Gods, he needed to piss.

Felt wrong to do it in a place like this, though. With all the grinning skulls around and all that. Plainly wasn't right. Not to mention the feeling of eyes on him—dead ones, at that.

Enough to make a man begin to reconsider his life choices, surrounded by walls made of bones and dried mud. One of the reasons he hated Vasia, after all, was its madman obsession with the macabre. Why couldn't they just let it be? Why'd it have to be cities with portals for more Souls or whatever? Sorcerers and secretive priests? As much as he despised merchants, at least Armagne was upfront about its shitter side and didn't relish in death and secrecy.

Right, if he made it out, and they managed to get back to their gold and jewels, he'd retire far away. Somewhere properly plain. Even if they didn't get back to their chest, each man had enough riches stowed on him to retire somewhat comfortably. But if he was going to retire, why not do so in wealth beyond all expectations of a man meant for the headsman's axe? Up until Laczlo washed it away, I suppose. He scoffed. Prick.

"Oskar," someone hissed.

"Eh? What?" He squinted into the dark of the tunnel back the way they came. "Nifont?"

"Something's going on," he answered, scuttling in close. The lone torch of Oskar's group lighting up his face, bent in concern, which was more frightening than any skeleton. "There's… sounds above. Commotion. We don't know what."

Oskar's hand found his sword at his side. "Anything from the catacombs?"

"No."

"Shit, well, there's always some angry people in Nova, I'd say."

"It's not that." He leaned in close to whisper, "I heard screams, Oskar. No one else did, but I swear I heard it. And you know I'm not wrong about these things."

"Okay, say you heard that. Any notion of what madness is going on up above, then? We're just outside the Column, where we're at. By Neapoli, who'd be mad enough to…" he trailed off, staring at Nifont. The man held his gaze, eyes wide, serious, dark and unblinking. "It's the plot Laczlo was speaking about, blowing up before anyone could stop it, or… it's him. Would you agree?"

"I would."

"Fuck." Oskar turned away lest anyone see his fear. He paced from where the other men stood guard and faced into the black, thinking. He strode back to Nifont, leaning in. "Say it's either of the two… Emalia and Sovina would have no clue, locked away in some room reading scrolls. They'd be trapped. If it's a civil war, then the rebels would target the Column, destroying its ability to support the tsar, yeah? They'd not kill anyone inside, if they can help it… just secure it. That's the smart thing. But if it's him, well… We know his intentions already, don't we?"

"The Column, the tsar, the voivodes."

"Aye. He's surely got more Dead now. Gods, how'd he even be able to get here this quick? I knew we shouldn't have stopped at every fucking town and village we passed at night… Too long in Delues, too. Fuck!"

He was loud enough that the others were staring. Gotta make a call. Gotta take command. But what to do? Run up there and die? Shit, he didn't know the way around inside the Column. Maybe he could send Nifont to scout out the threat, see if it's him or not? No. Even if it's separatists, they'll capture Emalia and Sovina, stop them from gathering what they need…

"Alright, fuck an escape plan. We gotta get them out. Split up, we're bound to lose each other. And inside there, I want strength, not stealth, yeah?" He turned to the others and opened his mouth to order a command.

That's when he heard his name shouted from down the tunnel where Stanilo's group was positioned at the iron gate. He exchanged one look with Nifont, then gave the order, "All on me!"

They ran to Stanilo's position, his heart pounding, head swimming in the horrid possibilities of what awaited them in the darkness. Up ahead, a flicker of torchlight, the press of bodies of his mercenaries in the tunnel in a shieldwall. And on the other side, warriors. A dozen, maybe more, standing only a few paces away in a rough wall of their own. In between the two groups, the open iron gate.

"Civil war then," he spat, coming to a stop right behind Stanilo. "What's this? They not expecting us, I take it."

"No. They've asked to speak to our leader," he replied.

"Well, here I am." Oskar squinted at the faces touched by light. He didn't recognize a single one, but they were warriors alright. Maybe even a few druzhina amongst them if the mail and iron helms meant something more than money. The bodies of the men trying to pry open the gate from before were pulled back and hidden behind his shield wall. How long till the newcomers noticed the bloody dirt they stood on? "Which one of you wanted to speak to me?" he called out.

"I did," one replied quickly enough, in the middle of the shield wall. He had a long beard and armor fit for a high-ranking druzhina. "You're not Column guardians, are you?"

