Pages From a Book That Doesn't Exist

Some of these stories really happened. The rest are false.

[critical-fish]

"The Would-Be-Monarch betrayed the Flame by attempting to subjugate humanity under her rule"

"Humanity's eventual collapse was a direct consequence of Conqueror's campaigns"

"Trough faith in the Divine alone, was Godsend eventually stopped"

Technically all true.

History has made certain her name would never be forgotten.

I will tell you something the world never cared to remember:

She loved music.

Her hair was dark.

She loved rainy days that reminded her of summer in Ashmount.

And her eyes were kind.

[critical-fish]

History may yet find some good to come out of the War.

Personally, I would begin with Oscar Sabater’s compositions for Gold Valley’s war drums and horns.

[critical-fish]

Magic is the power to impose your will upon the world.

No one understood that better than Evan.

And because he understood it, he also knew how strangely mundane magic truly was.

To Evan, there was no real difference between the spell that lifted a stone into the air and the simple act of bending down to pick one up with his hand. Both were expressions of will.

Magic could do nothing that was not already possible.

The mistake most people made was believing they understood the limits of possibility.

Only one mage Evan had ever met rivaled his power: Myrna.

Though she herself would never have accepted the title.

Myrna believed her gifts were not magic at all, but answers granted directly by the gods. Her devotion surpassed anything Evan could comprehend.

Evan discovered the limits of magic through study of the soul, the edges of reality, years of practice, and endless failure.

Myrna discovered them by believing there were none.

[critical-fish]

Some people write out of vocation.

Some write out of need.

Others out of love.

I write because, in the end, there was no one else who could.

In a world where reality bends to the whims of dogma and oblivion, taking note of what truly happened has become a personal act of resistance.

This encyclopedia, manual, glossary—or whatever you choose to call it—is my attempt to preserve what has not yet been swallowed.

This book is the work of many lives, of which I am merely the latest—and perhaps the least important. It exists thanks not only to historians, archaeologists, cartographers, archivists, journalists, librarians, and countless others whose tireless and rarely acknowledged work preserves the memory of the world. It is also thanks to all of those who at one point wrote a letter to a friend, copied a family recipe, or kept a broken toy. And, of course, to everyone who, if only for a moment, felt the profound need to carve their hand into stone and tell the universe:

I was here.

[critical-fish]

Long ago, in another land far from here, I met a woman whose eyes were old and wise, who knew all stories, true and false.

In those days, we would sit together for hours. She would tell stories, and I would listen.

Now she rests, I write, and we are far apart.

[critical-fish]

The Reform of 1523 and the Centralization of Fire

The Great Fire of 1450

The Church of the Flame has faced countless challenges since its foundation, but none as persistent as fire itself.

Recurring church fires became an accepted part of religious life. As long as no one was killed, the Church was quick to classify them as acts of "Burning Purification".

After the Great Fire of 1450, however, something had to be done.

The blaze claimed the lives of a father and his two children as they prayed inside the Temple of Saint Voltar of the Ember. It then spread to the crops of four nearby farms, destroying—according to the conservative estimates of the Silver House's adjusters—more than six tons of food.

The Great Pontiff Klau II responded with the bureaucratic coldness for which he was known.

He proposed a reform to the Church's canons governing construction and consecration, declaring that any place of worship built without the authorization and supervision of the central clergy would be grounds for excommunication.

A Century of Debate

This measure sparked nearly a century of disputes, including theological debates, mass protests, multiple accusations of bribery, and at least one "unconfirmed" assassination within the Cinder Council.

Finally, in 1523, Pontiff Adil I—survivor of the still-recent Third Fire of 1518—promulgated the Constitution of Spiritual and Material Safety.

The document established the conditions under which new places of worship could be constructed and defined the safety standards that would continue to evolve over the centuries, including:

the number, size, and distribution of emergency exits,

minimum ceiling height,

proper ventilation,

and Church-approved building materials.

The One Cathedral

The strict regulations meant that Flamaria Cathedral became the only officially recognized cathedral on the continent.

Annual pilgrimages to the capital became all but mandatory for the most devout. Today, the Cathedral does not pass a single day without welcoming hundreds of pilgrims from across the continent.

The Church subsequently financed the construction of subsidiary basilicas in its allied nations, such as Ashmount and Aliana, as reminders of its protection and benevolence. In its less cooperative neighbors—Imbera and Cenargenta, for example—they serve instead as reminders of its reach and authority.

Though still places of worship, these secondary temples also function as clerical consulates, where faith is measured in tithes and proselytized through ministerial decrees.

The laws prohibiting the use of open flames are enforced with almost divine zeal by the Silver House, ever vigilant in the protection of its contracts, receipts, and insured premiums.

