Revaramek the Resplendent - Missing Chapter J (Patreon)

*****

Additional Chapter J

*****

Revaramek sat amidst the sprawling, white flagstone plaza atop Refuge’s largest hill. Not a single cloud marked the deep blue summer sky, an azure ocean stretching from horizon to horizon. Despite the sun’s unblinking summer gaze, a gentle but steady northern breeze kept the afternoon from becoming oppressively hot. Actively bustled around him, but for the moment, Revaramek was focused on the plaza, and the unity it now stood for. In the years since Revaramek’s return from the swamp, the va’chaak agreed to undertake a group project to transform the area around their sacred shrine into a grand memorial. Built as a group project between human and lizards, the new plaza memorialized all those who lost their lives in the city’s terrible war so many years ago.

Great stone monoliths stood all around the hilltop at evenly spaced intervals. Each was carved with the names of those who died that horrible day. A raised dais stood opposite the shrine, from where speeches and presentations were given. Awnings with grand, golden tarps shaded both flagstones and benches alike. Towering, decoratively curved poles held colorful banners, each depicting another important moment or person from the city’s recent history. Some of them originally hung in The Hall, such as the banner depicting a grand feast shared between humans and va’chaak. Mirelle had moved them out into public view to promote unity.

Revaramek himself now appeared on no less than five such banners, a number the dragon still believed to be substantially too low. Nonetheless, pride still swelled his heart each time he gazed at the woven images of himself. One simply depicted him in regal pose, with his name emblazoned in silver lettering. Others showed him returning from the swamp, in a flash of cosmic light, and negotiating with other villages and tribes. The most prominent though, portrayed him bravely facing down Asterbury. In the image, Asterbury was shown as an outsized force, a shadowy urd’thin wraith towering over the dragon, with blackened sand and cerulean lightning crackling all around him. It was a truly impossible battle, and yet Rev faced it without fear, ready to give his life for the village.

Just like real life, Revaramek thought. Aside from the part about being fearless, of course. In reality, he’d been terrified. And Asterbury had never turned himself into some kind of gargantuan monstrosity, even when they truly had battled. After all, the little bastard didn’t need to. Not that it had mattered, Rev thought. He’d beaten the little shit long before they ever had their final battle. That particular banner was commissioned soon after Revaramek stranded himself and Asterbury in the swamp.

To the east was The Hall, where Mirelle and the other council members heard from the people, and passed laws. It was a less extravagant building than the one Asterbury tore apart. Mirelle had wished it to look approachable, and so in its way it looked more akin to a large house with several grand domes than a city hall, or fortress. Colorful, friendly murals marked its walls. Its every doorway, corridor, and chamber were larger than before, designed to accommodate gryphons and dragons as easily as humans.

The va’chaak’s headquarters stood across the hill from The Hall. To Revaramek’s understanding, while the building had a name in their language, it simply translated to something akin to The Grand Temple. A large, multi-storied structure, The Grand Temple bore all the extravagance The Hall lacked. Balconies adorned its many levels. Iconography of religious figures, great warriors, and historical events were carved in conspicuous locations. Elegantly twisted copper spires adorned its upper levels. At the apex of its sharply slanted roof, a trio of clawed horns embossed in golden were shown reaching for the heavens.

“I hope you don’t think it’s too much.” Mirelle walked up alongside the dragon, gesturing towards the tapestry that showed him standing against Asterbury. “I know it’s not accurate, but…” She chuckled, wistful. “I wanted something that reflected how you would have told the story of your confrontation.”

“No, Mirelle,” Revaramek said, shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s too much. I think it’s perfect.”

“You know, dragon,” said a nearby human man, carrying a box filled with old books. “Me old gran made that banner.”

Revaramek snorted, biting back laughter. “Yes, I’m certain she did.”

“Actually…” Mirelle rubbed her chin. “I think Tirik’s grandmother really did make that one.”

Revaramek tossed his head. “Yes, yes, Mirelle. We’re all well aware of Refuge’s astronomically impossible number of industrious old grans. Oh!” He leaned onto his haunches, clapping his forepaws together. “Perhaps that’s who we should have recruited to search through all these tomes. The town’s army of elderly woman.”

