds of jars line up on dark wooden shelves. Tiny environments shine through the glass. Tranquil little hills. A gurgling river. Bubbling lava. Islands in the sun. Someone puts a warm teacup into his paws. Grandma and Mr. Osxian sit on either side of him. Leohomin sits down behind the desk. ¡°Drink. It¡¯s tea.¡± Liquid gold falls down Tarrick¡¯s throat. He sighs. Content. The world comes into focus and happiness bubbles in his chest once more. He¡¯s whole again. ¡°Is this Rockwell Mansion?¡± asks Mr. Osxian. ¡°It is. You remember.¡± Great-Uncle and Great-Nephew share a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the subterfuge. This is your inheritance. A Mansion passed down through generations in our family. Though¡­ it¡¯s an inheritance of sorts. Because I want to assure you, I am not dead. You¡¯ve seen the portraits in the entrance hall, haven¡¯t you?¡± All nod. ¡°Good. These portraits are what keeps me alive. Us alive. Your ancestors. Grounded to this realm. Tomorrow, Velliard, I¡¯ll ask our portraitist to paint you. And when the time comes, you¡¯ll become that image of you again. Younger and more alive than ever before.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re not a¡­ ghost?¡± ¡°I am of flesh and blood, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± says Tarrick. ¡°About you.¡± Leohomin¡¯s eyes pierce into Tarrick¡¯s. Tarrick gulps down his tea. But the Davrian doesn¡¯t seem angry. On the contrary. Is he¡­ admiring? ¡°You¡¯re the next Chronicler.¡± Tarrick and Grandma look at each other. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°Good. Let me give you some advice.¡± Leohomin raises his paw. A candle floats to his palm, green flame flickering. It casts a strange sickly glow upon Leohomin¡¯s face. He grins with all his teeth, sharp canines glinting. ¡°This is a candle of possibility. I can see all your potential.¡± ¡°And?¡± Leohomin arcs his brow. ¡°You¡¯ll do great things. Under only one condition.¡± ¡°Which is?¡± ¡°Always choose the road less travelled.¡± Leohomin blows out the candle. The room becomes warm and inviting again. ¡°Now, why can¡¯t I invite you to a little dance?¡± On his way out the door, Tarrick stops when he hears someone call his name. ¡°Tarrick?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Catch this!¡± A small box is thrown into his paw. Tarrick looks at Leohomin curiously. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°A gift. Tea.¡± He winks. ¡°You¡¯ve just tried it. Oh! And don¡¯t forget to put a little honey in it.¡± Mr. Osxian¡¯s ancestors no longer stare at them when they return to the ballroom. Leohomin offers Grandma a hand and sweeps her off her feet. Mr. Osxian is taken by the paws by one aunt and one uncle. Tarrick prefers to sit in a corner and watch. He eyes the little tea box. A spidamander is etched into it. The family¡¯s crest, he presumes. Tarrick looks up. He taps his foot to the music¡¯s rythm. The flying train goes by, whistling happily. The little being teleports in and out, greeting friends and playing with long sleeves. Tarrick has almost forgotten about the Room of Deflections by now. Almost. Sure, Meaning can be dangerous and unpredictable. But it¡¯s also warm and bright. The touch of a friend¡¯s hand in yours. The sound of laughter. The spicy spark to your dinner. Good tea with honey. Life is life, good and bad. You just have to follow its dance and hope for the best. ¡°To think this was in our backyards the whole time.¡± Someone screams. A dropped glass breaks upon impact with the floor. A blur of fur and feathers opens flies into the ballroom. Tarrick blinks. He smiles. It¡¯s a someone he knows well. Prothea. ¡°Tarrick! Tarrick, Tarrick!¡± ¡°What is it, Prothea?¡± ¡°Come!¡± she calls, beckoning him. ¡°The canal is ready! We can leave!¡± Adventure awaits. Soon enough, Tarrick, Grandma and Prothea are back on the Lennox. They thank the little teleporting being for taking them back. It salutes and disappears. Their coats shield them against the night air. It¡¯s dark now, but the canal is lit by a thousand lights. Tarrick stands at the helm. Grandma pulls on a rope. And Prothea gives the two canal workers - who, as it seems, are always, always fighting - a good roasting. ¡°You¡¯re the one who made me late on vacation!¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re the one!¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one!¡± ¡°All right, you two! Enough!¡± cuts them off Prothea. ¡°It¡¯s either you two shut up and let us pass, or I bite the two of you until you scream for your Mama!¡± ¡°All right, all right¡­ Good Meaning, that cat-owl is mean.¡± ¡°Have you ever seen a talking cat-owl?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say I have.¡± One of the canal workers taps his lips. ¡°Do you think¡­¡± ¡°MOVE IT!¡± Late that night, the Lennox is on its way to the next step in their adventure. The helm is on auto-pilot and they can retire to the bookshop¡¯s back store. Excitement bubbles in Tarrick¡¯s chest. He takes out his red leather suitcase from under his bed. He takes back his treasures to his desk. Tarrick opens the first journal, sharpens his feather and plunges the tip in the ink pot. ¡°We should be there by morning,¡± he says to no one in particular. ¡°I know that.¡± That was Prothea. Grandma doesn¡¯t answer. She¡¯s already sleeping in her bed. Snoring like a train. Tarrick doesn¡¯t really care. He starts to write. Prothea lands on his shoulder. ¡°What are you doing?¡± He smiles at her. ¡°I¡¯m chronicling.¡± Season I | Episode III | Chapter I Season I | Episode III | Chapter I 315 days until Affliction Day At first, the heat and Tarrick don¡¯t mix well together. It¡¯s not that bad anymore. The Wide Canyons are, well, wide. Very wide. And big. Very big. They¡¯re everything High Tobain is not. Well, the mountains are enormous, sure. But there, back in Tarrick¡¯s hometown, everything is green. Here, the world burns with reds and oranges and yellows. The air smells different. It feels different. Dry. Dusty. And hot. The sun seems to hit harsher around here. The days are long and the breeze is bottle-necked between flat walls of sheer rock. Upon arriving upon the Wide Canyons¡¯ shore, they¡¯d reached the end of the road by boat. A small beach awaited them after crossing to the other side of the wide bridge. Tarrick had stepped off, Grandma holding onto his arm. Prothea had glided off to the rocky shore. Then Tarrick had tested out something he¡¯d never done before. Grandma had given him the boat¡¯s remote control and he¡¯d pressed the bright red button. It had only taken a few seconds, but the Lennox had Meaningfully been shrunk down to the size of a toy. It now resided in a glass bottle inside Tarrick¡¯s bag. They¡¯ve been walking ever since. It¡¯s not so bad. The canyons are beautiful. During the day, under cloudy skies when it¡¯s bearable to breathe, the canyons look like fire turned to stone. In the mornings, the sun washes away all colour and the orange becomes almost white. And at night, everything seems blue and purple, while the light from campfires makes the walls look alive. A great plus: the nights are refreshing. Tonight, they¡¯ve set up camp under a thin wide shape sticking out of the ground. Somewhat sheltered from the wind. On their adventures, Grandma has brought with her her lovely knowledge of her old Chronicling days. One of those things includes how to build tents. Which, you know, is wonderful, because Tarrick still barely knows how to live outdoors. Something he still barely knows is what a Chronicler does. That¡¯s not true. He knows a thing or two about Chronicling, by now. Let¡¯s just say, Chronicling isn¡¯t just about travelling. It¡¯s, most importantly, about looking for good stories. About fantastical creatures, strange people or wild natural occurences. They¡¯ve been looking for a while now. For such fantastical creatures, strange people or wild natural occurences. And apart from some rocks and a few plateaus, there hasn¡¯t been a good story to find. Tarrick misses Leohomin¡¯s mansion. At least there he could¡¯ve found a lifetime supply of good stories. Tarrick looks up. The stars twinkle in the night sky. Smiling at him. Tarrick takes a deep breath. Holds it. Exhales. Now¡¯s not the time to despair. They¡¯ve barely started. They¡¯re doing exactly what a Chronicler does. Searching for a story in these parts. Back when they were on the Lennox, Tarrick had argued they had to go to Yeagsant, the nearest village, but Grandma had said no. She hadn¡¯t just said no. She¡¯d refused to. Categorically. He¡¯s not entirely sure why yet. But he has a feeling this is the kind of thing a Chronicler does. They find stories. Or maybe stories find them first. The kettle hisses. Tarrick¡¯s ear perks up. He puts down his book, rises from his spot on his sleeping bag and pours himself a cup of tea directly from the blue campfire. It immediately feels better when the liquid gold-like tea slides down his throat. He bets that¡¯s exactly why Leohomin has given him that box of tea leaves. For those times when the going gets tough. Or boring. Or worse. Deadly. Just do something that reminds you of good times. That¡¯s all that¡¯s required of you. Drink good tea, knit a sweater, anything. Cheer yourself up. A philosophy he should follow more, he thinks. ¡°Someone¡¯s coming.¡± Tarrick almost drops his teacup. He spins around towards Grandma. Wasn¡¯t she sleeping in her tent? ¡°What?¡± The flap of Grandma¡¯s tent closes as she walks out. ¡°Someone¡¯s coming.¡± ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°I just do. And I just hope they¡¯re friendly.¡± Tarrick wakes up Prothea, sprawled out next to his sleeping bag. She almost protests upon opening her eyes, but when he puts a finger to his snout, she shuts up and climbs onto his shoulder. Tarrick¡¯s gaze follows Grandma¡¯s. It¡¯s dark only a few steps away from the campfire. The sound of footsteps reach him. The person doesn¡¯t have hooves. Not a bighorn-lizard then. Maybe an eagle-coyote. Or worse. A mountain scorlion. Grandma¡¯s told him stories about those giant beasts. Dangerous creatures the size of a house. With venomous tails and a mouth full of teeth.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Luckily enough, it¡¯s just a Davrian who arrives in the circle of light. Tarrick sees Grandma relax. ¡°Hi! What¡¯s up?¡± She¡¯s tall. Very tall. He¡¯s never seen someone so tall. Muscly at that. But that doesn¡¯t mean she looks threatening. On the contrary. She¡¯s all toothy smiles and enthusiastic paw gestures. She¡¯s dressed in climbing gear. So, that explains the musculature and tall-ness. Maybe this is the story he¡¯s been waiting for. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen folks in these parts before! Who are you guys? I¡¯m Isolniel, by the way.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Tarrick, this is my Grandma Maeena and this is Prothea.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you, Gran. And you too, kitty-kitty!¡± Prothea jumps down from Tarrick¡¯s shoulder and sniffs at Isolniel¡¯s feet. She scratches under Prothea¡¯s chin. Prothea turns into a puddle on the ground. ¡°Aww, look at you! You¡¯re so sweet! Hey, um¡­ Not to seem presumptious or anything, but¡­ Can I steal a bit of your campfire? I would¡¯ve built mine, but being with people is way more fun!¡± ¡°Sure. But¡­ um¡­ we¡¯ll be on our way early tomorrow morning, though.¡± Isolniel waves her paw. ¡°No problem! I rise at dawn.¡± Soon enough, Isolniel is sitting with Grandma, Tarrick and Prothea around the campfire. The only sound around is the crackle of the wood burning. The ground is hard under Tarrick, but he doesn¡¯t really mind. They pass teacups around and Isolniel whistles at the taste. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s some good stuff! I¡¯m terrible at making tea. Thank you!¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± says Tarrick, chin up. ¡°So what are you doing out here, Isolniel?¡± asks Grandma before sipping her own tea. ¡°I¡¯m a climber!¡± Her wide smile is infectious. ¡°I come here to climb the tall peaks. The highest peaks.¡± She preens her fur. ¡°I¡¯m also a bit of a photographer. I take pictures and sell them to magazines. Helps pay the bills, you know. What about you?¡± Tarrick exchanges a glance with Grandma. ¡°We¡¯re travellers. Looking for good stories.¡± Isolniel jumps up and down at that. ¡°Ooh, ooh, ooh! I love good stories. Have you found any?¡± ¡°Not yet,¡± answers Grandma, looking downright saddened. ¡°Aww, that¡¯s too bad. Can I tell you one, then?¡± ¡°Sure, go ahead.¡± The shadows grow darker. Isolniel waves her arms around for emphasis while she tells her story. Her sharp teeth glow in the dark. ¡°My Dad - he¡¯s a climber too, but he¡¯s retired - told me about the tallest canyon in these parts. The Growing Rock. It¡¯s said that every year on Affliction Day, that wall grows taller and taller. It almost blocks out the sun in the east. I bet you¡¯ve seen it before.