Beneath the Dragoneye Moons - Chapter 564: A Legacy Echoing Through Time

Forty-Eight Years after the events at the Phoenix Peaks

The library of Ithil was going to unveil a new set of books they’d found, and the claims had them dating back to the Remus Empire.

The original Remus Empire.

Given how many different empires claimed the title of ‘Remus’ over the years, I was skeptical, to say the least. At the same time, elves were a little obsessed with proper credit and attribution, and when multiple high-level elves specializing in a field were all claiming the same thing, well, I wanted to take a look. Get a glimpse of home.

It hurt to say in a way, but a piece of my heart had forever been left behind in Remus. I was happy, the wound had scarred over, but the prospect of getting a glimpse of a relic left behind was like catnip.

Arachne worried it could be a trap, which wasn’t an insane take. It took ages for us to get official permission to go, but eventually the entire Eventide Eclipse headed out to Ithil.

“One other thing I’m looking forward to,” I said to Iona as we traveled on Fenrir’s back to the city. We had a small escort of elves who’d barely deigned to talk with us, but they’d make things smooth – as well as probably spying on me to make sure I wasn’t up to any nonsense. Which I wasn’t! Overtly. Himben was their leader, and I’d mentally designated him as my ‘tour guide’. “Is looking at the rumored mandala in Ithil. I’ve heard about it before, and now I can see it for myself. What do you think?” I asked her.

“Hmmm… a city-wide magic circle seems insane.” Iona mused. “But we’re talking about elves here, insane’s what they do. I think the reality is going to be smaller than we imagined. There’s going to be a large mandala, maybe the largest in the world, but the city will have outgrown it. How could it not?”

Iona had a point, and we swiftly made a bet, with Auri going for the ‘no mandala’ option, and Fenrir only grunting ‘wildcard.’

Which was frankly unfair… but I suppose if somehow it wasn’t any of the other options, he deserved the win.

We continued to fly over the lush forests, before the glass spires of Ithil tore through the canopy, reaching for the sky.

I was struck dumb by the sight for a moment, awed by the sheer capabilities and glory the elves were capable of building. They were arrogant, yes, but in some ways they had earned their arrogance.

The city’s population was nearly as insane as the tall spires of the city itself. Elves were innately Immortal, and the culture of Tympestshard liked dense cities. Couples had kids, and… just didn’t stop having children, causing their population to snowball hard over the years. An innate cause of Immortal Wars being the population growth and lack of resources to support it, but it wasn’t like anyone could declare ‘alright we’ve got enough elves now we’re going to sterilize everyone’.

Yet, at a glance, the city didn’t look like it was having overpopulation issues. I suppose an Immortal planning things out ahead of time gave them a significant leg up, along with incentives to do the job right. A mortal at the end of their lifespan, but at the peak of their political power, could easily be swayed – bribed – towards making substandard choices. An Immortal that had to deal with the consequences of their actions was slightly more incentivized to do the right thing.

I was a Remus girl. The first thing I noticed were the streets. The first was obvious, the broad roads with solid traffic control on the ground. Dinosaurs of burden hauled goods into the city, smoothly driven around a well laid-out set of slightly curving roads. People walked briskly along the sidewalk, and it almost felt like looking at ants with how beautiful and precise their movements were, and how the whole thing flowed without any issues. I didn’t see any kids playing on them, but Himben had been extraordinarily strict and extraordinarily clear about where they were, why, and that I was to go nowhere close to them.

It wasn’t a military secret, it was well-known.

“Ithil grows like an onion.” He had said. “As each new generation grows up, they move to the edge of the city and settle down, slowly learning the vast mysteries of life. Before long, the next generation will move out around them, constantly expanding the city. Permanent moves are rare. Where would they move to? Which brings us to temporary moves. The central district of the city is for couples with young children who are not ready to face the world yet. It is protected by our strongest guardians, [Nullifiers] keep any skills from being used, and it is absolutely forbidden for you to visit or enter.”

Fair enough. In a world of skills and the System, where everyone had magic, ‘how do we deal with these squishy kids’ was an eternal problem. With mortals, it was a little easier in a way – a mistake by the average person could only do so much damage. With Immortals, the math changed a bit – a single mistake could wipe out a sizable fraction of the children in the city. With how many people lived here, and their average age and level… yeah, I could see needing to go to the ‘next level’ and sticking them all in a single district.

It did have me reevaluating how many elven couples had children at any given time. It couldn’t be quite as much as I thought, given that everyone fit into a single district. With the [Nullifiers] mentioned, I wondered if elves didn’t like living under all their skills being restricted and mostly locked away.