“Nah.” The man named Tirik set his box down on one of the many long wooden tables currently occupying the plaza. “Me old gran might be the city’s champion banner maker seventeen years running, but she ain’t no good at readin’.” He pointed towards his face. “She’s got the rheumy eye, yassee.” Tirik gestured to the other eye. “And the lazy eye.”

Revaramek blinked, and blinked again. “Then how the hell did she see what she was weaving for all those banners?”

“Held it up real close to her face, like.” The man pulled a book from the box, and held it just in front of his nose to illustrate. “And then she’s squint real hard, and tilt her head just right.” He lowered the book, scowling. “Of course, now she’s got the knitter’s arthritis. Might have to start makin’ banners with her feet!”

Revaramek stomped a forepaw. “No one makes banners with their feet!”

Across the plaza, another man piped up. “Me old gran does! She lost her hands in a tragic ditch digging accident, so she had to learn to do things with her feet. She’s been the banner making championship runner up for twenty seven years running.”

Revaramek only laughed and gave his head an incredulous shake. “Mirelle, can you believe I actually missed this nonsense when I was trapped in the swamp?”

Mirelle smiled. “What can I say, Rev? We live in a special place.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it,” said Revaramek. “I don’t suppose anyone’s found anything useful yet?”

Mirelle only shrugged. “You’d have to ask Jekk. He’s been taking a deeper look at everything that’s been flagged.”

Revaramek grunted, gazing around. Long lines of tables occupied the plaza, each covered in an assortment of books, tomes, maps, scrolls, inscribed tablets, and all other manner of historical materials. Groups of workers sifted and skimmed through everything, searching for any mention of a creature made of sand. Though had only planned to recruit the town’s council to help, Jekk suggested a larger scale effort. After all, the old Storyteller archives that Asterbury once raided contained an immense amount of knowledge. Searching all of it would take days at the least for a handful of people. But with dozens of them, they might get through it all in a day.

The dragon smiled to himself, watching a pair of urd’thin in city worker uniforms quickly flip through a large, leatherbound book together. There was a time, not too long ago, when urd’thin never would been able to get job working for the council. Nor would anyone be allowed to view the uncountable volumes of secret information held within the Storyteller’s archives. But nowadays, the whole city knew Refuge’s real history as a Storyteller colony. One that Jekk had tried ever so hard to cut off from its bloodstained past.

Revaramek chuckled to himself, turning his gaze to the bearded, elderly man in the deep blue tunic, and burgundy trousers. He wasn’t sure the colors matched, but then again, he wasn’t sure a man Jekk’s age could even see color anymore. Jekk leaned forward, studying a page in smaller book held by a female va’chaak. His lips moved as he read to himself. Eventually, Jekk ran a hand through his wild, frizzy white hair. The old man hadn’t bothered to tie it back today. Jekk shook his head, and sent the va’chaak back to keep reading.

Despite their checkered past, Revaramek had grown to greatly respect Jekk. Even in his advanced age, Jekk had proven himself to maintain an open mind, and a willingness to change for the better. The dragon knew all too well that the mistakes of the past could not be erased, but that did not mean they could not be atoned for. Where Jekk had once fought against the marsh’s other resident species, now he embraced them, and sought to unify all the marsh’s many peoples. And while his efforts to insulate Refuge’s earliest residents from the Storyteller’s misdeeds had not kept Asterbury from finding them, at least he’d made the attempt to cut Refuge away from its founders and all their horrible misdeeds. It had taken him his entire life, but at last Jekk knew Refuge as the sanctuary he’d once hoped to forge when he made the decision to cut them off from the rest of the Storytellers, so many years ago.

The dragon smiled. “I suppose you did your best, old man,” Revaramek said.

“What?” Jekk jerked his head up, pivoting on his heel. “I did my best at what now?” With swift steps, he approached the dragon.

Revaramek flattened his frills. “Didn’t expect you to be able to hear that. I was mostly just muttering to myself.”

“Just because I’m older than dirt doesn’t mean I’m deaf.” Jekk shook a bony finger at the dragon. “I’ll have you know my senses are as sharp as they’ve ever been. Sharper, even!” He cupped a hand to his ear. “You hear that? There’s a wasp nearby. A yellow striped root fiddler, from the sound of it’s buzzing.”