¡± ¡°We have, yes,¡± says Tarrick. ¡°Well there¡¯s something strange about that peak. There¡¯s a cave entrance at the bottom and it is said that the Growing Rock is entirely hollow. Something lives inside.¡± ¡°Something?¡± Isolniel nods. ¡°A mountain scorlion. Not just any mountain scorlion. The biggest mountain scorlion you¡¯ve ever heard of before. You think a normal one is big? This one is as tall as a tower and built like a war machine. I¡¯ve asked around. Everyone knows about it around here. Some back in Yeagsant say it¡¯s got some Meaningful powers and makes the ground shake every once in a while. And truthfully, I believe them. A thing that big must be blessed. Thankfully, it¡¯s been living peacefully. Somewhat. Some people haven¡¯t come back. But no one knows if that mountain scorlion is at fault. Still. Peaceful or not, it¡¯s a problem for me. That beast rarely leaves its home. And¡­ well, I¡¯ve always dreamed - it was my Dad¡¯s dream before me - about climbing to the top of the Growing Rock. No one¡¯s ever done it before. Because everyone¡¯s too scared of that mountain scorlion. And for good reasons, lemme tell ya!¡± Isolniel pouts, chin sitting in the palms of her paws. ¡°My Dad once tried to climb on top of the Growing Rock. He never made it close. The mountain scorlion growled at him so loud, he couldn¡¯t hear anything for a few days. He never tried again.¡± Isolniel¡¯s eyes gleam. She punches the inside of her paw with one fist. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to be the first one to climb that Rock! Either that or I¡¯ll die trying.¡± Isolniel stops talking. The crackling of the fire fills the space between them. ¡°Wow,¡± says Grandma. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ an interesting story indeed.¡± ¡°Do you want to be there to watch?¡± Tarrick chokes on hisr tea. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to try tomorrow morning! I¡¯ve been training all my life for this and I finally feel ready. Do you want to be there to watch me climb up there? The view must be amazing.¡± Tarrick opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡± ¡°I want to!¡± Tarrick sends Grandma a glare. She barely notices him. ¡°Wonderful!¡± Isolniel clasps her paws together, fingers intertwined. ¡°You can take pictures from the ground! I have another camera.¡± ¡°There¡¯s only one problem,¡± says Grandma, carefully. That¡¯s strange. Tarrick never thought Grandma would be careful about anything. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°What about the mountain scorlion?¡± Isolniel shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it! I¡¯ll just climb while it¡¯s sleeping. I¡¯ve studied its patterns and it only wakes up after the sun is up. So I¡¯ll go before sunrise and climb. Easy peasy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure about that?¡± ¡°Of course! Everything will be fine. Don¡¯t worry.¡± Tarrick swallows. He has a feeling not everything will be fine. He drinks his tea. Season I | Episode III | Chapter II Season I | Episode III | Chapter II Light begins to appear upon the horizon, tinting the night sky with light blues. They¡¯ve started to pack up their camp way before sunrise. Tarrick rubs at his eyes. Prothea yawns. Grandma and Isolniel don¡¯t seem to mind the lack of sleep much. They¡¯re walking a few paces ahead, chatting about¡­ something. Tarrick¡¯s too tired to concentrate enough to understand what they¡¯re saying. It looks interesting, though. Grandma waves her cane around and Isolniel bursts out laughing. Tarrick can¡¯t think he could laugh in these circumstances. A headache already starts to form behind his temples. It¡¯s so early. And his breakfast already feels far away. Thankfully, the morning is peaceful. Dust gathers on juniper woodland and pinyon pines. A soft breeze blows and the canyons look as beautiful as ever. Somewhere, he hears a scream. Followed by many others. High-pitched. An eagle-coyote. Many eagle-coyotes. Tarrick hopes they¡¯re not too hungry. ¡°Argh, shut up!¡± groans Prothea, sitting on his shoulder. As if the eagle-coyotes listened, they stop howling. ¡°Thank Meaning. If I become a morning person, slap me,¡± says Prothea. ¡°Tell me about it.¡± ¡°I thought you liked opening the bookshop early.¡± ¡°Yeah, because there were books involved. I don¡¯t exactly want to climb a mountain.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve not warmed up to the idea?¡± ¡°Isolniel¡¯s the one who¡¯ll climb. Not me.¡± Prothea sniffs. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve had enough experience to worry. Things rarely work out the way we want them to. Unfortunately.¡± ¡°Enough experience, huh?¡± She chuckles. ¡°I¡¯ve lived nine lives, remember?¡± ¡°Ah! Right.¡± ¡°There!¡± Isolniel points at the sky. ¡°Come on, guys! Hurry!¡± That¡¯s right. Tarrick looks where she¡¯s pointing at. There, against the early light of the sun, is a giant pillar pointed at the sky. They all pick up the pace. When they turn at a corner in the canyon, they see it. The Growing Rock. It¡¯s unlike any rock he¡¯s ever seen before. It swirls into a spiral shape. As if it wasn¡¯t one, but two pillars, growing together in harmony. The Growing Rock looks impossibly slick. Almost Davrian-made. Or like orange and red ice growing out of the ground and touching the fluffy clouds. Tarrick¡¯s eyes follow the Growing Rock¡¯s shape down to the ground. His mouth becomes dry. There¡¯s the opening of a cave, there. It¡¯s large and wide and covered in stalagtites and stalagmites like teeth sticking out of a monster¡¯s mouth. They¡¯ve reached the giant mountain scarlion¡¯s lair. Tarrick¡¯s stomach falls to his feet. He silently wishes Isolniel would get on with it so they can leave. He wants to be as far away as he can when that thing wakes up. It doesn¡¯t take long before she does get on with it, though. ¡°Wish me luck,¡± she whispers. They raise their thumbs up. Isolniel rubs her paws together. Her bare paws. ¡°She¡¯s really doing this, huh?¡± says Prothea in Tarrick¡¯s ear. ¡°Shhh. Keep quiet.¡± They watch her walk up to the side of the Growing Rock. Isolniel takes a deep breath. Tarrick thinks he hears ¡°this is for you Dad¡± over the whistling of the wind, but he can¡¯t be sure. She starts to climb. And climb. And climb. At first, Tarrick thinks it might be impossible to climb on such a slick surface. But Isolniel makes it work. She doesn¡¯t use a harness at all. She hauls herself, inch by inch, up the side of the Growing Rock. Using her feet, she pushes. Using her paws, she pulls. Isolniel is entirely focussed upon what she has to do. Tarrick doesn¡¯t hear a grunt or a groan. She¡¯s in her element. She climbs and climbs and climbs¡­ until the sun has risen above the canyon walls.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. The ground shakes. Oh no. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. The ground shakes with each footsteps. Tarrick¡¯s mouth runs dry. The mountain scorlion has awoken. Up there on the Growing Rock, Isolniel¡¯s paw slips. Tarrick holds his breath. She catches herself before she could plummet to the ground. Isolniel wraps her body around the pillar. She¡¯s holding on for dear life. Completely silent, at least. But what about them? They¡¯re out in the open and way too close to that thing¡¯s lair! Grandma grabs Tarrick¡¯s arm. Together, they set off back towards the edge of the canyon. Grandma pushes Tarrick inside a thin, long alcove built inside the burnt orange wall. They press together in the shadows. Boom. Boom. Boom. The beast marches closer. It rounds the corner and appears. Tarrick holds Prothea to his chest. The touch of her fur and feathers under his paws makes him gain some sort of control over himself. Otherwise, he would¡¯ve screamed. Or cried. Or both. That thing is huge. Covered in burnt orange fur and sleek white armour-like skin. As if not all parts fit together. Mandibles stick out of its feline head. Three pairs of mean glowing light orange eyes look around. Curious. Its rounded ears twitch. It sniffs. A low rumble, deep and grounded as the earth, rises from its chest. No matter, the beast walks past them. Muscles ripple under thick skin. Its body goes on forever. Enormous claws open and close. Sticking out of its sternum. Two furry arms appear. Then eight pairs of sleek black legs follow. The mountain scorlion has another pair of furry legs. Its tail finally appears, long and thing and tipped with a venomous stinger. The tail swings back and forth, back and forth. Finally, the mountain scorlion disappears from view. Grandma, Tarrick and Prothea remain in their spot. Unmoving. Holding their breaths. Boom. Boom. Boom. Tarrick can feel the sound seep into his bones and vibrate in his back, pressed firmly against the canyon wall. Boom. Boom. Boom. Not soon enough, the mountain scorlion is gone. ¡°Come on,¡± says Grandma gently into his ear. ¡°We have to see how Isolniel¡¯s doing.¡± Tarrick¡¯s feet move. It¡¯s a miracle. He thought he¡¯d turned to jelly. He walks out of the alcove and Grandma takes his paw. They walk back into the clearing where the Grown Rock stands proud. Isolniel is still holding on for dear life. But the thing hasn¡¯t seen her. A good thing, too. Tarrick bets she wouldn¡¯t be alive had it spotted her up there clinging to the Growing Rock. ¡°Are you okay?¡± asks Grandma, in whispers swallowed by the wind. ¡°I don¡¯t think she can hear you, Grandma,¡± says Tarrick. ¡°Right, right.¡± Tarrick raises both thumbs up. Isolniel replies by raising one up. And she starts to climb up again. ¡°What is she doing?¡± asks Tarrick, frantic. ¡°That thing could come back at any given time! Have you seen it? It¡¯s dangerous! We have to get out of here. And quick!¡± Grandma shrugs. ¡°Don¡¯t tell that to an adrenaline junkie who¡¯s living the dream.¡± ¡°Great.¡± They watch her climb. ¡°Taking risks is what makes life worth living,¡± says Grandma. Tarrick munches on his bottom lip. ¡°That doesn¡¯t really help quench my fears, Grandma.¡± ¡°Well, you know, back in my day as a Chronicler, I¡¯ve done things that were similarly dangerous. I¡¯ve climbed many mountains myself, if you can believe it! There¡¯s been some fascinating discoveries, too. Hidden caves and glowing crystals. I bet¡­¡± Tarrick listens with half an ear. Isolniel climbs. One paw, one foot. The other paw, the other foot. Anxiety grows inside Tarrick. They have to get away. This isn¡¯t safe. Oh, Meaning have mercy, why did he agree to watch? Grandma takes out Isolniel¡¯s camera she¡¯d entrusted her with. When Grandma struggles with the camera, Tarrick picks it up and starts taking pictures. At least it gives him something to do. Something to think about. Something to occupy his paws with. Soon he doesn¡¯t feel nervous anymore. He can¡¯t help but start enjoying this, too. The way the sky and the sun frame Isolniel, she¡¯s cast into shadows. A dark silhouette stark against the morning sky. It¡¯s quite beautiful, honestly. Finally, finally, Isolniel reaches the top. Her arm circles around the tip of the Growing Rock. She picks out her camera and grins into it. Snap! The flash makes her blink. Still, she holds on firm. Her camera safely back in the pocket on her thigh, she takes a long while to look around. He wonders what the view looks like from up there. Breath-taking, he presumes. Isolniel¡¯s happiness bubbles too much, though. She starts to laugh. Then she yells: ¡°I did it! WOOHOOHOOOOOOO!!!!¡± The sound is exceptionally loud in Tarrick¡¯s ears. He grabs at his ears and pulls. Her scream reverberates on the canyon walls. Loud and clear. Way too loud and clear. The ground shakes. It¡¯s faint. But it¡¯s there. A small rock next to Tarrick¡¯s feet moves up and down. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Oh no. The footsteps get louder quicker. Tarrick looks around. Where are they going to hide? That thing is coming fast. There¡¯s no time to go back to the alcove! This time, he grabs Grandma by the arm and pulls her with him towards the nearest wall. He presses himself against it as much as he can. Silently wishing he could melt with the sheer rock. Of course, that¡¯s impossible. But at least now, maybe the mountain scorlion won¡¯t spot them immediately upon coming back near its lair. Except Isolniel is now in its line of sight. ¡°We need to tell her to come down,¡± hisses Tarrick. ¡°You shut up or I bite you!¡± answers Prothea. ¡°ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!