Also… how would they enforce it? I suppose people could live outside the district, but then I suppose there was a lot less support, both System-wise and socially.

The second layer of roads wound around the buildings around the second or third floor, a series of ever-moving, ever-flowing sidewalks up in the air. A fall would be lethal to some baseline humans, but unlikely to an elf and even rarer when the System came into play. Here all sorts of skills and abilities were on display, elves rapidly moving around the city unimpeded by slowpokes and transportation carts.

I nearly missed the third layer of roads, given how they were invisible and barely used.

Every crystal spire had a number of fine gossamer threads connecting the top of the spire to all the other nearby tops. Now and then an elf would flash over the threads, their combined speed and dexterity so high that they could basically walk on spiderwebs – and the city was built to accommodate them. They were barely used not because there were so few elves that could use them, but instead because the elves that did use them only spent seconds on them, before arriving at their destination.

I saw a number of low-level elves sitting in trees away from the city and meditating, and I asked Himben about them.

“What are those elves doing?” I asked, not quite seeing the point. If it was one or two, sure, they were off doing their own thing, but it was enough as to be a cultural moment or something.

Himben snorted in derision, and yelled to the elves instead of answering my question.

“Just move out of the city! Stop slowly weaning yourself off the auras! You’re elves, for crying out loud! Have some pride!”

I suppose that did answer my question. His words did get a few of the elves standing up, hopping down out of their trees, and striding further into the forest, but most ignored him or hurled insults back at us in typical teenage fashion.

“It takes pride to fight pride.” Iona murmured quietly behind me.

“Brrrpt!” Auri agreed. I wasn’t sure she knew exactly what she was agreeing to, given how she was trying to ‘sagely’ nod. Loved the little bird brain.

“What auras are comm- Oh!” I said as Fenrir flew right into them.

It was like a ripple across my skin, a spark of electricity in my bones and a pep in my step. My hearing sharpened even more, my vision granted me sight into the deepest shadows, I felt refreshed and energized, like a million arcs. I subtly shifted how I was sitting in Fenrir’s saddle, suddenly finding that I was so much better at it, and how comfortable I was.

“This is nice.” Iona’s voice was like a thousand windchimes. The air was fresh and clean, and the auras just continued to stack up!

A far take from Exterreri’s ‘restrain yourself and let others level’, Ithil – and possibly all of Tympestshard – seemed to have a ‘let your auras and skills loose, and let everyone enjoy.’

We passed some sort of barrier, and we could hear the songs. A thousand voices, each singing their own song, their words resonating off the crystal spires, and yet they didn’t clash at all. By some twist of magic, they harmoniously blended together, from the weeping dirges of a funeral, to the brisk and happy notes of a party, to the lamenting saga of a lover waiting for her husband to come back from war. All the songs wove together, and I felt yet another layer of auras land upon me. All my dirt fled, my hair became silky and smooth, and all the wrinkles dropped out of my clothing – to start!

Fuck, this was how the typical elf lived? No wonder half the time they were going ‘poor mortals, how tough life must be for you!’ No wonder the young elves needed to slowly wean themselves off the endless overlapping auras! They had the good life here already!

Iona was looking extra-fantastic, and I had no idea how that particular aura worked. Fenrir was looking sleek and dangerous, his teeth sharp and his claws shining. Auri was a menace to the eyes. If she got the slightest bit of flattery I didn’t know how I was going to pry her out of here.

Thousands upon thousands of floating lights were dotted everywhere, slowly shifting through various phases and patterns, creating a light show like no other. A layer of sublime poetry could be heard with the music, and everywhere I looked was an eyeful of beauty.

My awe at the entire thing might eventually fade with time, but I suspected that everything had been crafted to such a level, with such thought, that I’d never get bored. I didn’t see any runes or mandalas yet, or anything that implied a city-wide magic formation.

“That’s the place prepared for your landing.” Himben pointed to a pasture with a number of eager-looking elves filled along with cattle, sheep, and a variety of tasty dinosaurs, and Fenrir came in for a landing unprompted. He was going to be pampered over by a dozen elves or two looking to improve their classes and levels – but I had a sneaking suspicion that the auras had already handled anything the elves were planning on doing. Or not. Either way, cities weren’t super friendly towards massive beasts, regardless of their intelligence level, and even a ‘shrunken’ Fenrir was off the table. Instead he was going to stay out here.