Revaramek blinked, then tossed his head. “You’re making that up.”

Nearby, someone suddenly cried out in pain. “Ow! Sumfin’ stung me arm up, it did!”

“Oy, Brubo, that’s a yellow stripped root fiddler! Proper nasty sting it is, but short lastin’. Me old gran used to raise ‘em every spring.”

“See, Dragon?” Jekk folded his arms. “Told you it was-”

“Yes, yes, Jekk, congratulations.” Revaramek waved his paw. “But did your super sense hear what that other man said? I mean, who raises wasps?”

Jekk tilted his head towards the works. “His old gran, apparently.”

“Me old gran does.” The city employee turned around, beaming in pride. “She won third place at the fortieth annual wasp raising championship.”

Another man piped up. “And me old gran made the banners for that championship.”

Nearby, Tirik turned towards the others. “With her feet?”

“No,” the first worker said. “She lost her feet in a tragic ditch digging accident, so she had to learn to-”

“How many ditch digging accidents does this town have?” Revaramek snorted, thumping his tail. “And why do people keep losing their hands and feet? I mean, really Jekk!” Revaramek slapped a paw against the flagstones. “You need to institute some new safety laws.”

Jekk scratched at his white-bearded chin. “Apparently so.” He glanced around at everyone else, clearing his throat. “Well, go on. Get back to work! I’m not paying you double wages for the day so you can all gossip about your various old grans and their assorted skills and amputations.” As the workers all returned to their tasks, Jekk glanced up at the dragon again. “Now, what was it I did my best at?”

Revaramek tilted his head. “You mean besides surviving to be a hundred and seventy?” The dragon laughed, ignoring Jekk’s glare. “I was talking about this. All of…” He waved a forepaw at all the people around them, and the city beyond. “This. For the differences we had in our younger years, I know now that we’d never have had a chance to achieve this if not for your own efforts, long before Mirelle and I were a part of this.”

Jekk stared at the dragon in silence for long moments. Finally, he looked away, swallowing. “Thank you, Dragon. That…that means a lot, to me. I’m not proud of the things that I did to you, to your people…” His misty gaze drifted over several urd’thin and va’chaak, then to a blue feathered gryphon, keeping watch. “To any of them. But I always…I always did what I thought I had to, to keep this city safe.” Jekk sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t always make the right decisions. Some of them, I still anguish over. I still wonder about my family.”

He looked away, gazing across the horizon. Revaramek winced, flattening his ears. He knew the story all too well. Before Jekk had the local gates destroyed, he’d sent away everyone with the spark, including his own wife and child. At the time, he’d thought it the only way to keep the city safe from the scourge of the Storytellers, and those who sought to destroy them. After a moment, Jekk cleared his throat, and straightened up.

Jekk turned back to the dragon, a wistful smile turning up his lips. “Anyway, thank you again for your kind words.” He held a hand up. “I know, we’ve been over all that before. Suffice it to say, I’m glad I eventually ran afoul of people like Mirelle, and even yourself, who could talk some proper sense into me. And who were willing to give a stubborn old man a chance to cast aside the worst parts of himself, and help them build something better.” He mimicked the dragon’s grand wave, sweeping his hand towards all the people working together. “This.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s nice to see, actually. Humans and lizards…va’chaak, rather. Working along side urd’thin, and gryphons and…” Jekk gasped. “Dear gods, who gave that bird a council sash? Now that’s a step too far! We can’t just let them join the government!”

Revaramek snorted. “That’s Kurekka, you addle-brained old git! He’s been a council member for years, how could…” He trailed off when Jekk started laughing.

“Hah! Had you going there, didn’t I Dragon!”

A smile crept across Revaramek’s muzzle. “Alright, old man, that was actually pretty good.”

“Course it was.” Jekk tapped his temple. “You see? I might be getting older, but I’m still sharp as spoon up top.”

Revaramek blinked. “Sharp as a…” He paused, then licked his nose. “You know, Jekk, I can’t quite tell when you’re screwing with me anymore.”