The Unintended Consequences

Since then, official reports have shown a dramatic reduction in fires related to ecclesiastical activities.

Not least because the Church quietly stopped including unauthorized temples in its internal reports.

The true legacy of the Reform of 1523, however, was something else entirely.

What historians now refer to as the Centralization of Fire.

By centralizing the faith, the Church acquired a degree of influence over the continent it could never have achieved through deliberate ambition alone. The annual pilgrimages to the Cathedral gradually consolidated a network of roads, transport, and commerce that no kingdom, republic, or empire has ever managed to rival.

The Reforms of Sorvol I

In 1723, Pontiff Sorvol I—whose rise to power was not without controversy, owing to his education at the University of Imbera—completely reorganized the Church's logistical structure.

His pontificate, remembered as more administrative than spiritual, ultimately consolidated ecclesiastical control over transportation, communication, and the distribution of essential goods.

Today, the Church of the Flame decides when and how caravans travel, which messages are delivered, and what goods are permitted to cross the continent.

"The Church's critics denounce its clerical monopoly and manipulation of the market.

The Church, with admirable consistency, acknowledges their concerns... and chooses to do nothing about them"

— Victor A.V.

[critical-fish]

At the beginning, all things were new, so nothing had a name.

Humans learned to name things after what they were, and eventually they did the same to themselves.

To be human, and to have a name, meant you had earned it.

So when Conqueror was born with her grandfather’s name, it was considered shameful.

Names were not meant to be inherited.

Of course, now we know she eventually earned it.

But this story is not about her wars.

This story is about the War.

Long after Conqueror's exile, the War still raged across the continent. With every passing year, humanity continued to erode.

By then, they already knew the War could not be won.

At least not without her.

You have to understand: humanity had lived for millennia. They had built civilizations beyond anything we could recreate now. They mastered science, art, and technologies that have long since been lost.

And through all of it, they fought.

They fought each other for so long that violence had become the one language every nation still shared.

Yet after centuries of war, the greatest societies the world had ever seen reached the same conclusion:

If humanity wished to survive, they would have to bring Conqueror back.

Well, almost all of them.

Humanity had never recognized a monarch. And in the end, they never would.

Even as the rest of the continent bent the knee, the city of Reverence still chose to place its fate in the gods.

And so the Would-Be-Monarch fought.

And lost.

[critical-fish]

Micah had been the first to fall. She had fought bravely, but Hedda fought better.

Everyone in the unit knew the battle would be difficult. They had been warned how powerful a single human could be, let alone one of Conqueror’s generals.

Reine was barely able to stand, but he would not let any harm come to Sarah, or all of this would have been for nothing.

Evan knew it wouldn’t matter.

Hedda was already preparing her next attack, and Sarah—along with Reine and everything else in its path—would not survive.

Evan had already tried to counter the spell once before, but there was something different about the human’s magic. He could not trace its origin. It was neither arcane, nor natural, nor even divine.

It felt…

Different.

More essential.

As Hedda finished her incantation, Evan remembered one of the lectures he had half-slept through at the University.

“Countering a spell is simple,” Professor Frigg had said.

“You need only identify its origin and apply the proper method.”

“Elemental spells are the easiest. Apply an opposing elemental force.”

“Divine spells can be neutralized by severing the caster’s connection to their god.”

“If you study enough forms of magic, eventually you’ll have an answer for anything your opponent can conjure.”

He remembered the professor smiling.

“But remember this.”

“You don’t always need to understand a spell to counter it.”

“Sometimes…”

“…you only need to change the conditions in which it exists.”

The human had made a mistake.

She had shown Evan the true limits of magic.

No.

She had shown him there were none.

She had shown him how to defeat her.

As the ray of energy left Hedda’s fingertips, Evan began his own incantation.

He visualized the space between Hedda and Reine.

He drew its boundaries in his mind.

He declared it his own.

And then...

He folded it.

The air the spell traveled through.

The space it occupied.

Reality itself.

Then again.

The spell continued toward Reine.

Every time it crossed the distance between them, Evan folded that distance once more.

Again.

And again.

[critical-fish]

I met Eidra at a collector’s convention in Domus Dorio.

I had been invited as a courtesy. Every Arch at the University was expected to send someone, and ours had decided I was the most expendable.

Usually I would have found an excuse. Collector’s conventions followed a strict ritual. The nobles pretended to understand history. The historians pretended not to notice. Everyone drank excellent wine.

But this time I had a good reason to be in the Valley. I had heard a rumor of newly discovered ruins that could belong to Reverence. It was probably the thousandth time I had heard something like that, and even though I was fairly certain the rumor would prove false, when it comes to Reverence, you can never be sure. I could not help but investigate.