¡± The mountain scorlion¡¯s angry head appears at the edge of the canyon. Tarrick wants to turn to stone himself. This is it. They¡¯re going to die. They¡¯re going to be turned into mountain scorlion fodder. But no. The mountain scorlion doesn¡¯t look in their direction at all. It¡¯s looking straight ahead. Up. It¡¯s looking at Isolniel. Season I | Episode III | Chapter III Season I | Episode III | Chapter III Tarrick can only watch in horror as the mountain scorlion moves towards the Growing Rock. With each enormous step, the ground shakes. The scorlion roars. It rears up and slams its two front paws on the ground. Two orange and red walls shoot up, straight towards the sky. As if by command. Tarrick¡¯s lips shake. ¡°That thing can actually control Meaning,¡± he whispers in Grandma¡¯s ear. Were the Wide Canyons the product of this creature¡¯s angry outbursts? The mountain scorlion walks towards the Growing Rock. It reaches the base. With another roar, it starts to climb. Using every single one of its legs, it ascends. Up, up, up. At the top, Isolniel looks down. She starts to scream. A long, high-pitched wail. It only ends up making the mountain scorlion angrier. That beast roars again. Isolniel wraps herself around the tip of the Growing Rock and closes her eyes. She never stops screaming. There¡¯s nowhere for her to go. ¡°What are we supposed to do?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± answers Tarrick. ¡°Grandma, what are we going to do?¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Yes, you! You¡¯re the experienced Chronicler here!¡± Grandma¡¯s mouth hangs open. ¡°I¡¯ve never faced an angry giant mountain scorlion before! I¡­¡± Her paws dig deep into her face when she grabs her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do!¡± Tarrick looks around. He looks at Isolniel, clinging to the tip of the Growing Rock. His gaze follows the sheer rock. The mountain scorlion is on its way. His gaze goes down further, towards the base of the Rock. Towards the mouth of the cave. Towards the lair of the beast. ¡°I have an idea.¡± Tarrick runs. He barely hears Grandma yelling at him to stop. He runs as if in slow motion. The cave seems farther and farther with each step. Not for long. He¡¯s almost there. Almost. A few steps more¡­ Something pulls on Tarrick¡¯s tail. Pulling him back. Prothea. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?!?!¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying to save Isolniel¡¯s life!¡± Tarrick spins around. Prothea lets go of his tail. Tarrick puts himself in her face. ¡°Don¡¯t you think there might be something inside that cave? Something the mountain scorlion doesn¡¯t want us to see? Why do you think it¡¯s so protective of its own territory?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! It has anger issues?¡± Tarrick¡¯s paws grip at the empty air. ¡°Come on, there¡¯s no time to waste! Trust me.¡± Tarrick points at the sky. ¡°Trust me or she¡¯s dead!¡± Prothea¡¯s eyes become steely. ¡°I trust you. Let¡¯s go.¡± Tarrick starts to run towards the opening of the cave again. Prothea gets there first with a few flutter of her wings. Tarrick squeezes right between the stalagmites. Between the teeth of the mouth. He shudders at the thought. It¡¯s dark in there, but his eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light. There¡¯s not much in there. A few old-fashioned metal armours, the kind worn by the knights of old. Half-eaten old clothes. Prothea sniffs around. She backs away from a corner, paw on her nose. He doesn¡¯t want to know why. He really, really doesn¡¯t want to know why. Tarrick walks inside the cave. Something cracks under his foot. Bone. He¡¯s stepped onto a skeleton¡¯s rib cage. There are others. Davrian skeletons. ¡°Great. Okay. Wonderful.¡± Tarrick swallows the bile building in his throat. He looks further. There¡¯s stalagmites here too, blocking his line of sight. He stumbles around one. More skeletons. More clothes. A rusted sword lies on its side. Useless. What¡¯s that on the ground? Straw. That looks like straw. And that big, slick rock¡­ It¡¯s shaped like¡­ like a bowl. No. Not a bowl. A nest. He¡¯s found the mountain scorlion¡¯s bed. Tarrick leans around the edge of the bowl. He gasps. ¡°Prothea?¡± She jumps onto his shoulder. ¡°Yes? Oh, my¡­¡± Pairs of eyes gaze back at Tarrick in the dark. Fifteen, actually. Divided between five creatures approximately Tarrick¡¯s size. Mountain scorlions. Five baby mountain scorlions, to be precise. They¡¯re all piled up in a corner of the nest. Unmoving. Uncomfortable. All the babies stare in one direction. Tarrick¡¯s gaze shifts towards the other side of the nest. Red crystals glow there. Sticking out of the nest¡¯s rock. He frowns. What are those for? Where do they come from? What¡¯s their purpose?This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°What do you think those are for?¡± asks Prothea in his ear. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. But I don¡¯t think the babies like them very much.¡± Tarrick can¡¯t stop himself. He leans over into the burnt red stone nest. One of the babies growl at him. He freezes. The baby mountain scorlion looks deep into Tarrick¡¯s eyes. Tarrick doesn¡¯t move an inch. He blinks. The baby mountain scorlion lies down in its nest. Satisfied. With one paw, Tarrick grasps one of the red crystals. It¡¯s¡­ warm. It doesn¡¯t burn. But it¡¯s warm. Tarrick breaks it clean off the side of the nest. Energy flows inside the crystal. Goosebumps bloom on Tarrick¡¯s arm. He almost drops the crystal. He holds onto it. And smiles. ¡°You don¡¯t like this, don¡¯t you?¡± One of the baby mountain scorlions shakes its head. As if to say ¡°no¡±. ¡°Is that what¡¯s been making your Mama angry? Tarrick puts the crystal in his bag. Soon, the others follow. After the last crystal is in Tarrick¡¯s bag and he closes it shut, the baby mountain scorlions jump up and down. One chirps happily. Another walks up to Tarrick and sniffs at him. Tarrick doesn¡¯t move an inch. The baby mountain scorlion chirps again. It¡¯s¡­ a nice sound to hear. High-pitched. Different. Now that Tarrick is closer, he can have a good look at it. That thing is¡­ kind of cute, really. For a beast with the face of a predator and deadly mandibles sticking out of its cheeks. It¡¯s cute. ¡°Hey¡­ hi. My name¡¯s Tarrick. This is Prothea. What¡¯s yours?¡± The baby mountain scorlion opens its mouth. Tarrick wants to run. Scream. Anything. He can¡¯t. Fear roots him to the spot. But the mountain scorlion doesn¡¯t eat him. It licks him. An enormous rugged tongue licks his entire face up to his ears. Tarrick groans in disgust. He wipes at his face. He¡¯s going to remember the feel of mountain scorlion saliva for a long, long time. ¡°What was that for? Ah¡­ I see. You¡¯re welcome. ¡± The mountain scorlion grins at him. It laughs. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi! At least, that¡¯s what Tarrick thinks is what a mountain scorlion¡¯s laugh feels like. Prothea doubles over laughing. ¡°You should see your face!¡± ¡°Har, har. Very funny, huh?¡± The other four baby mountain scorlions lean in against the side of the nest, looking at Tarrick with curiosity shining in their big eyes. Tarrick pats one between its many rows of eyes. It chrips again. Happily. Tarrick chuckles. They¡¯re really, really cute. Someone screams. A roar shakes the Growing Rock. Isolniel. And Mama Mountain Scorlion. ¡°Quick!¡± hisses Prothea in his ear. ¡°We have to help her!¡± Tarrick and Prothea run outside the cave. Grandma¡¯s at the brand new wall Mama Mountain Scorlion created a few minutes earlier. She¡¯s walked up there, but hasn¡¯t moved since. Tarrick lifts his thumb at her. Everything will be fine. Tarrick looks up. Isolniel still holds on for dear life. She¡¯s screaming constantly now. For good reasons. Mama Mountain Scorlion is almost there. A gigantic mouth full of teeth opens up. Isolniel¡¯s scream climbs an octave. If that¡¯s even possible. Tarrick bites his lip. He doesn¡¯t have much time. He takes one of the red crystals out of his bag and lifts it in the air. He yells: ¡°Hey! Mama Mountain Scorlion! Down here! Hello! I¡¯m right here!¡± ¡°TARRICK!¡± comes Grandma¡¯s call. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?!¡± A sun¡¯s ray catches onto his crystal. Making it glow. It hums with energy. A beam of reflected light hits Mama Mountain Scorlion right in the eye. She roars. Great. Now she¡¯s spotted him. Tarrick waves his arm around. Her eyes follow the red crystal. Tarrick starts to walk backwards. Towards the edge of the canyon. Mama Mountain Scorlion climbs back down, Isolniel completely forgotten. She climbs down way faster than when she climbed up. She¡¯s on the ground a minute or so later. Mama Mountain Scorlion stops a few steps away from Tarrick. Her entire body blocks out the sun. Tarrick gulps. He swallows down his fear and stands his ground. ¡°Look,¡± he says. ¡°I think I know why you¡¯ve been so aggressive. All you want is to keep your babies safe. You¡¯re a mom. I get that. And this crystal¡­ it hurt them, didn¡¯t it? Your babies? It made them uncomfortable and that made you angry. Now¡­ you don¡¯t have to worry about them. You¡¯re free.¡± Tarrick puts the crystal back into his bag. He closes it. Immediately, Mama Mountain Scorlion relaxes. Her body slumps down in relief. With a newfound spring in her step, she walks towards the opening of the cave. She squeezes between the stalagmites and disappears into her lair. Tarrick smiles. He looks up at Isolniel, who¡¯s staring at him from her perch on the Growing Rock. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Isolniel!¡± he shouts, two paws forming a cone around his snout. ¡°Come down!¡± She has climbed back down a few minutes later. ¡°You did it,¡± she says as soon as her feet hit the ground. ¡°You calmed her down.¡± ¡°I did.¡± ¡°Those glowing crystals¡­ where did you find them?¡± ¡°In her lair. In her babies¡¯ nest.¡± ¡°Ah!¡± Isolniel smacks her forehead with her palm. ¡°A mom! I should¡¯ve seen it coming.¡± ¡°Congratulations, fluffy pie!¡± Tarrick and Isolniel turn towards Grandma. She¡¯s walking towards them. One of her paws curls around Tarrick¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You did a good thing. Thank you. Now, can I take a look at those crystals? Maybe¡­ oh.¡± ¡°What?¡± Tarrick turns around. Mama Mountain Scorlion is walking out of her lair. Boom, boom, boom, boom. A shadow spreads over all three of them and way beyond. She cocks her head to the side. ¡°Oh,¡± says Tarrick. ¡°Hello.¡± A giant paw reaches out. With one claw, she hoists Tarrick and Prothea, sitting on his shoulder, up onto her head. Grandma and Isolniel are with him soon enough. ¡°What is she doing?¡± asks Tarrick. Grandma¡¯s eye twinkles. ¡°I think that¡¯s her way of saying ¡®thank you¡¯.¡± A roar makes the air around them shake. Mama Mountain Scorlion slams both her paws on the ground. A wall shoots out from under the mountain scorlion, propulsing them towards the sky. Wind whips at Tarrick¡¯s face. He holds onto a tuft of fur. Soon, the wind recedes and he opens his eyes. He gasps. They¡¯re as high as the Growing Rock. The view is magnificent. All blue skies and orange and red and yellow walls. Upon the horizon, the rock forms an arcade. ¡°That¡¯s Yeagsant,¡± says Grandma, pointing at the arcade. ¡°We¡¯ll go there. Sometime.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°I wonder why she didn¡¯t do this when it tried to get at Isolniel,¡± says Grandma. ¡°Don¡¯t give her any ideas! I¡¯d be dead if she¡¯d done it.¡± Tarrick shrugs. ¡°She wasn¡¯t thinking clearly because of her rage I guess.¡± Tarrick doesn¡¯t really care about hypothetical questions right this moment. He closes his eyes, enjoying the wind in his fur and the sun on his skin. He could stay up here forever, he bets. Of course, they¡¯ll have to come down eventually. He has a story to chronicle, after all. ¡°You guys know what?¡± They all turn towards Isolniel. ¡°What?¡± She puts her fists on her hips. ¡°This is pretty nice, but I prefer climbing on my own!¡± They all burst out laughing. Season I | Episode IV | Chapter I Season I | Episode IV | Chapter I 285 days until Affliction Day They say goodbye to Isolniel soon after the incident with Mama Mountain Scorlion. Goodbyes aren¡¯t Tarrick¡¯s forte, but by the look of it, Isolniel¡¯s enthusiasm doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s been quashed by saying goodbye. She hugs them all, one by one. Then she explains what new plans await her. She wants to find another high peak to climb before going to Yeagsant, the Wide Canyons village. Maybe they¡¯ll see each other again there! Thus, Isolniel leaves them at a crossroad, walking away with a spring in her step. Since then, they¡¯ve been walking around the Wide Canyons. In search of another story. Again, Tarrick proposes to go to Yeagsant. Again, Grandma refuses. Until she can¡¯t refuse anymore. They haven¡¯t seen anyone else in weeks. Even after going to Yeagsant, they can always go back out into the wild, Tarrick argues. Grandma finally caves in. With a heavy sigh. Grandma, Tarrick and Prothea are half-way on their way to Yeagsant when they have to stop. Tarrick crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot. They¡¯ve taken a wrong turn. The canyon shrinks into a point. Into a cul-de-sac. A dead end. Grandma groans, one paw on her hip. ¡°The map led us astray.¡± ¡°Of course, ¡®the map led us astray¡¯.