“As it should be.” Jekk walked away, beckoning for the dragon to follow him. “Come along. I’ll show you what we’ve found so far, though I’ll caution you it isn’t much.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Revaramek padded after him, towards the central most table where Jekk had been collecting items of note. “If gods made of sand were common knowledge, you’d have already known about them. And if Asterbury had ever mentioned such a creature, Enora would have remembered.” He glanced towards the va’chaak’s Grand Temple. Somewhere inside, his dear old friend was negotiating for the release of more of their pooled knowledge, as well. “How do you think she’s holding up in there, anyway?”

“Well…” Jekk scrunched his face. “They haven’t thrown her out on ass yet, so that’s a good sign. But they also haven’t sent out any more of their own tomes and scrolls since late this morning, so…” He shrugged. “Hard to say.”

Revaramek followed Jekk the rest of the way to where he’d laid out a dozen or so different books and documents. “Was there anything of use in the information they already gave us access too?”

Jekk shook his head. “Not as it relates to your current most pressing question, no. Now, there’s mountains of interesting history and tales there that I absolutely want to read. But nothing about any kind of…” He waggled his fingers. “Sand god. And I use that second word under protest. There is, however…” He tapped a thick book, bound in the hide of some great, swamp dwelling reptile. “A lot about their time with Asterbury, many years before he went on the rampage.”

Revaramek moved up alongside Jekk, opening the book as delicately as he could. The pages were thicker than human books, made of some sturdier, unfamiliar material. The lettering was all in the va’chaak language. He picked out bits and phrases, but that was it “I’m afraid I can’t read much of it.” He grunted, flicking his tail tip. “Tavaat was starting to teach me, but obviously, other things came up.”

The old man held his hands up. “We’re in the same boat, dragon. Thankfully, before Councilman Tavaat went to join Enora in the Temple, he was kind enough to translate some of this for me. He gave me the gist of the sections the va’chaak workers flagged. Essentially, it’s a historical tome. It describes all the major events in the history of this particular tribe, including plagues that ravaged them.”

Something clicked in Revaramek’s brain. “Didn’t Asterbury save them from a plague, or something? Wasn’t that how he first came to earn their loyalty?”

Jekk nodded once. “Something like that, yes. He’s spoken of quite a bit in here. According to Tavaat’s translations, he’s occasionally referred to as ‘the god’.”

Revaramek scrunched his muzzle. “I wasn’t aware they actually viewed him as a god.”

“That’s the thing.” Jekk turned a few pages, skimming the book. “I don’t think the average va’chaak did consider him a god. More like…an all powerful sorcerer. But this book…” He tapped the page. “Wasn’t written by the average va’chaak. My understanding is, they did not produce very many written works. And those they did create, such as this one, were considered highly valuable, and in some cases, borderline sacred. This was written to document their history, by a high ranking shaman. It’s written through a religious lens, and at least in this particular shaman’s case, he did view Asterbury as a god.”

The dragon rumbled, easing onto his haunches. “Which is exactly as you said. Interesting, but not relevant to the current question at hand.”

“This one is basically the same way.” Jekk pulled a smaller book forward, bound in similar reptilian leather. “It’s also written by a shaman.” He waggled his fingers. “I’m assuming they serve a historian duty, among their people. This one is rather specifically focused on their time suffering the plague. It discusses how the intervention of a god saved them. While this one…” He gestured at a third tome. “Talks about a god bringing them on a great pilgrimage, to their new home.”

The dragon tilted his head. “I suppose in a way, Asterbury did that too. He led them here to retake their hill.”

“That’s what I assumed it was about at first as well. But…” Jekk carefully paged through it. “This book is far too old to be about that. And Tavaat’s only had time to skim it, but…” He scowled, trailing off.

“What is it, Jekk?”

Jekk took a slow breath, considering his words carefully. “Tavaat read me a few passages, and…it’s ambiguous, especially as translated. But it almost sounded as though their pilgrimage with the god was not just across the marsh, but…” Jekk chewed his lip before continuing. “From another world.”

Revaramek pulled his head back, his neck impossible. “But that’s impossible. Asterbury couldn’t open gates himself. And he couldn’t take anyone with him whenever he accidentally blasted himself from one world to another. Anyone else would die, traveling that way.”

