With a canary on his head and a red camera in hand, Cyrus perused the section before him. Where should I start?

Tracing a finger along the spine of the passing books, he fell into the thought of O'Kane's words. The man had assumed he was in search of power, but it only brought him to shake his head.

Power? Cyrus nearly scoffed. As much as he wanted to become a master mage, he had no interest in simulating those megalomaniacal mages seeking divinity. Would godhood allow him to move freely or bind him to others? Besides, becoming a god sounds like too much work. Rather, if Cyrus had the choice, he would have preferred to avoid gods altogether, especially given his strange and clearly designed circumstances. Nevertheless, he recognized that there would probably be a place where he and some divine connection would meet.

More and more, his gaze sifted through the brass titles lining neatly kept books. His brow ever creased the farther he delved into the aisle.

"So many books chronicling divine wars."

Nearly every other book depicted some story of a war between two gods. Was the past really just retellings of long and bloody wars between divinity? How... disappointing.

Let's take a look. So he did. Slowly, Cyrus sifted through a randomly chosen book. Red and rather thin, it was titled The Fall of the Divine Kingdom of Daratala. The book chronicled the reign of the goddess Daratala, known for manipulating the mountains and trees with a single command. Further into the book, it depicted stories of how she would oversee an army of druid warriors.

"She seemed to have ruled some far and forgotten land for several millennia until slain by another equally forgotten god," Cyrus mused out loud.

He felt a strange sense of morbid humor as he read. Cyrus wondered how the goddess would react if she realized that all her efforts, drive, and plans ultimately disappeared along the river of time. Would she find it meaningless? Would it strengthen her resolve?

The death of a goddess. Written simply in ink and paper.

Oh? "What's this?" Cyrus said, finding the author's name on the final page. "Odhrán Saraid, Wolfram-ranked Wayfarer."

A smile traced his lips. He could imagine a Wayfarer trudging through the fog and the unknown, finding some fallen kingdom capital. There, they would search within fallen ruins, discovering a sliver of secret history forgotten by man. And it was a life he wanted. The flight of fancy brought a momentary smile across his lips.

One day. But for now, to work.

More and more titles passed by. Featuring wars and stories of conquest. Yet, with a cursory glimpse through several titles, Cyrus found a surprising link between them all. No matter where a god was born, it all began after an unending darkness. It stood in stark contrast to his homeworld, where barely any religion had a similar origin story. And the lack of uniformity between religious texts and their followers was more than proof for him to be an atheist. For what god allows mortals to tarnish their words with corruption?

Nevertheless, does the fact that these books had a similar beginning prove that it happened? Did the gods themselves say there was only darkness, or had man written it as such? And if there was only darkness, where and when does the domain of order come in? As Cyrus pondered this, he abruptly halted, his gaze falling upon a thin black book. It's wanting size compensated with thin yet golden titling. As if the author believed that was enough to draw attention. Well, if it weren't for its name...

"So, You Pissed Off A God; Now What?" He raised an eyebrow. "It certainly catches the eye."

However, Cyrus couldn't help but pick it up and read. And upon the first page... well, it held a rather interesting signature with so many curves and swirls dancing across the page that he couldn't tell where it began and ended. Shaking his head at the sight, Cyrus turned the page and started reading.

It doesn't matter what you did or why you did it. You're here because you pissed off the wrong magical being, who's now sicced their dogs at you. You're here to find a way out of this mess. And I'm here to help. Trust me when I tell you, I've been in the same boat as you—probably in worse situations, given my line of work.

And let me tell you, it isn't as hard as you think. As a procurer of... magical trinkets, I've learned some tricks to sidestep some of the tricks when being chased down. And I'm here to share them with all who need them.

Cyrus frowned. Wasn't printing a book about it, of all things, counterintuitive? Couldn't some random shlub report this to a church?

Let me offer some advice for free: The fog is your friend. Once you've managed to escape whatever spew you've gotten into, your first choice is to leave the city and hide in the mists, and they'll never find you unless you're by magical means. You're welcome.

Cyrus hummed at the suggestion. Was there some sort of magical interference within the fog, or was all this just a joke? But in truth, he'd hoped never to find out.

Tip two: Go as deep as you can in the fog. While it's true that divine followers gain strength through faith, just like mages, they aren't above the blight. Even more so if their faith is lacking.

"Wait," Cyrus paused, taken aback as he buried his nose into the book. "Do people really gain powers through faith?"

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

How was that fair? Does this mean even the most clueless person on the planet wielded incredible powers so long as their faith was as unyielding as the ocean itself? Are there tales of a young fool triumphing over ancient monsters because of faith?

Maybe I should consult a priest about this. Cyrus tilted his head in thought. Would it offer me some shadow powers? The idea didn't sound too bad. Maybe dabbling as a follower on the side for some extra powers wouldn't be such a bad idea.

But what was this stuff about faith? Was it a quantifiable object? So many questions. Well, at least he had a book to check out... and take pictures of to keep the contents. While Cyrus was lost in contemplation, he subconsciously reached out for another book.