¡± Prothea glides from up on Tarrick¡¯s shoulder and onto the ground. ¡°Look around you! This entire place has been shifting for years. Remember? There¡¯s something we celebrate every year that teaches us how nothing is permanent and everything shifts once in a while. It starts with an ¡®A¡¯ and finishes with ¡®Ffliction¡¯. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be all sarcastic about it!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Look, it¡¯s not my fault the map isn¡¯t up to date!¡± ¡°Yes, it is! Your job is to get us up to date maps!¡± ¡°All right, enough!¡± Tarrick raises both paws. ¡°Time out. Peace. We¡¯ll get out of here, okay? It¡¯s fine. We just have to follow our footsteps back towards the edge of the road and take another turn.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the problem!¡± Tarrick blinks. Prothea slaps her paw on her forehead. ¡°If Grandma¡¯s map isn¡¯t up to date, maybe we¡¯ve been running around in circles for a month! What do you think about that? Huh? We can¡¯t trust a map that leads astray!¡± ¡°I see.¡± Tarrick takes a deep breath. He needs to be calm to think. The sun is hitting especially hard today and the heat gives him a headache. And headaches make it hard to think. Or maybe it¡¯s just Grandma¡¯s and Prothea¡¯s bickering that give him a headache. Or both. ¡°The Growing Rock is in the east, right? It¡¯s over there. See where I¡¯m pointing at? So that¡¯s east. And the sun rises in the east too. So we¡¯re going¡­ we should be going south. Where is Yeagsant, Grandma?¡± ¡°In the south.¡± ¡°Exactly. We saw it while sitting on the mountain scorlion. Right?¡± Prothea stubbornly doesn¡¯t answer. Tarrick pushes on. ¡°Right?¡± ¡°Urgh!¡± Prothea raises both paws and looks at the sky. ¡°Right! It¡¯s south.¡± ¡°Then, that¡¯s where we go! We follow back our footsteps and go south. All right? Follow me!¡± Tarrick starts to go back the way they came from. He doesn¡¯t get very far. The ground rumbles. ¡°Tarrick! Watch out!¡± ¡°Be careful!¡± The wall on their right collapses. Rocks cut clean off the wall and fall. Tarrick can¡¯t move. Rooted to the spot by fear. Everything shakes. The ground. The sky. Tarrick¡¯s bones. He falls to his knees and shields his face with his arms. Dust rises. A cloud of dust blinds him. Grandma and Prothea disappear. Tarrick breathes in. Breathes out. He tries to, anyway. He can¡¯t think. He can¡¯t breathe. That is, until the dust settles. Tarrick cracks an eye open. An insurmountable wall of rocks has appeared in front of him. A few paces away.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Tarrick! Are you okay?¡± Warm arms wrap around him. Tarrick sinks into Grandma¡¯s embrace. Everything still shakes. No, that¡¯s not true. He¡¯s the only one shaking. But everything¡¯s fine. He¡¯s safe, now. Safe. The first thought that crosses his mind is: he¡¯s lucky to be alive. The second thought that crosses his mind is this one: they¡¯re stuck. Completely stuck. ¡°Great. Marvelous. Wonderful!¡± Prothea¡¯s voice is close to him. On the ground. ¡°We¡¯re stuck.¡± That¡¯s true. They really are stuck. It hits a second later. ¡°Oh, no!¡± Tarrick pushes himself away from Grandma. They¡¯re stuck! They¡¯re really stuck! ¡°What are we going to do? We¡¯re stuck here! Completely stuck!¡± Grandma looks up at the wall. ¡°We can always climb.¡± ¡°Climb? No, no, no! That could fall at any moment. We could get killed.¡± ¡°Then what do you suggest, Mr. Genius?¡± Prothea¡¯s voice cuts deep in Tarrick¡¯s fears. Tarrick points at Prothea. ¡°You!¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°You could fly over that wall. Go get help. We¡¯re going to need it.¡± ¡°Um¡­ Tarrick? Prothea?¡± ¡°You just said it,¡± protests Prothea, flying up to put herself in Tarrick¡¯s face. ¡°That wall could collapse again at any moment! I¡¯m not leaving you here.¡± ¡°Tarrick? Prothea?¡± ¡°But¡­ you have to! You have to go find someone.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Anyone! Someone in Yeagsant, maybe?¡± ¡°That could take days! Weeks! I told you. I¡¯m. Not. Leaving You. Here!¡± ¡°Tarrick! Prothea!¡± ¡°What?!¡± Grandma points up at the sky. ¡°Look up there.¡± They do. Tarrick frowns. He squints at the bright sky. What¡¯s that up there? A feet or two above the wall? Is that¡­ a Davrian? Yes. That¡¯s right! He¡¯s a Davrian. With hooves and horns and a long, thin tail ending in a puff of hair. He sits on a long, thin rock. He¡¯s floating. Floating? ¡°Hey!¡± Prothea waves her arms and wings around. ¡°Hey, come here! Come help us!¡± ¡°What are you doing? He could be the one responsible for the wall collapsing!¡± ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± she says. ¡°Think, for a second! Look at this guy! He¡¯s floating on a rock! In the air! Don¡¯t you think he could be using Meaning? And what does Meaning do except being dangerous and unpredictable?¡± ¡°Oh¡­ you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± says Grandma. ¡°He could help us. Hey! Hello! Sir! Can you come down and help us?¡± ¡°What are you¡­¡± Tarrick pulls on his ears. ¡°I just told you! Don¡¯t do that!¡± Too late. The Davrian¡¯s rock floats down at eye level. The Davrian¡¯s legs dangle a foot or so above the ground. That¡¯s not what surprises Tarrick, though. Surprisingly enough. The Davrian looks¡­ well. He doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s made out of flesh and blood. His fur has been replaced by rock-like skin. It¡¯s a dark grey, almost entirely black. Like volcanic rock. His veins pop. Tiny rivers running up and down the length of his arms, feet, head, and disappearing under his sandy-coloured clothes. Red and orange and yellow. It looks like he¡¯s made of¡­ Of lava. He looks like he¡¯s a walking volcano. When he opens his eyes, the irises burn like a burning fire. Tarrick shudders. ¡°What are you?¡± Tarrick asks. The Davrian scoffs. He rolls his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not exactly a nice conversation starter, don¡¯t you think? Do you ask that to every stranger you meet? ¡®What are you?¡¯ What kind of question is that?¡± ¡°Um¡­ I¡­ I mean¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± ¡°Rycrofth?¡± All turn to Grandma. Her mouth hangs open. Her eyes are wide behind her round glasses. Both paws grip her cane, knuckles trembling. She gasps. ¡°It¡¯s really you.¡± The Davrian - Rycrofth, Tarrick supposes - looks from Tarrick to Prothea to Grandma. ¡°Do I know you?¡± ¡°Rycrofth, it¡¯s me! Maeena.¡± Rycrofth cocks his head to the side. Then, his mouth and eyes open wide too. Tarrick shudders at the sight. The inside of Rycrofth¡¯s mouth looks like flowing lava. ¡°Maeena! It¡¯s good to see you!¡± ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too!¡± ¡°Can anyone tell me what¡¯s going on?¡± Grandma blinks at Tarrick. ¡°Oh! Of course. Tarrick, Prothea, meet Rycrofth. We know each other from my old Chronicling days!¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°You do?¡± Tarrick and Prothea exchange a glance. ¡°Didn¡¯t your mother tell you about him?¡± he asks her. Tarrick had been made aware, a few weeks ago back when they were still waiting for that bridge to open up and let them leave High Tobain, that Prothea¡¯s mother had been Grandma¡¯s familiar way back when she was still exploring the world. Just like, it seems, every member of Prothea¡¯s family had been following Chroniclers around the world for generations. Maybe going way back to Moffram¡¯s times. If that was even possible. The cat-owls knew a thing or two about Chronicling. Prothea shrugs. ¡°Mother didn¡¯t tell me everything.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a surprise,¡± says Grandma. ¡°She wasn¡¯t there when I met Rycrofth. I lost her for a while.¡± ¡°Huh. I see.¡± Grandma turns her head back towards Rycrofth. ¡°What happened to you? Last time I saw you¡­ well¡­ you were¡­ well, you know¡­¡± ¡°Living in the Vulcan lands, like the walking volcano I am?¡± Tarrick blinks. That¡¯s pretty much exactly how he described him in his head. Appropriate, then. ¡°Well, yes.¡± Rycrofth looks around. As if he¡¯s trying to see if anyone is listening. It¡¯s strange. There¡¯s no one here except the caved in wall. Who could be listening to them in such a situation? Tarrick scratches at his ear, deep in thought. Is there someone here? Who could it be? What¡­ ¡°¡­ dying.¡± Tarrick blinks and raises his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What did you say?¡± Rycrofth puts both paws on his hips. He sighs, mouth twisted in frustration. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ the thing. The thing I was telling your grandmother. I¡¯m dying.¡± Season I | Episode IV | Chapter II Season I | Episode IV | Chapter II Dying. Grandma¡¯s friend is dying. Tarrick is still processing this hours later. Not long after giving the terrible news, Rycrofth had asked them to sit on rocks. Using his strange Meaning powers, Rycrofth had levitated all of them out of the caved in section of the canyons. Once they were back on firm, solid ground, he¡¯d almost keeled over with fatigue. Grandma had immediately decided they set up camp for the day. Now here they were. Eating their supper around a slowly growing fire. Hours ago, Rycrofth had gone to sleep on a bed of rocks - sleeping bags would burn, Rycrofth had half-muttered - and hadn¡¯t gone back up since. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s okay?¡± asks Tarrick for the millionth time. ¡°Yes, he¡¯ll be fine,¡± answers Prothea, sitting in his lap. ¡°Then what happened to him? No one¡¯s told me since we set up camp.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Meaning,¡± says Grandma, gaze lost in her teacup. She grips her teacup so hard, Tarrick fears she¡¯s going to break it. ¡°It¡¯s killing him. Slowly.¡± Silence follows after that. Tarrick decides to push further. ¡°But¡­ how? I¡¯ve never heard of someone who could channel Meaning like he does.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t?¡± He looks down at Prothea. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t. It¡¯s usually channeled in objects, not Davrians.¡± ¡°He hasn¡¯t aged a day.¡± Tarrick looks back up at Grandma. She looks defeated. Older than her years. ¡°Rycrofth is an Academist,¡± Grandma explains, still gripping her teacup tightly. ¡°People who can channel Meaning into objects, plants, etc. Like you said. But Rycrofth¡­ he¡¯s one of the few who¡­ During my Chronicling days, I visited Brunnaron, the Academy of Experimental Meaning. The school for people who study Meaning¡¯s mysteries. Who create the artifacts we use to protect ourselves during Affliction Day. I want to take you there, one day. That school is a well-known secret. But it has secrets of its own. Rycrofth is one of them. Back then, he was working at the Academy as a professor. One of the best. There was a freak accident. Rycrofth and a few others - six professors in total - were trying to figure out the properties of Meaning. The experiment backfired. Rycrofth, Tralamir, Isepisys, Unalitia, Faeraele and Syllael. There was an explosion. After that¡­ they weren¡¯t the same.¡± Tarrick looks down into his teacup. He grips it tight until it hurts. His jaw tightens, too. He can¡¯t bare the haunted look in Grandma¡¯s eyes. ¡°What happened to them?¡± ¡°They absorbed the properties of Meaning. Solid, gaseous, liquid, aether, kinesics and plasma. Their bodies morphed into those properties. That accident gave them great powers, too. Rycrofth can move anything solid. That¡¯s why he prefers places with many rocks. Somewhere solid. His power has great consequences, though. It eats him from the inside. Each time he uses it, it drains his life force. And one day¡­ one day¡­ I fear¡­¡± Tarrick didn¡¯t want to push her. But he didn¡¯t have any other choice. ¡°What do you fear, Grandma?¡± ¡°I fear he¡¯s going to turn solid, one day. And lose himself completely to Meaning.¡± Tarrick swallows. He expected she was going to say that. But it¡¯s still not an easy thing to hear. Rycrofth seems like a decent fellow. He took them out of the cave in, after all. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°I just hope¡­ I hope I can help him, now that I¡¯m older and wiser. I hope¡­ I hope I can bring him back to normal. He was friends with your grandfather first. Reeckards really liked his friends the Academists.¡± Grandma smiles at the memory. It¡¯s a sad kind of smile. The kind that hides tears at the corners of her eyes. ¡°They were wacky. Like him. Reeckards always wanted to know how things worked and how the world turned round. Poor Reeckards was always heartbroken he never got to learn at Brunnaron. They refused each time. Your grandfather was a thinker. Not unlike Rycrofth and the others. And I followed wherever he went; I loved Chronicling whatever struck his fancy. Whatever struck their fancy, too.¡± Tarrick exchanges a look with Prothea. ¡°You think we can help him?¡± ¡°I hope so,¡± says Prothea. ¡°I truly hope so. For your grandmother¡¯s sake.¡± ¡°What about the red crystals we found in the mountain scorlion¡¯s lair?