“Agreed.” Jekk pivoted, reaching out to place his hand upon the first book he’d shown the dragon. “Which brings us back to this one. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about the timelines laid out don’t line up quite right with our history. Maybe it’s just a translation error. Perhaps more importantly, this book begins…quite abruptly, with the arrival of the va’chaak in their new home. Which…I can only assume, comes after the pilgrimage described in that book. It then proceeds into the first plague.”

“First?” Revaramek furrowed his eye ridges.

“They suffered several waves of them, in their history. And in fact, I can only assume that the one Asterbury cured is that which is described towards the end of this book.” Jekk worked his way towards the tome’s latter half, grumbling under his breath. “Really wish I could read this myself. But the passages Tavaat explained to me are here, roughly. The book ends before we went to war with them, but after the time Asterbury made himself known to the va’chaak. Perhaps most disconcerting…” Jekk licked his lips. “When it talks about the plague, it refers not to Asterbury’s arrival…but his return.”

Revaramek sucked in a breath. “What?”

“If I remember Tavaat’s translation correctly…” Jekk swept his hand across the page. “The God returned at last, wrapped in younger guise, and still with healing touch. And like our brethren, bereft of memory. Only we who hear the song, truly remember.”

Revaramek’s spines shot up. “Hear the song? What song?”

Jekk pursed his lips. “I’ve no idea. Honestly, I thought the bigger takeaway was that they saw Asterbury as a god returning to them.”

Revaramek gave a low rumble. “That is disquieting, yes. We know Asterbury couldn’t come and go as he pleases. But…is it possible he was here, before, and he just didn’t remember it? They did say he was…what, bereft of memory?”

“It’s certainly possible. But…” Jekk turned away, walking the table towards another collection of books. “Given your visitor, I’m starting to develop another theory.”

A shiver racked the dragon, and left his scales clicking. “You think it was him?”

“I think it’s possible.” Jekk waved him onwards. “Come this way. I’ll show you what else I’ve found.” He ran his fingers across elegant golden script running down another tome’s spine. “Which again, isn’t much, but…there are some conclusions to jump to, at least.”

“Jumping to conclusions is what I do best!” Revaramek padded after him, swishing his tail tip. “Along with-”

“Annoying the hell out of everyone around you?” Jekk flipped the book open.

“Well, I was going to say, saving the world.” Revaramek flicked his webbed tail tip. “But perhaps yours is more accurate. After all, I’ve only saved the world a few times, and I’ve been practicing how to annoy everyone my entire life!”

Jekk gave a derisive snort. “You should add exaggeration to that list, because you’ve only saved the world once.”

Revaramek cackled. “I should have thought exaggeration was a given! Besides, if I hadn’t stopped Asterbury, who knows how many more worlds he might have threatened?” The dragon cocked his head. “Let’s just agree on, I’ve saved at least one world, one time, but probably many more.”

“The only thing I’m likely to agree on, is how annoying you are.” Jekk pushed a few books towards the dragon. “Now, look at these. Notice anything about them?”

Revaramek studied the books in question. Each was a different size, and make. One was bound in leather, another hardback, and another smaller one wrapped in some unfamiliar material. But all of them were in exceptional shape, despite their age. They looked clean, and well cared for. And each of them had similar, elegant golden script down the spines. He gently flipped one open, half-expecting to see the familiar hands-and-book emblem of the Storytellers embossed inside. Instead, he saw now such distinguishing marks at all.

“They’re all in great condition.” Revaramek looked from one to another. “They have the same lettering. And, I thought they’d all be from the Storyteller archive, but I don’t see the symbol.”

Jekk smiled, and waggled a finger. “They are from the Storyteller archive.”

“Really?” Revaramek tilted his head. “I thought they marked everything? Or, are these someone else’s books they stole from some world they conquered?”