And since the caravan sponsored by the Caraveño family would be faster, more comfortable, and safer than any pilgrimage I could find, I found myself with no other option than to eat the best food on the continent with the most powerful people on the continent, in the most beautiful palace on the continent.

Could be worse.

And how fortunate that I did.

That same day was Eidra’s first official appearance at a public event. That was the first time I saw her. A day I could never forget.

I was pretending to pay attention to a merchant from Darica who was trying to convince me to join an expedition to the south, or something like that. I had already tuned him out and was busy trying to figure out how much cutlery I could fit under my coat without anyone noticing.

And then she came in.

In an instant, the whole room fell silent.

Everyone in that room knew instantly who she was, and everyone had a reason to hold their breath. To the nobles, it was a priceless tale to brag about within their circles. The historians were the ones who truly understood the weight of the moment.

I simply lost my breath.

Domus Dorio was filled with the most beautiful women on the continent. Dressed in imported fabrics from Vandolin, tailored in Aliana. Gold from the Valley, gemstones from Cenargenta, pearls from Raya. Everything money could buy and taste could desire.

But even in Domus Dorio, Eidra stood out like the moon among stars.

Everything about her belonged in a museum.

It wasn’t only her dress, which I immediately recognized as Verstal silk, named after the ruins where it was first discovered. A fabric so rare and sought after that, for centuries, the nobles of the continent had fought over the few pieces that remained.

Nor was it only her jewelry, crafted with techniques no one has ever been able to replicate or even fully understand.

It was something more subtle than that.

It was the way she walked.

The way she spoke.

Something in her gaze that I couldn’t name then, and still can’t name now.

When I saw her, I could see the thousand stories she carried with her. Each older than the last. She carried a confidence that only time could build. The kind you cannot learn or inherit, only accumulate, year after year, until it becomes part of your posture.

The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to do nothing but sit beside her and listen.

I left the silver forks I had stashed away, abandoned the merchant from Darica to his own conversation, and started walking toward her.

Getting close to her was far easier than it should have been, although at the time I wasn’t thinking about that. The opportunity to come face-to-face with the greatest living archive on the continent should have sparked a fight to the death among every guest in attendance.

Instead, I walked unobstructed until I stood before her.

I took a breath.

And before I could say anything, I discovered why it had been so easy.

First I felt something press against my chest. Not exactly a punch. More like a shove—the sort of gesture someone might make to keep their distance without getting their hands dirty.

But it was the strength behind that shove that startled me.

It felt unnatural.

And it immediately took my breath away for the second time that day.

By the time I recovered my composure, they had already walked past me, and I could finally see him clearly.

Until then, I had been too busy looking at Eidra to notice the man at her side.

Lord Kane Bayar.

Of course.

Eidra had arrived that night as his companion.

Even though someone like her never needed an invitation to enter anywhere she wished.

I remained standing there, my hand still outstretched with no one to take it, wondering whether the rumor of Reverence had been worth following.

I think it was.

[critical-fish]

Once, many years ago, Victor sat not too far from here to witness a battle from which no victor would rise, and no survivor would walk away from. Later, when he would tell that story, he would remark upon the senselessness of war.

He was right, of course.

But humans have always found reasons to fight each other. And even though humans thought they were done with this barren field. History is rarely finished with a place.

Elric and Anthea both lay on the mud of the empty field, wetted by the unceasing storm. They were both exhausted, and bleeding. Their fight had been long, and hard for both.

But Elric had finally found the advantage he needed. Before they both stumbled to the ground he had managed to disarm Anthea, and though he still had to find the strength to stand up, when he did, he would be armed and she would be not.

And he did, with the last bit of remaining strength, he stood up, leaning on his sword, and walked towards Anthea.

He had won, he knew that. He knew that as well as he knew that she was unarmed.

What he did not know, was that many years ago there had been a battle in this very field.

That battles tend to leave things behind.

And that rain has a habit of washing up old, lost things.

He did not know Anthea was not unarmed now.

[critical-fish]

Before the War, gods lived among us.

It is said that, to keep the peace, the gods agreed not to interfere in human affairs.

And so, to enact their will upon the world, they chose champions.

In every kingdom, the greatest fighters were trained and tested for the chance to inherit divine power.

This story is about two of them.

The Heir of Fire had always been the most respected and feared among all champions. Fire has always been the origin and the end of all things.

And this time, Ailany was chosen.

Ailany survived the selection not by being the strongest, the fastest, or even the most skilled.

She simply proved she had the perseverance to survive.

The Champion of Shadow, as was tradition in the Dark City, was chosen by birthright.