¡± suggests Tarrick. ¡°Couldn¡¯t that help him? Somehow?¡± Prothea clicks her tongue. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Remember what it did to the mountain scorlion?¡± ¡°Touch¨¦.¡± ¡°Tarrick.¡± Grandma looks up and stares him right in the eye. ¡°You might have a point there, though. Everyone at Brunnaron tried everything to make them normal again. It never worked. But no one tried to use crystals imbued with Meaning.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I¡­ wonder why.¡± There¡¯s carefulness in Prothea¡¯s voice. A carefulness that, Tarrick finds, sounds strange in her voice. She doesn¡¯t like this one bit. ¡°There must be a reason why no one tried that,¡± says Prothea. ¡°Meaning is always unpredictable,¡± answers Grandma. ¡°But it¡¯s our last hope.¡± ¡°I guess it is.¡± Silence falls and fire burns. Prothea curls up in a ball and falls asleep fast. Tarrick lies down on his back, his sleeping bag enticing even while the sun is still setting. He doesn¡¯t have much time to fall asleep, though. Someone stirs in the camp. And it¡¯s neither Grandma nor Prothea. Rycrofth is awake. Rycrofth groans and puts a paw to his temples. ¡°What happened? I feel terrible.¡± ¡°You exhausted your Meaning powers. You needed the rest.¡± ¡°What time is it?¡± ¡°Almost seven,¡± answers Tarrick, looking up at the sun, low in the sky. ¡°Really?¡± Rycrofth sits up. ¡°I slept all that time? I must have been more exhausted than I thought.¡± ¡°How much did you use your powers today?¡± asks Grandma. ¡°Not much. I levitated some rocks.¡± Rycrofth snaps his fingers, smile growing on his volcanic-like face. ¡°Oh! Right. I tried to stop the cave in. That didn¡¯t work out, did it?¡± Tarrick knows he¡¯s trying to lighten the mood. That doesn¡¯t work out either. ¡°Last time I saw you¡­ you could lift up the entire Academy with one paw.¡± Rycrofth laughs. ¡°I grew old.¡± ¡°We all did.¡± ¡°Hm, hm.¡± Rycrofth tsks. He turns to Tarrick. ¡°What about you, son? You¡¯re Reeckards¡¯ grandkid, right? How¡¯s your grandpa? How are your parents? Jortus and Onette, right? I¡¯ve only heard about them through letters, but it¡¯s been a few years. How are they?¡± Tarrick opens his mouth. Grandma beats him to it. ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡± Tarrick sniffs. He¡¯s never heard Grandma talk about that Affliction Day¡­ like that¡­ before. So bluntly. She usually avoids the subject. Never mind saying this. Rycrofth gasps. ¡°Oh, Maeena! I¡¯m so sorry. I¡­ I didn¡¯t know.¡± What¡¯s going on? Grandma¡¯s gaze has gone steely. Freezing cold. Her jaw is set, brow frowned. What happened to her cheerful behaviour from a few hours ago? Meaning, be, what happened to her cheerfulness from a moment ago? It seems the more time she spends in Rycrofth¡¯s presence she¡¯s grown angry. Vengeful. Prideful. ¡°That¡¯s the point, now, isn¡¯t it!¡± It¡¯s not a question. It¡¯s an accusation. Grandma tosses her tea cup. It shatters loud in Tarrick¡¯s ears. Grandma rises to her feet, paws gripping her cane tightly. ¡°You weren¡¯t there! You should¡¯ve been there, but you weren¡¯t. You weren¡¯t there!¡± Grandma smacks her cane against the ground. Prothea awokes with a start. ¡°What¡¯s happening? What¡¯s going on?¡± Tarrick runs his paw into her fur. ¡°Shhhh. It¡¯s okay.¡± Grandma doesn¡¯t look okay, though. Each breath she takes sounds ragged. Knives in her throat. ¡°They died when the ground broke apart and they fell. I was there, Rycrofth! I¡­ I watched.¡± ¡°Maeena¡­¡± Rycrofth jumps up and grabs onto Grandma¡¯s arm. She pulls away with a cry of pain. Tarrick smells burnt fur from his spot a few feet away. He burned her. ¡°Leave me alone!¡± Thus, Grandma storms into her tent and closes her flap. With purpose. She¡¯s gone. ¡°I¡­¡± Rycrofth stares at Tarrick. Face crestfallen. The poor fellow. He looks absolutely, completely lost. ¡°Sit down. I¡¯ll explain.¡± Rycrofth plops down next to Tarrick. Tarrick stares into the fire. Wood crackles under the blue flames. It¡¯s strange. When Tarrick looks at Rycrofth, he can¡¯t help but think how orange fire looks¡­ odd. Out of this world. Supernatural. He never thought he¡¯d get to see orange fire. Or lava. Tarrick shakes his head. He has to focus. Don¡¯t avoid the subject. Stop beating around the bush. Even in your own head. Tarrick takes a deep breath. Then he starts to tell his story. ¡°Grandma was the one who took me in after that dreadful day. I¡¯ve never seen her react like that. She usually closes up when someone mentions Grandpa or Mom or Dad. I¡¯ve never seen her angry about it. If anything, she¡¯s always been my rock. Keeping me afloat when it felt like too much. We always see it coming. Most of the time, we¡¯re lucky if we don¡¯t lose someone to the Afflictions. But that year¡­ everyone lost someone. Our family lost the most.¡± ¡°She¡¯s right.¡± Rycrofth¡¯s voice shakes around the edges, but he looks resolute. ¡°I should¡¯ve been there. I should have protected them. I control Meaning in solid form! I could¡¯ve¡­ saved them.¡± ¡°It¡¯s too late for that. Don¡¯t beat yourself up over it.¡± Silence falls. Only broken up by the popping of the embers in the blue campfire. Tarrick rubs his paws together, enjoying the way the feeling of fur against fur distracts him from that pain deep seated in his chest. Still there. It¡¯s always there. Some days are worse than others. ¡°Where were you, anyway?¡± Rycrofth avoids his eyes. ¡°People don¡¯t like us. The Academists. We¡¯re¡­ We¡¯re scary. It doesn¡¯t matter that we¡¯re all almost ninety-years-old. We age but we¡­ I can understand why people are scared of us. A bunch of people stuck together in a freak accident gain immeasurable power in the span of¡­¡± Rycrofth snaps his fingers. ¡°Like that.¡± He clicks his tongue. ¡°People grow weary of us. Suspicious. We¡¯re like a ticking bomb waiting to explode for them. That¡¯s why we all left the Academy. One after the other. We don¡¯t really stay in one place for long. At least, I don¡¯t. I don¡¯t really keep in touch with the others anymore. Not even in writing. Besides, it got hard to keep track of everyone¡¯s locations after a while. Where do you send a telegram or a letter if you don¡¯t know where the recipient is supposed to retrieve it? The others could be anywhere, for all I know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem sad about it.¡± ¡°I am. There¡¯s a part of me that is.¡± Rycrofth shrugs. ¡°But there¡¯s no need to worry about that.¡± ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°Hey¡­ what¡¯s that?¡± At first, Tarrick doesn¡¯t feel anything. Then it starts. The ground shakes. A low rumble comes from deep below the ground. Rycrofth grabs Tarrick by the paw. ¡°Look out!¡± A great ruckus fills Tarrick¡¯s ears. Rycrofth pushes him against the canyon walls. Now he understands. The wall on his right collapsed. Rocks bigger than himself are falling. The rocks collide with the ground. Dust rises up. The fire goes out. Someone screams. Grandma. Or was that Prothea? Everything stops moving. The dust settles once more. What is it with cave ins today? Tarrick coughs. ¡°What happened?¡± Rycrofth¡¯s paw is lifted in the air. A few rocks as big as Tarrick¡¯s head he was holding safely above them fall to the ground. ¡°They''re drilling again.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°The Davrians who live underground. I keep telling them to stop drilling under the Wide Canyons but they never listen! And now¡­ now here we are.¡± ¡°What do you mean, here we are?¡± Tarrick shakes away the dust from his eyes with one paw. He gasps when he realizes what¡¯s going on. ¡°Grandma? Prothea!¡± They¡¯re separated. And somehow, someway, the falling rocks formed a cul-de-sac around them. They can¡¯t see the sky anymore. All that¡¯s left is rock. And¡­ are they in a tunnel? ¡°Great,¡± grumbles Rycrofth. ¡°We¡¯ve stumbled in a Meaningful tunnel.¡± Season I | Episode IV | Chapter III Season I | Episode IV | Chapter III ¡°Are you kidding me? You mean¡­ we¡¯re stuck?¡± Rycrofth rubs at the back of his neck. He groans in pain. ¡°Look, kid. I¡­ huh¡­¡± ¡°How can we be stuck? You control the solid phase of matter!¡± ¡°People may be scared of me, but I¡¯m not as strong as I once was.¡± Rycrofth taps the walls with his paw. ¡°Those rocks are fortified with Meaningful minerals. They¡¯re better for their infrastructure. And more difficult for me to manipulate. They put Meaning in those rocks.¡± ¡°So¡­?¡± ¡°So¡­ either I try to get us out, fail, and fall from exhaustion like I did earlier¡­ or we find a way out through the tunnel in front of us.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even know¡­ ¡°Tarrick perks his ear. Muffled shouts come from the other side of the wall. ¡°Hey, Rycrofth! Do you hear that?¡± ¡°Tarrick! Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!¡± ¡°Grandma? Prothea? Is that you?¡± Tarrick presses his ear against the wall. He listens. ¡°Grandma? Prothea?¡± ¡°Tarrick! Is that you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s them!¡± Tarrick smiles at Rycrofth. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me! I¡¯m with Rycrofth. Are you all right?¡± ¡°Yes! We¡¯re fine!¡± ¡°Good! That¡¯s really good to hear! We¡¯re fine, too! We¡¯re in a tunnel!¡± Tarrick thinks he hears Grandma swearing. ¡°Great! That¡¯s just great!¡± ¡°We¡¯ll try to find a way out through the tunnel, all right? Stay where you are!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll try to salvage what remains of the campsite. It took quite a hit!¡± ¡°Good! Do that! We¡¯re coming. Don¡¯t worry!¡± Tarrick looks around. He doesn¡¯t really know what to do. He knows, logically, that they need to leave. But what if they get lost? What if they never see Grandma or Prothea again? ¡°After you,¡± says Rycrofth. Right. Now¡¯s the time to go. Tarrick can¡¯t think such negative thoughts. He¡¯s going to get out of this tunnel alive and see Grandma and Prothea again. Everything will be fine. He¡¯s survived an encounter with a giant mountain scorlion, after all. They start to walk down the tunnel. Their footsteps echo in the long tunnel. The soil feels almost rubbery under Tarrick¡¯s feet. It soon gets cold and his teeth start to clatter. Wonderful. Simply wonderful. At first, it¡¯s dark and scary. But then Rycrofth raises a hand and a ball of flame rises in his palm. Now, it¡¯s lit up and scary. And warm once more. Tarrick runs his paw against the wall. The tunnel is unnaturally smooth. Everything is impossibly flat. No rocks gather on the ground. It almost feels like they¡¯re in a long tube of rock more than a tunnel, really. Then, Rycrofth and Tarrick turn at a corner. Rycrofth¡¯s flame dies upon his palm. Nothing is dark anymore. This part of the tunnel¡­ This is beautiful. Glowing crystals blossom like flowers on the walls. Some are so long and so tall, they crisscross together, rising from the floor and disappearing inside the ceiling. Blues, pinks, yellows, greens¡­ all shine. But it¡¯s not the same shine as the one Tarrick found in the mountain scorlion¡¯s nest. These ones¡­ they¡¯re tamed. A friendly energy hums in his ear. ¡°Come on,¡± says Rycroth. ¡°There¡¯s no time to enjoy the view.¡± Tarrick pouts. ¡°All right, all right.¡± They set off again. When they walk around the bend of the tunnel, they arrive in an enormous room. Cavernous walls disappear in the dark above. On ground floor, a giant rusty drill stands. Empty. The drill might be empty, but the room isn¡¯t. Two people are standing there. A duo of Davrians, wearing dirty overalls and goggles. They¡¯re standing, but they''re also arguing. The memory of two annoying bridge workers flashes in Tarrick¡¯s mind. One of them points at the drill. ¡°Come on, Ulk! You must be kidding me. You were supposed to know how to make this thing work!¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°What do you mean? You¡¯re the mechanic, Horks!¡± ¡°Yes, and you¡¯re the drill operator!¡± ¡°I¡¯m not an operator, I¡¯m a seller. There¡¯s a difference! People buy drills from me.¡± ¡°And you don¡¯t know if they work first?¡± ¡°That¡¯s irrelevant! As long as people buy them¡­¡± ¡°What do you mean, that¡¯s irrelevant? How¡­!¡± Rycrofth coughs into his fist. ¡°Ahem. Gentlemen?¡± Both turn towards Tarrick and Rycrofth at the same time. Tarrick swallows down a laugh. The angry looks on their faces vanish when they see Rycrofth. Their faces become awed. ¡°Mr. Rycrofth!¡± The two Davrians pile around Rycrofth. One of them tramples on Tarrick¡¯s foot. As if he¡¯s completely invisible. Tarrick huffs. He guesses that¡¯s what happens when you¡¯re a boring Davrian standing next to an Academist in a place where solidity is¡­ well. Life. ¡°How are you, Mr. Rycrofth?¡± asks the first Davrian, Ulk. ¡°Yes, how are you?¡± presses on Horks. ¡°We didn¡¯t think we¡¯d see you again so soon!