“They didn’t mark everything.” Jekk opened one of them, idly flipping through it. “Mostly official sources. Though, truthfully I’m not totally sure why these aren’t stamped with the old sigil. I think these are reproductions of mission logs kept by various Historians and Commanders, sent on explorations of new worlds. At least…” Jekk scowled, deepening the many lines in his face. “I assume they’re reproductions. Hell, for all I know, maybe they’re the originals, long-preserved by someone with the spark before being stashed away. If they were that old…” He tapped a finger against the page. “They could even be from before they adopted their emblem. Maybe even their name.” The old man glanced up at Revaramek. “They didn’t name themselves after The Storyteller the first moment they started exploring other worlds, after all.”

Revaramek shrugged his wings. “I can imagine how their explorations started innocently enough. Till they decided they should not only play god, but steal his name, too. And his home.” He gave a low, rumbling growl. “And his child.”

“Yes.” Jekk flipped through a few more pages, his voice curt. “That.”

“If that was the case,” Revaramek said. “That would make these books some of the oldest in your collection, right?”

“It would.” Jekk gently rubbed a page between his thumb and fingers. “Which is why I believe they’re reproductions. Though, I’m not entirely sure why they’d make reproductions of mission logs, other than for historical purposes.” He blinked, then chuckled. “Suppose I answered my own question. Actually…” He slowly turned the page. “Given some of the content, it’s possible they were meant to serve as a warning to newly promoted commanders and historians. Something to prepare them for the possibilities they might face, before they were sent on their face exploration or colonization missions.”

Revaramek grunted, settling onto his haunches. “I take it that things did not always go well for the people in these books.”

Jekk slowly shook his head. “No. No, they did not.”

“I also take it, given our current search, that there were urd’thin shapers involved.”

“That there were.” Jekk rubbed his hands together, grimacing.

Revaramek clenched his jaws. “Given how well prepared your people were when they finally captured Vakaal and his father, I can only imagine how long they’d been chasing those poor urd’thin, from world to world. How many versions of The Storyteller’s tale they ruined.” He hissed through his teeth. “Until they finally found him.”

Jekk was silent for a moment. He swallowed. “Indeed.”

“Sorry, Jekk.” Revaramek bowed his head. “I did not mean that to sound accusatory.”

Jekk waved him off. “It’s fine, dragon. I’m well aware of exactly who was responsible for Vakaal’s capture, and by extension…” He trailed off, gazing around at all the people searching countless books for answers. “All of it that came after.” He sighed, and collected himself. “No sense dwelling on the past for now, though. I’ve gathered these books together because they’re the most immediately pertinent.” He swept his hand above some of them. “These four in particular. They deal specifically with forays into various deserts, inhabited by urd’thin. The other few here do not, but are potentially pertinent for another reason.”

“Tell me about the desert, first.” Revaramek curled his tail around his paws.

“I’d planned too.” Jekk indicated the book he’d been paging through. “See here. This is basically an archaic form of the written language we use here. You should be able to read it.”

Revaramek lowered his head, squinting at the small text, and reading aloud. “Yay and forsooth, verily didst we writeth in ye olden times, upon ye mightiest of dragons-ow!” Revaramek yelped when Jekk slapped him across one of his frills.

“This is all for your benefit, dragon.” Jekk shook a finger at him. At least tryand take it seriously.”

“Alright, alright.” Revaramek winced, rubbing his ear frill till the sting eased. “Just trying to inject a little humor to ease the tension.”

Jekk only glowered at him. “Just read the damn passage.”

Revaramek returned his attention to the page. “When first we encountered their Guardian, it came as a great storm of…” Revaramek trailed off as a trickle of ice ran down his spine. He glanced at Jekk. “Sand.”

Jekk nodded once. “Go on.”

Revaramek licked his muzzle, and continued reading aloud. “There was little we could do to oppose it. Our spark proved little aid. No shield could withstand it, no assault could destroy it. Those who fought it were consumed by the sandstorm, disintegrated in moments. The rest found their spark evaporating within them, like so much water beneath the scorching desert sun. Though we were warned it sometimes arrived, shaped as an urd’thin, we saw no such being. Only sand, and a cold, detached voice in our heads. It told us to leave, and warned us that next time, none would be spared.”

“Sound like anyone you know?”

The dragon swallowed, turning his head to gaze at the eastern horizon. “That’s all that remained of him, when he left. Sand, I mean. Not a storm of it, but…I’ve little doubt he could summon one, if he wished it.”