"Looking to prove your faith? An odd route to go about it."

"Did you encounter my men here? I see the gate is open."

Oskar shrugged and decided to take control of all variables first. "Found some bodies here." He gestured to the handful of corpses piled to the side, mostly hidden behind his wall. "Seemed odd, but I guess this way's just popular these days."

"I see." He cocked his head, narrowed eyes flicking over. "Found them, did you?"

"We did. Can swear on whichever god you please. And considering the location, that's not a small thing, I figure."

The man shook his head. "Well, if it wasn't you, then who?"

"Can't say, but I know the route is patrolled by those who call the Column home."

"And what business do you have here?"

"A few friends of mine are proving their faith above, as it were. So I'm afraid we can't just let you pass, you see, as I'll want to be here when they come back."

His frown tightened. "If you oppose us, that will mark you traitors."

"Oh? Aren't you already ones yourselves?"

"Step aside."

"Find another way in." Oskar grinned. "We got greater numbers, friend. This won't go your way, and you know it."

The man chewed at his lip, clearly working over the problem at hand. He couldn't take Oskar's band in a fight, not with a dozen. Not trying to press through a narrow gated entrance where only one could fight at a time. "Say we make a deal. We go up together, you to get your… friends. I won't get in your way for I've got no reason to lose men against you. Neither do you, I imagine. This way, everyone wins."

Oskar tapped at his sword hilt, working the man's words over in his head. Not a bad idea, all things considered. Can't leave Emalia and Sovina up there alone with whatever other part of this ambush is going on… We gotta get them out somehow. But could he trust these strangers? Maybe he didn't have to. If the man's goals were to take the Column, what use did he have in bleeding men in a fight that wasn't his? True, but maybe there was a better way of ensuring it didn't come to blows.

"There's a Sorcerer coming," Oskar said suddenly, ignoring his men's confused and alarmed stares and murmurs. "We're looking for information in the archives to… dissuade him, we'll say. That's why we're here. Nothing to do with your fight against the tsar. In fact, I figure you'd want to let us continue on unimpeded if you've any desire to continue living past Vadoyeski the Second's overthrow, yeah?"

"A Sorcerer? Here, in Nova? Well, I would assume there's at least one." He looked bemused, then dubious when Oskar's expression didn't change from a serious one. "You expect me to believe that a sole Sorcerer should give Nova any fright?"

"Don't much care. But that's why I'm here. Just hoping you'll take that into consideration before drawing blades on us out of spite. Too much is at stake, and that's coming from a man who was once in your shoes."

"Who're you?"

"The name's Oskar Koyzlov."

"No shit." There was a long pause. The warrior looked down at the bodies, back up to him, and sighed. "The deal stands as is, and you have my oath that I won't let my men get in your way if you don't get in ours. And if you speak the truth, I'll do what I can to help you escape the Column—"

His head exploded in a burst of bone, blood, and brain as an iron spear tip smashed through the front of his face, splattering gore over everyone. The man's body flung forward with such momentum that he bounced off the iron gate and crumpled to the ground. Men turned, weapons raising, but no one reacted in time before an axe took a man's arm off and smashed another through his mail, tossing him against the mud-bone wall, pieces cascading down over his limp body.

"Back!" Oskar screamed, rushing forward to the gate, only a pace away.

Two more died by the time he reached it. The warriors still alive rushed forward to escape through, but they were too slow, and he wasn't taking any chances. The gate slammed closed, locking automatically. The bars were thick and sturdy, despite their age, and held fine against the press of men trying to escape.

"Run!" Oskar shouted at his men, not believing any steel would hold what came next. "Inside! To Emalia!"

He didn't need to turn back and see them to know they were Soulborne. To know that behind them somewhere, there'd be Daecinus, coming for his due.

…

"Any luck?" Emalia asked as she carefully filed her tome away in the open chest.

Sovina sighed. "No."