¡± ¡°This wasn¡¯t¡­ exactly planned. All right, sons. Listen. My friend Tarrick and I¡­¡± Rycrofth points at Tarrick. Ulk and Horks look at Tarrick as if seeing him for the first time. Then, they turn back towards Rycrofth, who continues: ¡°The wall caved in and we really need to go back outside. But as you well know, Meaningful rocks are quite hard for me to lift.¡± Ulk swaggers. ¡°Rightly so!¡± Rycrofth coughs. ¡°So¡­ You may see we have a problem.¡± Horks jumps up and down. ¡°You want us to drill a hole through that wall?¡± ¡°That would be very kind of you, thank you very much.¡± ¡°Of course, of course, of course!¡± Ulk and Horks stumble together inside the drill. The door closes behind them. ¡°You know them?¡± asks Tarrick. Rycrofth grunts. ¡°Unfortunately.¡± At first, muffled arguing reaches Tarrick¡¯s ears. There¡¯s a window embedded in the side of the door. Tarrick can see everything that happens from the outside. Horks slaps Ulk so he can get to the controls. Ulk slaps Horks. They press a few buttons. Pull down a lever. As if on random. And still nothing happens. Rycrofth pinches the bridge of his nose. Finally, he calls: ¡°Gentlemen! We are in a hurry.¡± ¡°Coming, Mr. Rycrofth! Coming!¡± Ulk pulls down another lever. A low grumble rises from the giant drill¡¯s motor. Tarrick takes a step back. He covers his ears from the hellish sound. That thing growls like a throttled tractor. Rycrofth protects Tarrick with one extended hand. The drill¡¯s cricketpillar tracks start to move. Dust is pushed off the ground and into Tarrick¡¯s eyes. He coughs. That¡¯s the third time it happens today. Tarrick waves his paw in front of his face and the dust cloud dissipates a little. That¡¯s when he sees the drill collide with the opposite wall. Orange and golden sparks erupt from the metal. Dirt flies all around. Covering Tarrick and Rycrofth from head to toe. At first, nothing happens. Then, the drill starts to¡­ well. Drill. It pokes at the wall until it digs inside. Soon, another part of the tunnel has been opened. The drill doesn¡¯t stop there, though. It keeps going. And going. And going. ¡°Shall we?¡± proposes Rycrofth. ¡°After you.¡± They follow the giant drill. The new tunnel is shaped the same rounded way as the one they stepped in earlier. Incredibly smooth. Definitely not natural. Tarrick quickly calculates in his mind. They should be parallel to the crystal tunnel by now. They keep going. Hope bubbles inside Tarrick. They¡¯ll be out soon. He can feel it! ¡°Tarrick.¡± He almost stops at the sound of Rycrofth¡¯s voice. They keep on walking, but now Tarrick listens. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°About your parents¡­ and your grandfather¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s not fine. Your grandmother¡¯s right. I should have been there. But it¡­ ever since the accident, it feels restricting to be anywhere I want. The rocks sing to me. The trees. The mountains. Everything that¡¯s solid. I can¡¯t ignore their call. And that¡¯s why I wasn¡¯t with Reeckards or Maeena that day. I should¡¯ve been! They¡¯re some of my oldest friends. But¡­ the call¡­ I know it¡¯s no excuse.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no use in thinking in what-ifs. What¡¯s past is past.¡± ¡°You¡¯re quite wise for your age, young man. You know that?¡± Tarrick bows. ¡°Thank you very much.¡± Rycrofth chuckles. Something grinds. A motor running on nothing. Rrh-gn-gn-gn-gn¡­ Up ahead, the giant drill has stopped. Actually, it has stopped going forward. They¡¯re parallel to the first tunnel they stepped through, Tarrick figures. They¡¯ve reached the outer wall. They¡¯re almost there. The giant drill pushes forward one last time. Light. A burst of light. There¡¯s light in the tunnel! They¡¯re free! ¡°Tarrick!¡± ¡°Grandma?¡± Tarrick walks past Rycrofth and stops next to the giant drill. The opening in the tunnel widens and widens. Finally, finally, the last layer of wall tumbles down. Tarrick walks outside into the cool breeze and under the stars. It¡¯s dark now. It¡¯s a different dark than in the tunnels. Out here, it¡¯s warm, inviting, with natural shadows and wide, open spaces. Everything feels more beautiful. The way the canyon glows a dull red in the lack of light. The way Grandma smiles at him. The feeling of Prothea¡¯s fur on his face as she flies up and wraps herself around him. He¡¯s free! ¡°You made it out!¡± says Grandma. ¡°I knew you could do it, fluffy pie.¡± ¡°How long did it take us to get out of that Meaningful tunnel? Must be a record!¡± ¡°Rycrofth?¡± Tarrick frowns. Grandma is looking behind his shoulder. Tarrick turns his head back around. Rycrofth is there. Standing a step behind him. Outside. ¡°Yes, Maeena?¡± Grandma walks up to him. She smiles. ¡°Thank you for bringing me back my grandson.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not nothing. You did a good thing. You¡¯re a good person, Rycrofth. And¡­¡± Grandma hesitates. She pushes on: ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have¡­ that outburst¡­¡± ¡°Hey.¡± Rycrofth puts a hand on Grandma¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Trust me. It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Hey!¡± Grandma, Tarrick and Prothea turn towards the opening in the canyon wall. Tarrick looks past Rycrofth, still standing inside the tunnel, and at the giant drill. Ulk and Horks are sticking their head out of the giant drill door. Faces half-covered by their copper goggles. ¡°What about us? We did all the heavy lifting!¡± ¡°Yes! Some congratulations would be appreciated, Rycrofth!¡± Tarrick smiles. Yes. Thanks to them. They¡¯ll be fine. Season I | Episode V | Chapter I Season I | Episode V | Chapter I 229 days until Affliction Day Soon, the dust settles between all of them. Grandma starts to laugh more around Rycrofth. Rycrofth himself loosens up. Where he was rigid and seemingly uncomfortable around them, now he¡¯s more malleable. Tarrick likes to think he went from rock to clay. He doesn¡¯t want Prothea to know that, though. She¡¯ll laugh at him. And tell him how this is a silly analogy for someone who controls the solid phases of matter. Tarrick doesn¡¯t mind. Some thoughts deserve to be private. In any case, they travel in the Wide Canyons for a few more weeks. They¡¯ve showed Rycrofth their stash of red crystals the day after the cave in and he¡¯s been studying them ever since. Enthusiastic beyond words. Rycrofth looks younger whenever he looks at them. Tarrick can see hints of Rycrofth¡¯s younger self in his eyes. That seems to do him good. For every day, Rycrofth manages to lift them all up over the canyons, and it seems easier each day. Then he needs time to recharge. They walk some more, sit around from dinner ¡®till night, let Rycrofth study the red crystals, morph them around with his powers, and are on their way early the next morning. Routines never bothered Tarrick. But he dislikes walking. A lot. Every few days he has to sit down with the Lennox in his paws. How he misses the smell of books, the feel of the carpet under his feet, the helm¡¯s wooden texture gripped by his paws¡­ Soon. They¡¯ll be out of those canyons soon. It takes them a while, but Tarrick¡¯s not wrong. The first sign they will be soon out of the Wide Canyons arrives when they reach the village of Yeagsant a few weeks after meeting Rycrofth. The sun is already setting over the horizon, turning everything to rich oranges and pinks, painting the canyon walls in shadows. Rycrofth gently lifts them up above the canyon wall and¡­ there. Yeagsant stands in all its glory. The village is built like a spidamander web. No. Not like that. It isn¡¯t built in the shape of a spidamander web. It is built exactly like a spidamander web. Yeagsant is a convoluted mess of colourful houses and wooden pathways built on high wires, clinging to the stone archway Tarrick had seen while standing upon Mama Mountain Scorlion¡¯s head. The wires are attached to the houses by thick iron balls sticking out of the houses¡¯ roofs and outer walls and foundations. Yeagsant is a patchwork that gathers in a circle around the mayor¡¯s house on Middle Rows Street, Grandma tells Tarrick. Everything is suspended in the air. Meaning whispers on the wind. Goosebumps bloom on Tarrick¡¯s arms. This whole place is filled with Meaning. ¡°Tarrick?¡± He turns to Prothea. She¡¯s glided a few paces ahead and stands with Grandma and Rycrofth. Prothea smiles gently at him. ¡°Aren¡¯t you coming?¡± ¡°Oh! Right. We¡¯re going¡­ there?¡± ¡°Indeed, we are.¡± Rycrofth puts his fists on his hips, looking at Yeagsant. ¡°The only way forward is up.¡± Rycrofth lands them at the feet of the great archway. A strange assembly of ropes, pulleys and wooden platforms await them. But there¡¯s no one here. They stand underneath a strange rock formation sticking out of the great plateau. It¡¯s shaped like an upside down ¡®L¡¯ and has been attached to a little bell on a piece of twine. Grandma steps over to the bell. She lifts her cane and swings. It lands gently against the silver. Ding! A whistle shrieks. Tarrick covers his ears. Water falls from an overturned bucket overhead. It falls into a complex series of little platforms bringing down the water into a water mill. It turns and turns and turns. Machines groan. A door opens and closes, opens and closes, in Yeagsant¡¯s lowest house, suspended a few feet above the ground. A trap door opens underneath the house¡¯s foundation and a rickety old wooden elevator is lowered. It hits the ground with a faint thud. The elevator door slides open. Inside, a bored-looking Davrian looks at them over his notepad and round-rimmed glasses.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°We¡¯re full,¡± he says in a monotone voice. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± asks Grandma. ¡°We¡¯re full. As you may see, the village of Yeagsant is particular about the number of its citizens. Nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine houses stand on this¡­ I can¡¯t believe they make me say that¡­ ¡®amalgation of wires and wonder.¡¯ Only one more citizen is allowed in a house in this place. I believe you are¡­ one, two, three¡­ yes, three people too many. I¡¯m sorry, but that is law. Have a good day.¡± The Davrian raises a paw towards a lever sticking out of the elevator. ¡°Wait!¡± The Davrian¡¯s paw freezes an inch above the lever. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± Tarrick takes a deep breath. He squints at the name tag on the Davrian¡¯s shirt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ ah¡­ Arokas? We don¡¯t want to be citizens. We¡¯re simply travellers. We only want to spend some time here. A temporary amount of time. Would you¡­ have an inn, by any chance?¡± The Davrian¡¯s entire face brightens. ¡°Oh, really! Travellers! You should have said so earlier!¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t it obvious, though?¡± points out Prothea. Arokas looks at Tarrick¡¯s shoulder. ¡°A talking cat-owl, huh? Fascinating. Look at how cute you are, kitty-kitty!¡± ¡°You want a piece of me, spectacles?¡± Arokas looks like he¡¯s swallowed a lemon whole. ¡°Prothea, shh!¡± says Tarrick. ¡°That¡¯s not nice!¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s hilarious,¡± cuts in Grandma, half-chuckling. ¡°I¡¯m with Grandma on this one.¡± Tarrick shoots glares at both Rycrofth and Grandma. They shut up. Good. Arokas rubs his paws together. ¡°So. Travellers, huh? Around these parts, the best place to stay at is Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern. It¡¯s not the cheapest place to stay in, though. That doesn¡¯t matter. Oh! And for a small fee, I can be your personal guide around the village. What do you say?¡± Tarrick rubs at the back of his neck. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe tomorrow? I¡¯m really tired.¡± ¡°Ah, all right.¡± Arokas shrugs. ¡°Hop in.¡± The ride up to Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern is a blessing and a curse. At first, the view of the sun setting beyond the canyons and the houses dangling in the air is nothing short of coming out of a dream. But then Tarrick wakes up. Soon after the elevator stops inside the lowest house, which also happens to be the post office, Arokas guides them up. And up. And up. Turns out, Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern is located at the very top of the spidamander web. At the veeeeeery top of the archway. And all those pathways Tarrick had glimpsed from the ground? Are actually stairs. A lot. And a lot. Of stairs. Tarrick almost drops dead when he reaches Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern¡¯s threshold. ¡°I¡­ never¡­ want¡­ to¡­ climb¡­ stairs¡­ ever¡­ again.¡± ¡°Chin up, Tarrick!¡± says Grandma, oh so enthusiastic no matter the fact she¡¯s groaned about her aching hip not even five minutes ago. ¡°We¡¯re there!¡± ¡°Wonderful. Let me just¡­ smell this delightful door mat for the next ten minutes, okay?¡± ¡°Is¡­ everything all right?¡± Tarrick hears Arokas tentatively ask. Tarrick lifts a thumb up. He hears paws clap. ¡°Wonderful! Call me if you need me next morning for your tour of the city. And bring your best walking shoes! That tour isn¡¯t for the faint of hearts!