"Ah!" A sudden, gentle exclamation pulled him out of his reverie. To his surprise, he found himself brushing against a pair of soft, pale fingers. Avoiding outwardly cringing at the sudden contact was harder than it looked.

The two then turned to face each other. Cyrus' steel-blue gaze met a pair of crystal-clear eyes as blue as clear ponds hidden behind a pair of glasses. Before him stood a woman his age.

Her long, blonde hair hinted at a sun-kissed radiance, though it would remain forever unseen. She wore an open white robe adorning her chest, embellished with a symbol akin to the magical hexagram found within The Rune Theory. Underneath the robe was a brown blouse and a skirt that flirted with her pale calves. And to top her ensemble, a leather parcel strapped to her shoulder. A scholar, from what he could tell.

As Cyrus scrutinized her, she reciprocated it as well. He was fit, to say the least. And his light, sun-kissed tone? A rarity in Avalorn. Her gaze then lingered on his disheveled face, particularly those clear, steel-blue eyes. One could get lost in them.

Where did she come from? Cyrus, meanwhile, pondered, his thoughts racing as he took in a bridge of freckles adorning her nose and delicate features.

Shouldn't he have noticed someone walking by? A sound? Not to mention, the aisle was empty when he arrived. Feeling discontent, he shifted his gaze to the black book in his hands. Had it magically influenced him? Regardless, Cyrus wished to avoid an awkward moment.

"Sorry," he began, offering one of his practiced smiles. "I was too engrossed in my book and didn't notice you there."

Only once she heard his voice had she escaped her reverie. And yet, Cyrus had not expected her to remain speechless as a rosy hue spread across her freckles. Yet, he did not falter, remaining silently smiling for her to recover. She did not.

Cough

"Clear skies." Cyrus placed his hand on his chest and extended the other for a handshake, silently bracing for the touch. "I'm Wade Cyrus."

The sudden reaction snapped her out of her momentary embarrassment. And she swiftly reached out, shaking Cyrus' hand with both of hers.

"I-I'm Caitríona Lesley," she stammered, voice soft and earnest. "I mean, Lesley Caitríona!"

Lesley's already rosy face deepened in embarrassment at the blunder. Meanwhile, her exclamation stirred the canary from its sleeping state. It then peered down atop Cyrus' head, trying to understand the situation. But the sight of it surprised her—truly surprised her—so much so that she remained silent, staring at it for thirty seconds with wide eyes. Only when Cyrus coughed again did she recover.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, looking away. "So... um." —Her gaze skirted from him to the book's spine she clung to— "Do you need—"

"No, no. Go ahead and take it," Cyrus said, taking a step back and restraining his impatience to end this conversation. "I'm in no rush to read it myself."

Lesley shivered at the sound of his voice. But she managed a grateful smile as she wrapped the book in her chest like a precious treasure.

"Thank you," Lesley said, offering a slight bow, a smile gracing her lips. "You have no idea how much I need this book."

"It's no problem."

Cyrus hoped it would end with Lesley walking off. However, that wasn't the case. Instead, she just stood there—no, actually, she leaned on the bookshelf, gaze fixed on him—no, the bird.

"You're a Wayfarer?" Lesley gasped, voice tinged with shaking excitement. "I've never spoken to one before. But I've read so many stories."

Her voice stirred something within Cyrus. Was it pride? No, it shouldn't have been, for he hadn't accomplished anything. Was it attraction? Eh...

"Wayfarer Initiate, actually. I've yet to go out."

And here comes the disappointment. At least, that's what he thought. But Cyrus was wrong. Her gaze and smile remain ever strong.

"Even if you haven't stepped out into the fog, you're still brave for trying to be one," she said, her expression shifting seriously. "Don't ever let anyone take that away from you."

Her sincerity managed to touch Cyrus' spirit.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, his mood lightening.

However, Cyrus quickly recovered. His gaze flickered to her form, her robe specifically.

"If you don't mind me asking," he began, gaze locking onto the book in her arms. "What's a mage from the Milligan Academy doing in an old district's library, in the divine section no less? I would think the academy would have this section thrice over."

Lesley hugged her book protectively, her gaze flickering away in embarrassment.

"I-It's not a crime to be a mage and to believe in a higher power," she mumbled. "I'm studying to become a priest for my Lord Úrán."

And in some display of prayer or belief, Lesley thumped the ball of her fist on her sternum three times.

A believer? Cyrus' gaze lit up. This could be an opportunity to find some answers. "Is it okay to ask you some questions, Miss Lesley?"

Lesley momentarily hesitated. "I wouldn't mind, but I have some errands to attend to." She peered behind him as if searching for the exit. "So it will have to be the next time we meet in the library." —However, her mind seemed to have changed once her gaze traced over his fit form again, voice trailing off slightly— "Unless... you want to join me?"

Only a fool would miss the signs. The faint blush tinted across Lesley's freckles along the gaze she held. But that didn't matter. No, Cyrus only wanted some answers. So, should he follow? A pause.

"Um, sure," Cyrus said, glancing at the bookcase. "I'll come along."

These books would remain here, indifferent to whether Cyrus read them today or the next, while he might never see Lesley again. Who knew what secrets she held?

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.