Himben was looking eager as we landed, happier than I’d seen him up until now. Huh, maybe being away from all the auras had been making him grumpy? I knew I didn’t want to leave for a good long while, it was nice here. Add in an Immortal civilization’s worth of books… if the elves were halfway tolerable I was tempted.

This narrative has been purloined without the author’s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Which, of course, was the kicker. Looking at Ithil, it was easy to see how insidious and carefully crafted White Dove’s curse of arrogance, hubris, and aloofness was to the elves. They were the best at what they did. I hadn’t seen any other cities that held a candle to Ithil, and it wasn’t even considered one of the ‘must-see’ elven cities!

Himben held out a hand, and a moment later a bottle of eye-wateringly potent alcohol on a tray with a few saucer-cups slapped into his hand, summoned from somewhere.

“To our esteemed guests, a toast to your arrival. I believe you mentioned a sweet red was to your liking.” He poured us all drinks – I was nervous about what elf-potent alcohol at a greater volume than Auri’s body was going to do to her – but we clinked saucers and had a deep drink.

It was difficult to describe how wonderful the wine was. Tympestshard exported wines to Exterreri, and I occasionally got my hands on a bottle. They were clearly using us as an experiment, test market, or to offload their bad stuff, no matter my earlier theories.

It was just that good. There was no burn of alcohol in the drink, simply fruity bliss that disguised just how potent skills had made it. I felt a pleasant tingling through my body, and decided to limit myself to one, possibly burn it out with my healing if I had to.

Auri already had her feet up in the air on my shoulder, little flames burning with psychedelic colors. I side-eyed her before deciding she was alright if she still had enough control to make flames that tiny and detailed.

Iona smacked her lips.

“That’s good stuff!” She praised.

“Would you like another?” Himben offered. Iona took him up on it, and the two unlikely drinking companions downed three more each. I offered my wife my arm – or shoulders – if she needed a support, but she was still smooth and steady on her feet. The elven onlookers had gone up to Fenrir with a wide variety of implements, already removing his saddle but seeming disappointed that there was nothing to scrub. His scales were gleaming and clean, his claws had been sharpened and filed before we left, and generally we’d put our best foot forwards. Combined with the auras, and there just wasn’t much to do.

How did young elves level with auras handling so much and making life so easy?

“Come! Let me show you the beauty of Ithil, the singing city!” Himben beamed at us, gesturing grandly to the footpath that was of course there.

“BrRrRppPt!” Auri ‘drunkenly’ replied. I left her on my shoulder, knowing Auri’s dexterity was enough to keep her on, wacky pose or not. Iona was grinning, loosening up in the social situation.

“Lead the way! I’m so impressed with everything I’ve seen so far, I can’t wait to see more!”

A seed sprouted in my mind, a flower unfurled, light broke through the clouds. I had a brilliant idea. A genius idea. It might not work at all, but every little bit counted.

Iona had mostly gotten over her prejudices around Immortals, but wasn’t quite ready to make the plunge herself. Maybe repeated exposure to Ithil and similar wonders would be enough for that one last tiny push. I was possibly deluding myself – if me, Fenrir, Auri, and her divine Goddesses weren’t enough motivation to get her to accept Immortality, a nice trip to a city probably wasn’t going to do it.

But every little bit counted. When the moment came, I’d double and triple check with Iona that this was what she wanted… but I also knew she only needed to be persuaded for a single day. With her vitality and age, I had a lot of years. I could afford to be patient on this. Iona knew my stance on it, and appreciated that I didn’t push the issue.

“Is there somewhere you ladies would like to go first?” Himben asked as an elf whipped by overhead, carried on quickly-growing roots. Iona and I traded a look, silently communicating.

“Give us the tour!” I was practically bouncing in excitement. “Show us everything we need to see! Impress us!”

Himben grinned.

“You want a tour? Then a tour you shall get!”

Elves could be… odd at times, to say the least. Himben being our tour guide could’ve gone one of two ways.

Either he was arrogant and condescending, pointing out the obvious and explaining it to us, or he took his role as a tour guide seriously and was an unparalleled, peerless guide, the epitome of a good host and role model for the city.

Fortunately, he was the second.

“Food! Food is one of our great needs, and as such, the government subsidizes it. Everything you see laid out on the tables is free! Simply take it and go. We do ask that you finish everything you eat, as wasting a great need…” Himben simply shook his horned head sadly at the thought. Iona grabbed some sizzling meat skewers – there wasn’t a chef or person near the table, but clearly some ‘hot foot stays hot’ aura was going on, along with a related ‘cold food stays cold’ – and handed some of them to me. It felt weird to just… walk up to a table and take something, but I quickly got used to it.