¡± ¡°And this wasn¡¯t for the faint of hearts?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°You don¡¯t get a say,¡± cuts in Tarrick. ¡°You fly. I don¡¯t. We are not the same.¡± ¡°Come on, Tarrick, get up.¡± Arms gather Tarrick and pull him up. Rycrofth smiles down at him. ¡°We can¡¯t get inside if you¡¯re blocking the door, son.¡± ¡°Okay. Just let me die in a bed, won¡¯t you?¡± Tarrick barely listens when Zelenyphe - the kind tavern owner - swoops in from the dining area and shows them the way to their bedrooms. While playing with her greying fur, she chats happily away at how there have been more travellers in Yeagsant recently and how it¡¯s good for business. And how it¡¯s good that the younger generation isn¡¯t as afraid of the Afflictions as hers was. Soon, they¡¯re in front of two doors opposite each other at the end of the hallway. The key clicks inside the lock. It¡¯s a small space, with two small beds and a cot. A small window opens up to the magnificent view of Yeagsant as it lights up for the night. Prothea jumps on the cot and immediately falls asleep. Lucky her. Tarrick still has to do some boring stuff. Like stand in the doorway with Grandma and Rycrofth. Even as Zelenyphe excuses herself and disappears at the turn of the corridor. At least Tarrick can keep his mouth shut. He only has to listen and watch. ¡°Thank you, Rycrofth,¡± says Grandma. ¡°I guess this is the time we say goodbye.¡± That feels final, coming out of Rycrofth¡¯s mouth, and Tarrick has a feeling Rycrofth isn¡¯t only saying goodbye for the night, but in preparation for when they¡¯ll have to separate for good. ¡°It¡¯s strange,¡± he contiues. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d feel so comfortable travelling with actual people. I¡¯m more of a lonesome Davrian, after all.¡± ¡°The Academist life is lonely?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ it¡¯ll be once you have to leave. Anyway. ¡®Till tomorrow.¡± ¡°¡®Till tomorrow.¡± Tarrick can barely stand on his own two feet until he collapses on his bed. Season I | Episode V | Chapter II Season I | Episode V | Chapter II Tarrick awakes the next morning when Grandma opens the curtains wide. Sunlight floods in the bedroom. Tarrick covers his head with his pillow. ¡°Rise and shine, fluffy pie! We¡¯re in a village, this is the best time to start searching for stories!¡± ¡°How early is it?¡± ¡°Not that much. Come on, breakfast is waiting for us.¡± Word travels fast in Yeagsant. Early that morning, as she tells him on the way down the stairs to the main floor, Grandma went to the dining section and started chatting up with the guests while her grandson and his familiar were sleeping. Now that the sun is up and Tarrick and Prothea are also up, people are lining up at the door, waiting anxiously to tell their stories. After a good breakfast of bighorn-lizard eggs and fresh bread, Tarrick goes up to his room and gathers up his suitcase. His Chronicling equipment rests on the table. Tarrick sharpens his quill and sets out to write. Truth be told, not all of Yeagsant¡¯s stories are interesting. Some are even borderline insipid. Some fascinate him: tales of ancient families still living perched in this archway after centuries. Tales of feuds and betrayal. Others are¡­ not. It¡¯s just that Tarrick is rather uninterested by what the innkeeper¡¯s son ate this morning. Or how two neighbours have gotten into a fight over a stolen biscuit. Tarrick is half-way to thinking he hates being a Chronicler when the twenty-seventh person shows up. ¡°Tarrick? Gran!¡± He looks up. ¡°Isolniel!¡± There she is. Their climber friend, all fur and bone, safe and sound. She runs up to Tarrick and sits opposite him, barely letting the elderly Davrian with his many cat-owls get up and leave. ¡°When did you arrive?¡± she asks him. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in a while!¡± ¡°Last night,¡± answers Prothea, licking her paw. ¡°What about you? When did you arrive?¡± ¡°Last week. I¡¯ve been out a lot, so that¡¯s probably why I didn¡¯t see you last night. Or this morning. There¡¯s a lot of amazing places to climb around here! I should show you.¡± She takes a deep breath, having not breathed since she started talking, and looks over her shoulder at the door. ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t mean to pry, but what¡¯s with the line out there? People are lining up to see you now?¡± Grandma shrugs. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been a Chronicler in many years. The cubs don¡¯t remember, but grandparents do, and patriarchs and matriarchs tend to have a lot of influence on their families. So it seems everyone showed up to see us. It¡¯s kind of them, really.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ I see.¡± Isolniel¡¯s head whips back on her neck so fast, Tarrick fears she gets whiplash. ¡°Oh! Does that mean you¡¯re looking for a good story?¡± ¡°Indeed I am,¡± says Tarrick, leaning forward. ¡°Do you have one for me?¡± Isolniel leans forward, too. ¡°Indeed, I do!¡± She reaches down into the pocket of her pants. A piece of paper, folded in four, sits neatly in the palm of her paw. Tarrick picks it up and reads Isolniel¡¯s almost intelligible writing. He arches an eyebrow. ¡°Greglith, the masked one?¡± Isolniel nods. ¡°People whisper about him on the streets. Greglith, the masked one. You can hear him at night, jumping from roof to roof. His laugh echoes in the dark. You wouldn¡¯t have seen him; he rarely makes it to the top of the Web¡­¡± At the others¡¯ visible confusion, Isolniel waves a paw. ¡°That¡¯s the name for the city structure.¡± Tarrick, Prothea and Grandma nod. Isolniel continues: ¡°No one knows exactly what he¡¯s doing, jumping from roof to roof in the dead of night. Or why he¡¯s doing it. But he¡¯s been terrifying everyone since last year. Some are scared to walk at night. Others don¡¯t care. Most think he¡¯s a superstition, but I don¡¯t think superstitions are founded on nothing, you know?¡± Tarrick exchanges a glance with Grandma and Prothea.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°You said he terrorizes people. Has he been caught attacking anyone? Stealing anything?¡± Isolniel thinks for a moment, tapping her chin. ¡°Nope. Not that I¡¯ve heard of.¡± ¡°Then how can he terrify the townsfolk?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°Well, you see, he wears a rather scary mask. An eagle-coyote. With teeth in its beak and golden lines around the eyes that gleam in the dark. Speaking of his eyes, no one¡¯s ever seen them. If you look at them, it¡¯s like staring in twin voids. He probably also wears blues and greys, contrary to popular belief.¡± At their visible confusion, once again, Isolniel explains: ¡°If you wear completely black, you can actually stand out in some situations. Climber¡¯s tip.¡± Prothea, Grandma and Tarrick nod again. She continues: ¡°But that¡¯s not the point. It¡¯s the mask everyone talks about. It¡¯s old, a dull orange, cracked in places. Covered in feathers from the nose up and fur from the nose down.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound that bad,¡± muses Grandma. Isolniel¡¯s eye twinkles. ¡°There is blood on his cheeks.¡± Everyone gulps. Tarrick rubs his paws on his forearms. ¡°Okay, I see how people can be scared of him.¡± ¡°Have you seen him before?¡± asks Prothea, head resting on her folded paws. ¡°No, unfortunately.¡± Isolniel sits back in her chair and props up her legs on the table. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen the feathers. They¡¯re scattered around the city like hints in an enormous scavenger hunt.¡± Grandma pushes herself to her feet. ¡°I want to find him!¡± ¡°Me too!¡± Tarrick stares at Grandma and Prothea. ¡°Are you sure? It¡¯s the middle of the day, what if¡­¡± ¡°He leaves feathers, like hints in a scavenger hunt. So that¡¯s what we have to do. Follow the trail of feathers, you find him. That¡¯s what she just said, right?¡± Isolniel raises both paws. ¡°I mean, I did, but I¡¯ve never seen Greglith before. No one¡¯s caught him yet.¡± ¡°Yet,¡± points out Grandma. ¡°Right. Yet.¡± Prothea pouts. ¡°Come on, Tarrick! Let¡¯s at least try!¡± Tarrick opens his mouth to protest. Prothea pouts. Grandma pouts. He huffs, shoulders sinking down. He can¡¯t refuse Prothea. Or Grandma, for that matter. Not when they look at him like that. Tarrick looks at the clock ticking on the wall. ¡°It¡¯s midday already. I... presume¡­ we can go find him now.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± A sigh of content reaches Tarrick¡¯s ears. ¡°Ahhhh! It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve slept past eleven o¡¯clock!¡± says a voice he¡¯s familiar with now. Heavy footsteps finish their decent down the stairs. Rycrofth is an inch away from hitting his head against the ceiling. He yawns; growls, more appropriately. It sounds like the rumble of the Hollow Earthians digging underground. Rycrofth bends backwards, head turned ceilingward, and stretches, paws on his lower back. For a ninety-year-old Davrian shaped like a volcano, he¡¯s still very flexible, Tarrick realizes. Isolniel jumps to her feet and points. ¡°What is that?!¡± Grandma turns to her and whispers: ¡°Don¡¯t worry. He¡¯s our friend. Isolniel, meet Rycrofth.¡± ¡°Rycrofth,¡± says Tarrick, ¡°meet Isolniel. We met her when she was trying to climb the Growing Rock.¡± Rycrofth finishes his stretch and, sitting on his knees, he leans down with both elbows against the table - a good idea, too. The chairs would¡¯ve probably given out under the virtual weight of a boulder. ¡°Ooh! You¡¯re the climber, huh? I¡¯m always impressed by someone who cares about rocks as much as I do,¡± says Rycrofth with a wink and a wiggling finger. ¡°How was it, climbing the Growing Rock? I¡¯ve heard that mountain scorlion¡¯s nothing to trifle with. But you made it, huh?¡± ¡°Thanks to Tarrick.¡± ¡°All right, can we go back to the matter at paw?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°What matter?¡± asks Rycrofth. Tarrick grins. ¡°We found a story to tell.¡± They all move as one outside the inn. The line is still waiting outside. Tarrick explains they¡¯ll have to catch up later. Some go home with barely an inch of disappointment, but others don¡¯t want to budge. With Rycrofth¡¯s help though, it¡¯s easy to dissipate a crowd. Rycrofth takes a deep breath. Then, he roars: ¡°GOOOOOOO. AWAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!¡± The crowd scatters. Good. Now, they¡¯re free to find Greglith, the masked one. ¡°We did all this for nothing!¡± Tarrick can¡¯t help but agree to Isolniel¡¯s grumbles. It doesn¡¯t take long until Tarrick¡¯s tiny glimmer of hope vanishes. They¡¯re never going to find Greglith. The trail of feathers leads nowhere, most of the time. Other times, it leads somewhere¡­ until they reach a house¡¯s high wall and can¡¯t go any further. It feels like walking in a labyrinth suspended on a string. Without a map. Lost in the light of day. And while trying to find nothing but a shadow. The only things they get for their troubles are aching feet and frustrated huffs. Tarrick¡¯s feet are killing him when he drops down on his bed in Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern that night. Grandma immediately starts to snore. Prothea curls up next to Grandma and falls asleep too. Tarrick can¡¯t find sleep just yet - it¡¯s like he¡¯s too tired to sleep. So he lights a candle, picks up his quill, grabs his Chronicling journal, and starts to write about this failure of a day. ¡­ And that is why, Dear Journal, I fear we may never see Gregl¡­ Tarrick looks up. He rubs at his eye. It¡¯s midnight on his bedside table clock. His ear perks up. He¡¯s heard something. Surely he has¡¯t imagined it. Right? Tarrick puts down his quill and closes up his inkpot to prevent any spills. He grabs his candle and looks out through the window. The flickering light of the candle reflects his face in the glass. Tarrick blows out the candle. The flame dissipates in a string of smoke. Then, Tarrick looks back up at the window. He stares at someone else¡¯s face. An eagle-coyote¡¯s mischievous grin. Tarrick doesn¡¯t know he¡¯s screaming until someone shakes him out of his trance. Prothea and Grandma. ¡°What is it? What is it, Tarrick? Are you okay?¡± A feather flutters in the wind. He¡¯s gone. ¡°I¡­ I saw Greglith. The masked one.¡± Season I | Episode V | Chapter III The next morning, Tarrick feels absolutely terrible. He¡¯s slept fitfully, with an eye open. Now he knows why people are scared of walking around at night. That mask still haunts his waking hours. He can spot it at the corner of his eye. In the dark corners of the inn. He¡¯s fallen asleep out of exhaustion more than anything, way past his usual bedtime. Tarrick has woken up groggy and frustrated. With gritted teeth, he stabs at the poor piece of bighorn-lizard egg in his plate. Rycrofth, Grandma, Prothea and Isolniel look at each other. ¡°Are you okay, Tarrick?