“Asterbury certainly did,” Jekk said, closing the book, and reaching for another. “Seems to be a recurring motif for his lineage.”

“I don’t recall Asterbury’s storm disintegrating anyone, though.” He held up a forepaw. “Not that he easily couldn’t have, assuming Vakaal let him. But he seemed more inclined to let most of his va’chaak army do the dirty work for him, back then.” He glanced the other books. “Do these all mention a sandstorm like that?”

“These four?” Jekk shook his head. “No, but others do. I selected these four specifically because they all include an encounter with what they had collectively dubbed a guardian. I’ll spare you the specifics, for now. The gist of it is an incredibly powerful urd’thin shaper occasionally arrived to protect his people from the Storytellers. Now, I haven’t read through every account, but in these four, the guardian succeeds in driving them away.”

“Which I can only imagine led the survivors to search for stronger and stronger methods with which to battle him. And collars to contain them.” Revaramek splayed his ears. “By the time found Vakaal, their confidence suggests they’d succeeded in capturing someone as powerful as a guardian before.”

“It certainly seems possible, yes.”

“Yet, when they finally found the real Storyteller, he chose not to obliterate them.” Revaramek scowled, his tail tip flicking swiftly. “He let himself be collared.”

Jekk slowly nodded. “I had the exact same thought. I cannot fathom why he did not simply wipe my people out, the moment they set foot in his world.”

“If he had, the entire course of existence would be drastically different.” Revaramek rumbled, a bitter taste upon his tongue, like unspent fire bile. “None of us would even be here. You’d never even have existed. Mirelle’s family would have never found this place. My ancestors likely would have died as slaves. But Vakaal would have been free. Maybe…” He gestured at the world around them with a forepaw. “Maybe he thought this was the way it had to be. Or maybe…maybe they reminded him of his very first friends. The ones he spun his stories, for, so many eons ago. Maybe he just wanted to give them a chance to find redemption. To prove themselves worthy of his mercy.”

“Perhaps.” Jekk paged through the next book. “Though you might not think so when you read this one.”

Revaramek gave a long sigh. “Maybe he just didn’t remember who he was anymore, until it was too late. Maybe the riddle wasn’t just for Vakaal. Maybe it was for both of them.”

Jekk pursed his lips. “Funny you should mention that.” He tapped a passage, and pushed the tome closer to Revaramek. “Read this.”

The dragon cleared his throat, then focused on the written words. As before, they were in an archaic script, but nothing he couldn’t read. “If this truly was another guardian, it was like none ever described. It came not as a storm, nor the leader of a tribe, but as a monster, a vengeful urd’thin god of sand, shining like the sun. Night became day. Countless wings of golden sand and blackened ash blotted out the sky. Those who attacked with their spark crumpled into scattered embers. Others simply ceased to exist, as if they’d never been there at all.” Revaramek paused, slowly lifting his head. “Dear gods, Jekk.”

“An urd’thin god of sand.” Jekk’s voice was soft, and measured. “Does that sound familiar?”

Revaramek scratched his neck with a talon. “It does, although…” He worked his jaws in silent thought for a moment. “It’s also awfully dramatic, compared the being I met. This one…” He tapped the page. “He had an axe to grind, or a point to make. Or both. Last night, it was different. In fact, if he hadn’t started falling apart when he got angry, I’d never have thought him anything but an urd’thin. Well…” He shrugged his wings. “The same way Asterbury’s technically an urd’thin.”

Jekk nodded. “And your visitor may very well be completely unrelated to the entities described in these books. But these are the only descriptions of we have that come close. Read a little more.”

“I’m not sure I want too,” Revaramek said. He forced himself to turn his eyes back to the page. “In that moment, I knew two things. One, that at long last, we had found Him. And two, we never should have followed him. For long gone was the curious, child-like entity our ancestors encountered. And in its place, was a genuine god, tired of us trampling upon his sacred creations. He whispered into my head, but I cannot recall his words, as if they were not words at all, but holes carved into my memory. I remember the riddle, though. And I remember knowing we would never be worthy of his help, unless we could solve it.” Revaramek blinked, lifting his head. “A riddle? The riddle? The one Vakaal solved?”