They'd been at it for what felt like hours with little to show for their efforts besides only the vaguest of mentions of Merkenia and Hazek's Fields. As always, the unorganized archives frustrated Emalia to no end, and she wished to have persuaded Smychnik to finally reorganize the libraries of texts before she'd left. And yet, with the difficulty they were having given her intimate familiarity with the archives… Well, it was beginning to trouble her.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Why did they hide such information away? Emalia thought as she sifted through the other tomes. Would Pethya not make for a villain fit for the early mythos of Vasia? Wouldn't Daecinus? If all happened as we believe, wouldn't they mark that in public annals of history? Stories were powerful. And stories telling of the nation's beginnings even more-so, for they could bind people to the state itself rather than just its rulers. So why not edit the story slightly so that Pethya was the aggressor and Daecinus its prime villain, bent on Vasia's destruction? Why did the priests bury it and lie about the origin of the curse over Hazek's Fields?

She went to share this consideration with Sovina, but stopped. There were sounds outside. She cocked her head, listening.

"Get behind me," Sovina whispered, pulling her back, and drawing her saber.

Emalia went to ask why when the door flew open, and three people barged inside, shutting the door behind them, gasping and terrified. A woman little older than Sovina with an axe in hand, a man younger than Emalia in robes, and…

"Smychnik?"

He turned, older than she remembered, back bent and stooped from decades of scribe work, pale face wrinkled and twisted in triumphant joy. "I knew it was you in the catacombs! I knew it! Hah!" He strode forward without hesitation and embraced her.

Emalia almost collapsed in a rush of weak-kneed nostalgia and emotion, squeezing him tight in response. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

Smychnik pulled back, his grin fading. "I suspected the movement the eyes reported was you, and if indeed it was, then you would be in one of these chambers. Many angry men have it in their mind to take the Column, it would seem, and, naturally, I figured that if that indeed was you in the catacombs, you'd sneak in here in search of a solution. Having trained you myself, of course, I knew you would gravitate toward the histories—"

"Smychnick," the woman stranger interrupted, "we haven't the time!"

"Yes, yes. Well, Emalia, Sovina, I am here to help." He gestured to the young man, who was both confused and terrified. "So is Ileiko here."

Emalia was stunned. Too stunned to speak, in fact, so it was Sovina who spoke up, her weapon sheathed once more, "There were warriors in the catacombs as well. Do you mean there are more attacking?"

"You encountered them? Well, they seem to be rushing forth without much notion of a plan, killing all who get in their way. Hardly a good idea, I'd say. There was, ah, whispers of things, you see, but it was for the Deus scheme that I assumed would take more time than this."

"The civil war then. It's starting."

"Perhaps. Well, is that the subject of your fervent research?"

Emalia shook herself free, pushing past the questions she wished to ask to focus on what was now immediately vital. "Not quite. We're concerned with another matter—another person, really. His name is Daecinus, and he is a Sorcerer from the past. I need to know what happened to Pethya. To its people. That's the only way we can stop him."

Smychnik's face darkened at the mention of Daecinus's name, as well as the ancient country. "My many questions aside—not unlike yours, I imagine—I can tell you now that you will not find what you are looking for here. The secrets of Pethya are guarded ones."

"What happened?" Sovina asked. "Maybe we won't need any book."

"He'll want proof," Emalia replied, then leveled a questioning gaze her old mentor's way. "Tell us on the way, will you?"

"We needn't go far." He went to the back of the room where two long shelves covered the wall, stacks of chests and small crates piled at the base in ordered chaos. "Help an old man, will you?" Smychnik asked, gesturing to the stack in the corner at the base of the shelves.

The woman, who Emalia assumed was a protector, remained at the door as Emalia, Sovina, and Ileiko moved the crates aside, revealing a locked trapdoor of thick lumber reinforced with iron.

"Even the archives have secret rooms?" Emalia asked, brow raised at the many locks.

Her old mentor produced a ring of keys and gave her a flat, mirthless smile as he went to unlock and open the door. "You see, I've never been one to let things be, as you two well know, and I know a very capable smith who replicated some keys that happened to be lost right by my bedside… Anyway, the content here is guarded, not because it is inherently dangerous. No Sorcery here, to my knowledge. Rather—" he lit a candle procured from his robes and lit it with a torch from the guardian at the door, then led the way down "—it is information, which in the wrong hands, could upset a very delicate balance of half-truths, you see. Hazek's Fields—or what we once knew as Pethya—is one of those. I would imagine these separatists banging on the doors would very much like to have this knowledge, you see."

