[Flashback - Closed] Genesis.

[Santaro]

3rd of Winter, 497 A.V. Nightfall. As Morwen walked about the world, as the Vantha residents gathered round to sing and tell stories, as the children laughed and painted, creating exquisite artwork, Santaro lay sprawled out on his grandmother’s carpet, leafing through her book. ‘Her book’, as it was indeed Svarna Whitevine’s only book in her handwriting – everything else in Avanthal seemed to be passed down through word of mouth. Santaro, raised in the surreal peaks of Lhavit, considered books as friends, and this one, filled with small notes and pictures and pieces of hair, feathers and seeds, was a witness to Svarna’s ninety-seven years of life. Word had gotten out recently that Svarna’s notes were a sight to behold, but truth be told, no pure Vantha would choose pages over a live, action-packed tale told around the fire, or a grand piece carved from ice. But a half Vantha, half human thirteen year old raised in Lhavit would. His mother, Mikaro, made the journey once every two years to visit Svarna, her mother in law. Svarna had no other children save Santaro’s father, and her personal line would not continue in the Whitevine hold. Mikaro, perhaps even moreso than Artanus, his father, felt it her duty to keep watch over the old woman’s last days. This year, Santaro was old enough to accompany Mikaro and— “Santaro!” He cast a lazy blue eye towards the door, reluctant to get up at Svarna’s beckoning. The history of Morwen in Svarna’s book was surprisingly vivid, and he was loathe to move from his now-warm position. The winter was so ridiculously cold here. “Santaro! Are you reading my book again?” With a subdued sigh, he rolled over and upwards, long strands of deep chocolate and blue obscuring his vision. He dropped the book and bent over to pick it up. Then, the door opened.

[Graffius]

Pages of lore existed throughout the world – of Gods and Man, Magic and Might and tales of heroism. Knowledge was abundant and if you knew where to look, you’d easily be able to saturate your mind with truths, half-truths and complete nonsense. Unfortunately though as Navad had figured early on, many books of Divine Lore were diluted with the later. History was lost and only fragments of it, a vase shattered by the Valterrian, existed purely. One of these fragments had lead him north, to Avanthal. His pursuit of knowledge was relentless and through word of mouth, an acquaintance had spoken to him of a very rare book located within the halls of Whitevine Hold. It was Pre-Valterrian and its aged beige pages sung of truth, untainted by the hands of pseudo-scholars and mistranslations. It was a valuable piece of work. “So this is the fabled Whitevine Hold.” Absentmindedly he spoke to himself as his chilled palms, resonating with biting cold pressed to the structures wooden entrance. Its hinges wined, screeching his arrival and momentarily people paused within to cast a curious glance before once again resuming their routine. A silhouette contrasted by a stark white backdrop, Navad entered and immediately felt an inviting warmth brush the coolness of his face. He’d start from scratch. He’d been told that the person who possessed the book was one Svarna Whitevine. “Excuse me sir. I’m searching for a person… Svarna Whitevine. Is she here?” A gentleman of fine features and piercing blue eyes smiled, relaxing with crossed legs and enjoying the soothing pulse of a hearthfire. “Svarna, of course. But so late?” Mock irritation was present in his tone but was easily counteracted by his harmless features and soft eyes. “Svarna is up top. Fifth floor as far as I know.” In an automated fashion he’d stroke his crimson beard and allow his eyes to close – enjoying the silence. “Fifth floor…” Navad licked his lips. To his right was a set of stairs with a seemingly unending length. Compared to his trip here, it was a short walk. Still, any enthusiasm he had to climb the wooden steps was sapped by fatigue. Still as always, his lengthy limbs carried him forward and with a hunched posture he trudged upwards.

[Santaro]

“Now I thought I told you to go play with the other kids, Santaro!” But it was impossible for Svarna to be truly mad with the little guy. He looked too much like her son, and even as she placed her weathered hands on her hips, she smiled inwardly. “But grandma, I was reading about Morwen. I already finished reading all about Priskil, and—” “Svarna, a young Benshira man come to see you!” A male voice from the stairs. Both Svarna and Santaro’s blue eyes widened. A Benshira, so far? Svarna sighed. She’d let Santaro’s penchant for evening seclusiveness go for tonight—there were more intriguing matters at hand. The Vantha who had called came up now—from a crack in the door, Santaro watched as they conversed. Svarna nodded—and with a few lithe steps, there he was. The Benshira.

[Graffius]

“Madam” Placing his palm to his midsection, he bowed respectfully. “I have traveled far as I’m sure you can tell.” As he spoke, his eyes tittered to the side, reading the infrastructure of the building. “I have come on a notice that you have in your possession. A book.” He’d take a step backwards and seat himself in a small velvet chair, looking up towards the woman and smiling. “A valuable book.” “You see. This particular book is a Pre-Valterrian book on divine lore. I’m sure you know of which I speak. It is a valuable artifact and belongs in a library.” An uprising of excitement manifested in the eyes of the surrounding Vantha, yet he continued, allowing no intervention. “Before you protest, because I am *Quite* sure you know what my intentions are…Take heed that I have brought with me much coin to compensate.” “As an individual well versed in education, I assure you that I do in fact and indeed know the importance of such things. It is not something one can easily part with. I know this firsthand.” Speaking in a rolling confident tone, Navad patted a leather coinpurse which was securely fastened to his side. Coins jingled in protest, clanking with weight. He set it on an end-table beside him. “That bag has more than enough coin to not only pay for the book itself, but to also cover sentimental value and perhaps the loss of any unfinished readings you have. You see, it is of greater value to me than it would be to one such as yourself. It seems logical to pass it on, yes?” The file crackled with embers of hot coal as he awaited an answer.