The skewers were divine, and we started to graze on basically anything we saw, sampling the fine delicacies the elven [Chefs] made for everyone.

“I’m going to get so fat.” I said as I licked my paper plate clean. Both because every drop was ambrosia just a hair short of mango, and because I was feeling a little self-conscious about how much I was eating, and wanted to demonstrate that I was not wasting at all. I held my paper plate out in front of me, and still doubting how well it worked, let it drop.

It vanished.

There wasn’t a single trash can in Ithil, nor was there a single piece of trash on the roads. A number of the auras simply handled the problem, and it boggled my mind. Just… how!?

Another set of auras I wanted to try were the ‘mastery’ auras. Anything I did, anything I tried, I’d just be that much better at. What made the aura utterly disgusting was the ‘mastery’ persisted. I tried to carve a chair? The skill would help me out in subtle ways, and when I tried to next make a chair, while I’d be missing the nudge, I would still have the muscle memory and experience from last time.

“Race you.” Iona half-groaned as she licked her fingers clean. “I think Auri will explode before then.”

I eyed the round featherball on my shoulder, occasionally making pitiful brrpts. Too many cupcakes. I poked at her with my finger.

“You know, I’m sure there’s a few [Bakers] who could bring themselves to teach a mythical phoenix… I bet you can extract all their secrets in an afternoon.”

Himben looked horrified at my suggestion, and Auri started to burn brightly, rapidly returning to perfect phoenix form. She’d object to the phrasing of course. Every form was a perfect phoenix form according to her.

“Brrpt? Brrrpt?” Auri asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Go! Have fun! I’m surprised you didn’t remember saying that’s what you wanted to do. We’re going to meet at Fenrir when we’re all done, and librarians tend to get nervous around living fire next to all the books.

Muttering darkly about ‘unfair discrimination’ and baking techniques, Auri fluttered off down the road. Iona leaned in.

“Do you think she knows where she’s going?” She stage-whispered to me at Himben’s facepalm.

“Actually, for once, yes. She’s got quite the nose for bakeries.”

Himben continued to give us the tour. Walls of flowers eternally blooming into gorgeous murals, statues on every other corner, gardens filled with swaying trees and buzzing bees, and a half-dozen projects that were going to take a long time to complete.

“Can I try the highest level of roads?” Iona asked, pointing up at the fine threads between buildings.

I could practically see a crisis going on in Himben’s brain. On one hand, his guide inclinations wanted to say yes, absolutely, right this way. It was at war with his pride, which said that naturally only elves were graceful enough to pull it off. Iona was built like a brick shithouse.

“There are a few strands that are considered the ‘testing’ strands for those who believe they have mastered the skills and the stats needed to traverse the highest levels of roads.” Himben finally figured out a compromise. “Perhaps try one of those first?”

Iona did, then laughed with delight as she sprinted across the fine threads in the city, hundreds of feet above the ground. It looked like a ton of fun and I ended up joining her, before finally settling down to what I’d actually come here to see.

The library.

Tympestshard made little distinction between ‘library’ and ‘museum’, the two buildings being the same thing to them. It made sense. Both were dealing with ‘history’, and given the age of the books, a [Curator’s] skills overlapping, yeah, sure, I could see it.

The buildings were unspeakably grand and majestic, like everything else in Ithil. Part of me idly noted that I hadn’t seen any hint of a city-wide circle yet, which made me think it either didn’t exist, or was so large I couldn’t see it. We went inside and my jaw dropped.

Books. Books upon books upon tightly packed books. I’d been in big libraries before – Sanguino’s was pretty nice – but like everything else, the elves one-upped everyone else hard. A book bound with starlight, a book forged in flames. One had pages woven of spider’s silk, and another glimmered with gems. A book made out of crystalline slates, and one that absorbed all light.

There were mundane books, of course, by the wagonload, spiraling ever up on packed shelves. A sphinx looked to be one of the [Curators], and it simply got odder from there.

I whimpered, and Iona patted my arm.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get her out of here.” She joked to Himben. I nodded my agreement.

“Crowbars at a minimum.” I let my senses expand, let [The World Around Me] unravel to its greatest size, and split my mind into 18 different parallel thought processes, each one of them devoted to the endless books. A fraction of a single thought process was still dedicated to Iona and the arm I was leaning on, letting her steer me around while I greedily absorbed all the knowledge and stories that existed. Whispering Winds, The Last Emer, Mist of the Vale, The Silver Horn, Ironwood Heart… the titles went on and on, some repeats, some new.