¡± ¡°Do I look like I¡¯m okay?¡± Someone at a nearby table gulps. Everyone stares. There are people piling at the door to tell their story, but Tarrick doesn¡¯t care. He can¡¯t bring himself to care. His usual enthusiasm is gone. Replaced by anger and fear. He¡¯s fought some dangers before. A few cave-ins in the Wide Canyons. The mountain scorlion. Old Leohomin¡¯s mansion. But he¡¯s never felt this¡­ like this before. Terrified of what lurks wherever he¡¯s not looking. Tarrick puts down fork. He can¡¯t eat. Not like this. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I snapped at you, Isolniel. That was uncalled for.¡± Tarrick drops his napkin in his plate and rises to his feet. All stare, looking up at him, still seated. ¡°I can¡¯t live like this.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± asks Grandma. ¡°In fear. We¡¯re going to find Greglith.¡± ¡°But¡­ we failed yesterday.¡± ¡°And we¡¯ll succeed today. I feel it in my bones. Come on. Get up! We¡¯re going.¡± They exchange a glance again. Tarrick is already on his way to the door while the others are halfway to their feet. Wind whips at Tarrick¡¯s face. He looks out at Yeagsant from his perch on the tavern¡¯s threshold. It¡¯s a cool breezy day outside, a kind he¡¯s not used to anymore after the suffocating heat of the Wide Canyons. Tarrick is already walking down the stairs when the door opens behind him. It¡¯s a long way down and he¡¯d prefer to have a heads up. The longer they wait after sunrise, the harder it will be to find Greglith. Prothea calls after him and proposes they go to the city archives. Maybe they¡¯ll find something there. Isolniel, Rycrofth and Grandma acquiesce and Tarrick, beyond his frustration, has to begrudgingly admit she¡¯s right. They can¡¯t start their search without a modicum of information. And so, early in the morning, they sit in a half-circle at a table in the city archives, noses stuck in books. ¡°This is useless,¡± says Grandma. ¡°We could be looking for years and never find the masked one. This feels like trying to find a needle in a mountain scorlion nest.¡± Tarrick agrees. He almost throws away his book in frustration. Almost. He¡¯s not angry enough to get mad at a book, thank you very much. ¡°Guys?¡± They all look up at Isolniel. ¡°I think I found something.¡± She¡¯s been reading Yeagsant¡¯s address book. All lean around Isolniel. Prothea lands on Tarrick¡¯s shoulder and looks down. Curiosity shines in her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything,¡± says Rycrofth, eyes scanning the page back and forth. ¡°See this?¡± Isolniel¡¯s index claw digs into the paper on a particular line. She reads aloud: ¡°Gregoriam Elorin, second house in Middle Rows Street. Look here.¡± Isolniel grabs another book and flips its pages to the letter E. ¡°Gregoriam Elorin. Husband to Fawarlith Elorin. They live in Middle Rows street with their son Ulben and their daughter Venona. But here¡¯s the kicker. Look here. There¡¯s a little star next to almost all these names.¡± ¡°Except the son,¡± says Rycrofth. ¡°They¡¯re all¡­ dead except him.¡± Prothea jumps on the table and pushes the book closed with her nose. ¡°That¡¯s the name directory for five years ago. So now that kid would be¡­ about twenty-years-old. Maybe a bit more.¡± Eyes land on Tarrick. Searching. ¡°He could¡¯ve been around that age,¡± he says. ¡°It was hard to tell through the window. And through that mask. But I bet Greglith isn¡¯t old. I don¡¯t know if anyone past their twenties would just¡­ get up and jump from roof to roof with no purpose in mind. For fun.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± says Grandma. ¡°If I could do that¡­ I would.¡± ¡°Anyway,¡± Prothea cuts in slowly, pointedly, ¡°that poor boy has been living all alone for five years.¡± ¡°And Greglith started wreaking havoc about five years ago, I think,¡± says Isolniel. ¡°That¡¯s a long time to be terrorize the city without being caught,¡± points out Rycrofth. ¡°And it didn¡¯t take us long to figure out Greglith,¡± admits Tarrick. ¡°Didn¡¯t it?¡± And so, they set off for Middle Rows Street. It¡¯s located smackdab in the middle of the scamander web that forms Yeagsant. From where they leave the city archives, it¡¯s only a short way down. They¡¯ll be there in a few minutes. Still, the road ahead seems long. Tarrick grits his teeth. He¡¯s tense. He clenches and unclenches his fists, at his sides. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay, Tarrick?¡± asks Grandma, walking with him at the front of the group. ¡°I¡­¡± He could lie. It would be easy. But two things stop Tarrick from lying. One: Grandma would know instantly he¡¯s lying. And two: he doesn¡¯t want to lie to her. That¡¯s when things start to go downhill. ¡°No. No, I¡¯m not okay. Were you okay, when we met Rycrofth again, during the cave in?¡±Stolen novel; please report. Grandma tsks. ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t. But I want you to know¡­ whatever troubles you, you can always talk to me about it. All right? And take care of yourself. That will help, too.¡± ¡°Thanks, Grandma. I think I¡¯ll sleep better once all this is dealt with.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll all be.¡± They walk down another flight of stairs and arrive on Middle Rows Street. They walk down the platform and reach Ulbin Elorin¡¯s home. It¡¯s an old, dingy little house, with cracked white-turned-cream walls and falling roof tiles. A garage that seems way too big for such a tiny house is wide open, like the mouth of a beast. Inside, a saw hisses. Sparks fly. Tarrick walks up to the garage wall and knocks. ¡°Hey! Sir! Mister! Hello!¡± The saw stops and a Davrian lifts a full face mask up on his forehead. It¡¯s Ulben. No question about it. But he doesn¡¯t¡­ he¡¯s not like Tarrick imagined Greglith, the masked one, to be like. There¡¯s no mischief in his eyes. He seems¡­ tired. Exhausted. With drooping eyes and a slumped figure. ¡°Yes?¡± asks Ulben in a monotone voice. ¡°You¡¯re Ulben Elorin, right?¡± ¡°Hm, hm.¡± Ulben wipes his paws on a greasy towel and throws it away. ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Tarrick. And I know you¡¯re Greglith, the masked one.¡± It doesn¡¯t take long for Ulben to admit it. At first, he denies. Vehemently. But then Tarrick looks him in the eye and says ¡°I saw you last night, you can¡¯t lie to me.¡± Ulben sighs and nods. He slumps down in a chair, sitting amidst the knicknacks that is his workspace in his garage. Ulben runs a paw through his fur. ¡°I knew someone would figure it out. How did you find me so quickly?¡± ¡°We found you in a name directory,¡± says Rycrofth, stepping closer. The others follow. ¡°We found your parents first. Gregoriam and Fawarlith Elorin. Greglith. It wasn¡¯t hard to put two and two together.¡± He smiles. In a sad kind of way. ¡°It wasn¡¯t hard, huh? Right.¡± Prothea flies up onto Tarrick¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What happened to your parents? Or your sister?¡± ¡°Prothea!¡± protests Isolniel. ¡°What? Someone had to ask.¡± Ulben doesn¡¯t seem that impressed by a talking cat-owl. Instead, he simply blinks. He keeps on smiling in that sad kind of way. ¡°What do you know about my sister?¡± ¡°Not much, I¡¯m afraid,¡± shrugs Grandma. ¡°She seemed¡­ kind.¡± ¡°She was so kind. The gentlest soul you could ever meet.¡± Ulben¡¯s gaze gets lost in the distance. ¡°They all died on Affliction Day, five years ago. A floating isle from way up above landed on the city by mistake. No one was to blame but Nature¡¯s whims. The houses were shaken, but held on. The people who were walking the platforms, though¡­ a lot of them fell. They didn¡¯t make it.¡± For the first time since early this morning, Tarrick feels something other than anger. His heart grows heavy. He feels sadness and guilt and¡­ maybe not quite pity. But his eyes water the same. ¡°My parents and grandfather died on Affliction Day three years ago.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I wouldn¡¯t wish that on my worst enemy.¡± ¡°Me either.¡± ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been Greglith ever since?¡± asks Isolniel. This time, Ulben¡¯s smile is genuine. He jumps up in one swoop, kicking his heels. Ulben rummages through his knicknacks hanging on shelves and wire racks on the walls. He grabs something, a small object Tarrick can¡¯t identify, in his fist. Then, Ulben walks over to a slim box hanging from the wall. He unlocks the box - with a bronze key Tarrick couldn¡¯t quite identify earlier. Inside the box, there¡¯s only a non-descript button sticking out of the wall. Ulben pushes on it. Out of sight, pulleys grind and ropes hiss. A trapdoor slides open in the floor. A small platform rises. It stops a few seconds later. Everything stills. ¡°Meet Greglith.¡± The mask is a lot less terrifying in broad daylight. Neither is it slightly warped into a demonic snarl by the glass of the window anymore. Now that Tarrick stares at it plainly, it¡¯s quite beautiful. Golden and purple feathers glisten in the sun. There¡¯s no fur on that mask. The fur belonged to Ulben himself, underneath the mask that half-covers his face during his nightly adventures. Speaking of Ulben, he grabs the mask and reveals a strange pair of shoes underneath. Are those¡­ springs attached to the soles? ¡°This was Father¡¯s mask from his old theatre days. And those shoes¡­ Mother made them for Vinny, my sister. Mother taught me everything about the workshop. And Vinny loved to jump. At times, we had to¡­¡± Ulben smiles at the memory, eyes glistening. ¡°We had to fight to get her to take them off and come home for dinner.¡± He grows somber. ¡°After the accident¡­ I decided to honor their memories and adjust these shoes¡¯ abilities a bit. So I could jump higher than walls. But on my first night out, someone spotted me. And that¡¯s when the tale of Greglith, the masked one, was born.¡± ¡°Who came up with the name?¡± Rycrofth ponders, picking up a bolt and running it through his fingers. Ulben almost looks sheepish. Almost. ¡°I did. I¡­ foolishly amplified the rumours myself. Not that anyone would be able to tell anymore.¡± ¡°Where does the blood come from?¡± asks Prothea. ¡°It¡¯s mine. I cut my finger once and thought it would be hilarious if I put it on the mask to give Vinny a scare. Mother begged me to remove the blood. No luck. It stained.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°Are you still going to terrorize the town, though?¡± asks Grandma. ¡°That was never the intention! I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t want to scare anyone.¡± ¡°Well, you do,¡± says Tarrick, ¡°and I could barely sleep last night because of you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. But¡­ I can¡¯t bring myself to stop.¡± Ulben¡¯s voice cracks when he says: ¡°I¡¯ve tried. Trust me, I have! This¡­ this makes me feel close to my family again. You¡¯ve never felt the thrill of jumping from roof to roof with the wind in your fur. You¡¯ve never seen the twinkling lights of the windows mirroring the stars like I have. Besides¡­ it¡¯s my only hobby. Times are rough and¡­ I don¡¯t really have the money to find myself another one. I can¡¯t stop. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Isolniel snaps her fingers. ¡°I have an idea.¡± They all work together. Tarrick writes a commercial slogan. Isolniel and Ulben work on painting posters. And Rycrofth and Prothea work to bend the metal. Soon, the tale of Greglith, the masked one, has become¡­ a business. It all starts in Middle Rows Street, but as soon as Tarrick, Isolniel, Rycrofth and Prothea take that story to Zelenyphe¡¯s tavern, it spreads like wildfire. Everyone wants a piece of the legend of Greglith. And when an ¡°expert¡± on the subject - someone who has studied this spirit and tried to replicate his Meaningful abilities using mechanical shoes of his own - appears, all want fragments of what he knows. Ulben becomes that expert and soon, Greglith¡¯s shoes sell like hotcakes. Roof Jumping - under strict guidelines and the watchful eyes of the mayor and the authorities - becomes Yeagsant¡¯s favorite sport. ¡°I could never say thank you enough,¡± says Ulben one night, a few days after they¡¯ve started selling Greglith¡¯s shoes and after a particularly successful day at Ulben¡¯s workshop in his garage. ¡°I loved improving my Mother¡¯s shoes, but I never thought others would love them too.¡± He stares down at his paws, wrapped around a teacup. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m spreading a bit of joy every day.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± says Isolniel with a wink. Ulben looks up. ¡°How can I make it up to you? How can I say thank you properly?¡± Grandma smiles at Tarrick. Tarrick smiles at Grandma. Tarrick grabs a familiar suitcase he¡¯s kept under the table. He opens it and takes out his writing supplies. ¡°Well¡­ I guess you could¡­ you know¡­ let me write your and your family¡¯s story?¡± Ulben smiles. ¡°It would be my pleasure.¡±