Lucian was named heir at birth, and the fact that he survived the naming ceremony was proof enough.

And so, whether gifted or earned, Ailany and Lucian had their destinies set: inherit divine will, dispose of their mortal souls.

It was an honor. It was their duty.

And it would have been simple, had they not been in love.

Ailany and Lucian shared something no god had ever felt before. And so the gods could not foresee that, before the Ascension, they would run.

They fled together, far from the Dark City and from Reverence. They ran where they believed no one could find them.

And they were right.

But the reach of gods is long, and their patience short.

The lovers knew they would be found. And that they would be punished with their destiny.

Together, as one, they prayed.

To the only god who would listen.

The only god who is always fair.

The only god who never had to agree not to intervene, for such a thing was never possible.

They prayed to the only god who could give them what they did not have, and what they so desperately wished for a little more.

They prayed for time.

And Time answered.

Whether out of pity for mortals or spite for the divine, Time created a place beyond the reach of fate.

A place where no season could wither.

Where no flame could die.

Where no shadow could fade.

A place where moments were not taken from one another, and where today never cedes to tomorrow.

There, the lovers would never ascend.

There, they would never part.

And so they vanished from the world.

The gods searched for them across kingdoms, across oceans, across centuries.

But Time is the one thing even gods cannot outrun.

And somewhere beyond the turning of the world, beyond destiny and decay, the lovers remain.

Ever together.

[critical-fish]

Circles of protection are among the first spells a novice at the University learns.

They are simple, defensive spells. Meant to teach the three arcane principles:

Visualization.

Intention.

Declaration.

But the truth, as it so often is, has been muddled by time.

Protection circles are only a distant relative of an older, far more powerful kind of magic.

Humans understood the world better than anyone.

They understood its rules.

They understood its limits.

They also knew those rules and limits belonged only to this world.

So instead of drawing a circle to keep danger out, as mages do now…

Humans learned to draw the edges of the world they wished to keep out.

Inside their circle was a world of their own naming.

Where only their own rules and limitations applied.

[critical-fish]

Before the War, humans used to fight each other.

They called it war, but they did not yet understand what that word truly meant.

All battles are tragic in their own ways. I have witnessed many of them. But if I had to choose, I would say this was the most tragic.

This was after Promise II completed its first voyage across the Narrow, and the Westlands were discovered: an entirely new continent, rich with opportunity.

And the Continent would not allow Great Darica to keep it for itself.

For years, Great Darica defended its borders from Ashmount and Vandolin. Or tried to, at least.

Darica lost lives, and Ashmount gained inches.

As new ages of prosperity so often are, this one was built upon the blood and bones of young soldiers.

Eventually, Ashmount’s armies reached the capital of Great Darica. Its walls were built from galanite, tall and unbreakable. And with Darica’s newfound access to the sea, a siege could have lasted decades, if it was possible at all.

So, on the 14th of Aston, Luca Passos, High Chair of the Council of Great Darica; Kamun Mitchaam, King of Ashmount; and Budjaya Melidari, Archpriest of Vandolin, finally sat together and agreed to peace.

The Accord at the Bronze Gate was signed at the entrance of Darica’s capital, which now marked the new border between their nations.

However, at that same moment, three days away by horseback, General Celestino was preparing his attack on Ichetheoa.

Ichetheoa was a holy site for the druids of Vandolin, but also a strategic position that would allow Darica to establish a crucial supply line for an assault on Ashmount’s northern territories.

On the 16th of Aston, only a few hours before the messenger arrived, Celestino attacked.

It was a hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless. Darica had become desperate for them.

Thousands died to seize land that no longer held any military or religious value.

The last battle of the war was fought in times of peace.

[critical-fish]

I used to think that being in the ocean meant fighting against it. Fighting against the waves pushing you to shore, and the current pulling you to the open sea.

Standing there, with the water at my waist. Hair, eyes, nose, and ears full of salt, I realized: the ocean would not yield. It would not tire and it would not take pity on me.

I understood then that being in the ocean meant giving in, allowing it to take you were it wanted but not letting it choose where you would end up. It meant picking the battles you could win and losing the rest.

I guess thats what I like about the ocean. Knowing that if you had the strength to go far enough no one would ever find you. And that the only thing keeping me ashore was that every time the tide pulled me away, I had chosen to stay.

[critical-fish]

I once spoke to a man from a distant land.

He told me stories of people who do not exist, in places no one can reach. Yet there was something in the way he spoke that made it impossible to believe he was lying.

After a long conversation, he offered me a bargain: in exchange for a story, he would answer one question.

So I told him the only story I have ever known from the beginning—my own.

In return, he told me how it ends.