I let my skills rip, reading everything as quickly but thoroughly as I could, my mind whirring and racing with excitement as I went through so many stories and tales.

Normally I had to limit myself somewhat. Normally. What was the point in reading everything in Sanguino in a month? Then I wouldn’t have anything else to read.

Here though, in Ithil? My time was limited, the books were vast, and it was only my good moral character that stopped me from simply yoinking a small fraction of the collection into [Repository of the Magus].

There wasn’t enough room in the skill for all the books.

I made a sad mental note that when shit hit the fan, if there was a moment of stability and not needing to be saving as many lives as possible, that I should see how many books I could rescue. It was unlikely that I’d get the chance. Then I went right back to reading.

Iona gently steered me to a floor where the elves were putting on a new exhibit, a collection of books and artifacts from the Remus period. I slowly detached myself from the books, finishing up each one and getting a little misty-eyed at one tragic twist in the end.

If only he’d waited another month, no, another week! They all would’ve lived happily ever after! Whyyyyy.

My attention snapped to the present, a plaque in two dozen languages helping explain things.

These artifacts were found by the adventurer group The Drunken Dwarves following a Pekari tunnel. They encountered an ancient buried >, which had an exhibit of artifacts from the first Remus period.

Damn. Remus was so old that they were raiding ancient museums to get items. That explained how they found so many in a ‘cache’… and why did it have to be adventurers!?

I started to look over the artifacts with bittersweet feelings. A faded Remus standard with the familiar eagle, a moth-eaten tunic, a collection of arrowheads. The coins with a triangular hole in the middle, marble busts and mosaics, frescoes and jewelry. Spoons!

Then scrolls. Tons and tons of familiar scrolls and tablets, and I idly read their contents as I passed, feeling strange.

The elves were infuriatingly right again. They had gotten artifacts from the first Remus Empire, and even some from the Remus Republic! It was like my childhood had been packaged up, oxidized, and placed in a museum. It was so weird. I grew up wearing a shirt like that, the belt was familiar. The ‘can you believe this was the wagon they used!?’ was admittedly cheap, but invoked nostalgic memories of the Argo.

A number of scrolls had also been recovered, and I came to a screeching halt at one of them, reading it over, double and triple checking the contents. Running it against other things I knew, only getting a ‘maybe’. Still, a maybe was enough. I knew the elves were perfectionists, and extracting anything from them would be a challenge. Himben was the wrong person to ask, but I figured I’d start with him, and let him pull his weight as the diplomatic interface.

“I’ll pay three million arcs for that scroll.” I pointed to one that started off with a number of remarks from endless translators and scribes throughout the ages. Each complaint and remark was faithfully transcribed and transcribed, with other people adding their own comments to the comments. Honestly, it was practically a study in language and the evolution of copying in and of itself!

They shared similar sentiments.

Why are we transcribing this?

It’s a direct first person account of the time.

The person had no historical impact at all.

It was the life of a normal person.

She was part of a wealthy family, but she didn’t even have intelligent thoughts into the family members that might matter.

It’s good practice.

On and on the complaints went, students and apprentices being given the scroll to copy as a warmup. Numerous typos and misspellings had clearly made its way into the scroll, only to be faithfully copied over.

That one, I blamed on skills. It was really easy to have a copying spell, it was harder to intelligently analyze what was going on.

Iona raised an eyebrow – the amount was far past the ‘we discuss it before we spend this much’ limit. I flashed her a few hand signs, apologizing and transmitting my urgency.

Brisk negotiations occurred, and I eventually had to not only pay more, but show them the prayer my parents had lovingly stitched for me – another genuine Remus artifact, but “fresh” and almost entirely preserved. Thank Iona and her silver tongue I didn’t need to sit for endless interviews, although I suspected I was about to get a lot more visitors knocking on my door.

Damnit.

With tears in my eyes I accepted the journal and promptly stored it forever more in [Repository of the Magus]

I didn’t know for sure. Maybe I was deluding myself. Probably was, with the billions of people over the years. If I was – I was happy to accept it, and believe in my illusion.

I had the diary of my niece.

Diary day one.

Grandma Julia got me this diary to write in. I don’t know what I write. What should go in? Does this actually help? Dad seems to think so. Senator Themis. Might be worth recording that? Maybe?

Oh no, I’m being called. Maybe writing in here will get me out of chores. After all grandma did want me to write here, so it’s a good excuse right? Let me talk about the mango bowl…