My Mate's Father Claimed Me
Shelves lined the stone walls from floor to ceiling, packed with scrolls, bound tomes, and tablets etched with runes so old their meaning had shifted over centuries.
I moved slowly, fingers trailing along spines, reading titles.
Keepers of the Grove.
The Anima Mundi.
Records of the Sealed Wars.
My pulse quickened.
I found a table and sank into a chair, spreading the texts before me. Candlelight flickered as I began to read.
The first accounts were reverent, the Keeper as guardian, the voice of the world, the bridge between flesh and force then the tone changed.
Each era spoke of a crisis, a breach, a void, a sacrifice again and again, the pattern repeated.
Sikat na Kabanata