Emalia followed right behind, heart racing, hands and brow sweaty with fear and excitement. The room was not large, around the size of a cellar, but it was surrounded on three sides by shelves densely packed with scrolls older than even what was upstairs. Some of it, however, was new, lacking the clear aging of time's inevitable march. "And what is the information regarding Pethya?"

"Yes, yes. I shall get there." He began searching the shelves, holding the candle close to read the yellowed, wrinkled tags. "Daecinus, if I am to believe a personal connection was forged, has likely shared his perspective with you. Well, allow me to expand upon that which he could not possibly know: Pethya was not attacked by any unified cause of the princes of the time. Rather, it was the Column that instigated it. Yes, the priests of our antiquity, so interested in Sorcerous progress and worship, forced the princes into a war no one wanted. Why, you might ask? Frankly, arrogance. Ah, here." He pulled out a scroll and unraveled it, offering the old vellum to Emalia. "An account by a… dissenting priests of the early temples before there truly was a Column at all."

It was in old Vasian, also known as High Vasian, and took some effort to parse the faded and odd penmanship to translate. Nevertheless, she eventually did, and stared up at Smychnik in shock. "He writes as if Vasia nearly collapsed from the backlash… That it almost died before ever becoming an empire."

"It's true. All signs point to it. When the majority of the priests decided to bring about war, they launched a surprise attack upon Pethya—this pushed the princes to action, moving to finish the war. And finish it they did, with anything bearing nationhood crushed in Pethya, its survivors driven out. But all was not made right, and the princes sought to purge the ranks of priests. Of course, back then, Sorcerers versus warriors was not a match the latter ought to have taken. Now, it would be a far closer match, I must say. Well, and so, many were killed, but before all was lost, the priests forced a concession out of the princes—"

"They forced upon them a tsar," she finished. "We've been lied to about our own history! The voivodes, so anxious for self-rule, have been told they raised a tsar themselves—that it was their responsibility to uphold… With this, the argument could be made that it isn't rebellion but a righting of past wrongs… It would make their aggression appear justified, even!"

"That is why it is down here, you see. A more prudent decision would have been to destroy it, but, ah, our intellectual obsessions have always been one of our main weaknesses."

"This doesn't help us with Daecinus," Sovina pointed out. "Knowing there are survivors—it may not be enough to stop him."

"Right, well, there's more in these shelves, I think. We just have to find it," Smychnik said.

With two more experienced priests, it did not take as long as Emalia feared. Though worrying sounds that were not too distant from that of battle sometimes echoed in from the halls above and outside, she forced herself to pay attention—there'd be no helping anyone without first finding something that could sway Daecinus. And soon enough, she found it.

It seemed just another old scroll, barely legible, cracked and withered in her hands. At first, she nearly discarded it, for it was a mere letter from one priest in Vasia to another somewhere else. But as she read, it became clear just how pertinent the old communication was.

Emalia lowered the scroll, eyes wide, thoughts racing.

Sovina snapped her out of it. "What is it?"

"Yes, I…" she trailed off, clearing her throat, then took a deep breath. "It's more recent; a hundred years old, maybe. They speak of her escape."

"Her?"

"Maecia. Daecinus's sister. She was held in the second of the Sinking Cities, Elansk."

Sovina shook her head in disbelief. "So she lived? Could she still be alive, knowing what we know about him and his… nature."

"I don't know. Perhaps. But there's more: the priest says she disappeared, somehow, and worries she is going to find the others." Emalia wiped at her brow, turning the words over in her head. No, there was no confusion there. It was plain. "The ones the princes let live after the war was won out of mercy… The ones they forced east into Merkenia before the land was killed by the priests to eliminate the Dead." She looked up into Sovina's eyes. "Daecinus's people still live! Forced to the east, perhaps, lost to our records in the chaos there, but—"

There was a crash above. A clattering, then a brief struggle punctuated with shouts and swears. Before Sovina could dash to the stairs, a woman's scream echoed down. Emalia snagged Sovina's arm and held her back, freezing there in the lower room.

"Stay behind me," her guardian whispered, redrawing her blade. It hissed in the darkness.

They waited there in silence. They watched the patch of flickering light from the secret entranceway in anticipation. Their breathing, their beating hearts, slight adjustments—all felt too loud to the ears.

"What'd you find?" a voice called out. "Who's this?"

"Killed Iozef, the bitch."

"He's supposed to be here. Did you consider this may be his guardian?"