Jekk merely held his hands up. “I’ve no idea. The riddle itself is not quoted, let alone answered.”

“But why would he…” Revaramek trailed off when it hit him. “No, of course he would. He was a god, right? He probably knew they were going to keep coming back. If he hid Vakaal’s power behind a riddle, then he had to ensure Vakaal would see in the first place.”

Jekk stared up at him. “You’re saying, Vakaal’s father gave the Storytellers the riddle in the first place?” He rubbed his forehead. “How would he even know that it would be important?”

Revaramek tossed his head. “He’s a god, Jekk. For all we know, he sees through time. He might look to the left and see the past, then look to the right and see the future. Or he might…” Revaramek walked a few fingers through the air. “Flit through timelines, as easily as you walk from one latrine to another.”

Jekk glared at him. “Why the hell would I be walking from one latrine to another?”

“Because you’re old, Jekk, and your body doesn’t behave itself.” Revaramek cackled, thumping his tail. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He waited just long enough for Jekk to start replying, then cut him off. “Can’t hear you, theorizing! The point is, if the god knew that in one particular timeline, his family would be captured and tortured, why wouldn’t he build in some kind of failsafe to escape that timeline?”

“I suppose I can’t argue that.” Jekk wrung his hands. The hint of a smile crossed his lips. “It would be somewhat fitting if The Storytellers of old ended up wrapping their identities around something designed to destroy them.”

“Yes, it would.” Revaramek shared the old man’s smile. “I’d say there’s a fitting sort of poetic irony there, for a god they dubbed The Storyteller.” After a moment, Revaramek’s smile faded. “Though, I’m afraid it still doesn’t tell me much about what I’m dealing with. Let alone how or why he’s here, now.”

“No, it does not.” Jekk crossed his arms. “But as I said, those are the closest we’ve come, so far. The other books…” Jekk tilted his head towards some of them. “Detail encounters and missions in other worlds, including world 5, where some of their dragons came from. Curiously…” Jekk’s gaze drifted back down the table. “Some of the passages Tavaat read me from the va’chaak times reminded me of things from World 5, that I’d seen in the Codex.” He thought to himself for a moment, then turned back towards the dragon. “I had them put here because some of them do discuss the possibilities of older gods, for lack of a better term, influencing events on world 5. I don’t think they’re pertinent to you, however.”

Revaramek grunted, glancing at the pile of collected knowledge in question. “Not unless said older gods are secretly urd’thin, and or made of sand.”

Jekk chuckled to himself. “Not to my knowledge, no. Actually, I should probably read those journals in detail, given that I believe World 5 is where most of their shadowstone came from.”

Revaramek scrunched his muzzle. “You mentioned that a while back. It’s what they made the collars from, right?”

“I believe so, yes.” The old man’s smile slowly returned. “I don’t suppose now is the best time for a long, boring lecture on the various properties of shadowstone, or its historical significance?”

Revaramek tossed his head. “Why don’t you lecture to Mirelle, instead? She can give me the abridged and less boring version. Although…” Revaramek cocked his head. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of those shadowstone collars just sitting around, do you?”

Jekk laughed again, harder than before. “Sadly, no. But what would you do with it if I did? Try and catch this sand god by surprise, and clap it around his neck?”

Revaramek grinned, flexing his wings. “Worth a try, I suppose. Though, even if I managed it, he’d probably just take it off, and turn me into dust, or something.” The dragon shifted his weight, tail tip swishing to and fro. “Jekk, do you think you’d recognize him, if you saw him?”

Jekk stilled, a little of the color draining from his face. “You really think it was Asterbury’s father?”

“I’m certain of it. At least, some version of him.”

“Then yes.” Jekk took a slow, shaking breath. “I would love to say, that all these years later, I’d forgotten their faces. Forgotten the things my father, and his commander, and the grand historian did to those poor urd’thin. Forgotten the screams, and the tears. And the pup’s constant pleas. But I haven’t. Their faces will haunt me even unto my death. So…” He turned away, wiping his eyes. “Yes, Revaramek. If I saw him, I’d recognize him. But I’d be far more worried that he would recognize me.”