"She was hiding like a fucking coward, ready to attack!"

"The guardians don't hide, fool. Search the place. He may be here."

"Of course, sir."

Emalia winced, finding the small dagger she kept on her, and drawing it quietly. Its grip was comforting, though she doubted it would be of much use against such warriors. How have they already gotten so high? Smychnik made it sound as if they wouldn't succeed at all. She snuck a glance at her old mentor. He seemed unperturbed, oddly, and was dusting himself off loudly enough, candle still burning. He is not so arrogant… Maybe he is, but still. Could he… Could he be confident because he is not their enemy?

"Won't you put out the candle?" she whispered to him.

Smychnik smiled at her. "You remember my lessons, do you not?"

"You didn't…"

He strode forward without another word, making to the stairs. "Do not be alarmed!" he shouted. "You will want to speak to me. Alive and unharmed, preferably."

The top of the stairs was immediately illuminated. A man's silhouette was black against the torch another held behind him. "And you are?"

Smychnik glanced back and shrugged in something of a half-apology, though she knew he was never one to apologize for anything, then faced forward once more. "Priest Smychnik."

"Oh!" The man in front went down the steps and offered an arm. "Druzhina Jaross. I was notified of your potential presence near the libraries, Devout One."

"Ah, very good. Yes, well, it did not need to come to blows with my student's guardian. Does she live?"

"Regrettably, no. That was a mistake on my warrior's part. I will see him disciplined."

Emalia stared at him, then Ileiko, who, during their hiding, had been frozen still, unmoving and unblinking. Now, he was staring at the ground, slumped against the stone wall. She reached out to comfort him, but he reared back from her suddenly, pressing himself into the corner, body wracked by cries.

"Ah, poor child," Smychnik muttered from above, then continued, "However, I did find what we spoke of, you see." He extended an arm to Emalia. "Show them?"

She climbed up the stairs hesitantly, unraveling the dissenting priest's scroll from before the Column's founding. When he tried to take hold of it, she yanked it back, keeping it close to her chest. "We are not giving this away."

"Emalia," Smychnik chided, "hand it over, please."

"This has far greater importance towards reaching a solution with Daecinus than it does with a rebel separatist."

"Priestess," the druzhina said, taking a step down to stand beside her, "please. Whatever need you have of this, we can discuss it later. But now, if this is what I think it is, the return of the princes relies upon this. It's why we came to the Column at all."

"And why you should have let me secure it and return it to you," Smychnik said. "We could have avoided all this needless death."

"Some were impatient. Others were uncertain of your promises—better to secure it ourselves." He took a slow, deliberate breath as if to calm himself. "Now, please, Priestess, the scroll."

This tells Daecinus that his people live. In conjunction with the other that speaks of his sister, we have a chance of convincing him. She looked from him to Smychnik, whose brow was raised in impatience. As if he just expected her to give in. As if she were a petulant, foolish child. It made her remember the priests' reactions when she spoke of her visions. "No."

"Priestess…"

"Emalia, please. Be reasonable. There is no alternative here," Smychnik said with a huff. "Must I spell out the situation for you? Or can you please—"

Emalia stepped aside, grabbing Smychnik and pressing the both of them against the wall of the narrow stairwell. He shouted in surprise, and the druzhina frowned, going to step back, but Sovina was too fast. Her saber arced in one deadly slash, slicing the druzhina's throat and face wide open. Before the second man could attack with his sword, she was already upon him, taking a glancing blow across her mail shirt before lobbing off his weapon hand and kicking him in the stomach. He toppled back, screaming, blood spitting out of his stump, scrambling. She ended his retreat with a chop to the back of his head.

The room above was still. Smychnik gawked at them. "What did you just do?"

Emalia strode on past, two documents in hand, and exited the hidden chamber. "We need to get back to Oskar."

Sovina wiped off her blade and nodded, then cast a look back down the stairs. "You shouldn't have sold out Vasia, Smychnik."

"Gods, what did you do?" he cried. "Emalia! Hand me that scroll! The truth must be told! The Column must learn from its actions, and the princes must reign again. Vasia needs this!" He was taken by a wracking cough. "The truth, Emalia! It needs to be told!"

Emalia kept forward, not looking back. Unable to look back. To her mentor's pleading shouts, she left the archive chamber and made for the catacombs once more.

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