[Santaro]

His hold on the book tightened. He looked at the man—the imposing man, might he add. He was taller than any Vantha he’d ever seen, and probably any human, too. But in that moment, Santaro felt more protective of his grandmother’s book than he ever had in his life. He saw his mother amongst the crowd, and wondered what was going on through her head. And then he placed the bag of coins on the table, and without a second thought, Santaro had placed the book back in the drawer, and stepped out. “My grandmother’s book is not for sale.” His young voice rang clearly through the air. Mikaro’s face whipped to the side to stare, with half a mind to apologetically quiet her son, but there was no stopping Santaro. “She spent years on that book, and no amount of money will ever be enough to compensate.” He clenched his small fists. He tried to look tough.

[Graffius]

“Quite a vocal boy aren’t you?” He glanced towards the mother and tapped his foot against the floor. “It’s quite alright. This boy simply has a mind of his own.” Promptly standing, he paced back and forth, silhouetted by the warm glow of a fireplace. “So the boy says that the book was written by you Madam?” His head was cocked upwards towards the ceiling as he spoke while he mused to himself. “Then I was mislead. It is not Pre-Valterrian. However…My offer still stands. One with so much knowledge such as yourself…A sort of scholar if you will, yes? Well, the book is still very much valuable I am sure.” His impatient stride halted and he turned his back to the wall, resting upon it while he gaze scanned over the crowd of people. “You see normally the price would have to be deducted. Not because of your written knowledge being any less true, but simply because it is not Pre-Valterrian. I implore you madam I am being more than generous here...And." Attention was thrown to the boy. “You child. Keep reading, it will serve you well. This world we live in, it is full of mysteries. It’s quite exciting to unlock them. Do remember. There is more in this world that is unknown than is known. I am sure you’ll be able to afford numerous books to replace the one you have lost. Don’t worry.”

[Santaro]

The man spoke directly to him, and Santaro stepped back—before stepping forward once more. The man’s words to him were delivered nobly, and though Santaro hated the prospect of Svarna’s book being taken, he felt an odd pang of understanding. Keep reading, it will serve you well. This world we live in, it is full of mysteries. It’s quite exciting to unlock them. Do remember. There is more in this world that is unknown than is known… This advice, he would remember for a very long time. But now, though the stranger fascinated him, Santaro tried to stand as strong as he could. In the face of wise words, he felt himself grow smaller, but still he clung onto his position. He would not back down. Wise as he was, the man was starting to remind Santaro of a few bullies he knew. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said it’s not for sale.”

[Graffius]

“Oh no. You see child, I understand quite well.” Navad took a step forward. “It is *you* who do not quite understand.” The child was young, a keen boy. He had values and a strong will. Still though, he was precisely what he was – a child. “You see.” Navad’s footsteps knocked against the wooden floor as he walked back and forth. “My payment was a gift. The book should be taken and no reward should be offered for its handover. Why? Because it can be put to use.” Extending a finger, he pointed in the direction of Svarna Whitevine. She had aged and her skin was a collage of wrinkles, yet behind her leathery exterior, there was wisdom and a honed talent of the written word. “You wrote this book and why? To let a child read it? Years of your countless studies going to waste. You see madam Whitevine, your talent and your tireless studies are invaluable to one such as myself. This is not to be contested. It is a responsibility. You live; you affect the world around you. Your part in writing knowledge into the pages of that book are a service to the world. And whether or not you realize it. You *owe* it.” In his flurry, a devilish tint of golden agitation manifested within the dark almond pits of his irises. It was a spark of his Ethaefal nature and a byproduct of the Djed which coursed through his veins. It surged hot and visibly the lazuline liquid pulsed in tendrils, swirling in the form of beating tentacles around his clenched fist. “You will give me that book. Or I promise you, there will be consequences. Perhaps not tonight Madam but… The world is a neverending expanse and time does not truly exist. We will meet again.” “Allow it to be on good terms when we do.”

[Santaro]

Chest hammering with fear and adrenaline, Santaro opened his mouth once more, but was silenced as Svarna finally spoke. Santaro was surprised. He’d never heard his grandmother use the tone that she did—full of patience and authority, her raspy tone was kind but stern. “Santaro, silence. Benshira, I have considered your request, but I present to you a counter-offer. I will allow you two days to copy this book—no more, no less.” She held up a wrinkled hand at those who dared to murmur. “Without,” she said, a small sparkle in her eye, “…payment.” Perhaps Svarna finally had her own little joke on the world and its method of currency. Right at that moment, however, Santaro’s blood boiled hot. Tempered gradually at the silence that followed, he took a deep breath. His mother stepped towards him now and he looked away, knowing by the frown of her mouth that he would be in trouble soon afterwards. Hardening his heart towards her, he turned away, walking back towards the room he had come from. "Go away," he muttered, ignoring the surprised hurt in his mother's eyes. He shut the door. Mikaro sighed. They continued to speak in low voices now, calmed by the age he did not yet have. He opened the drawer, held the book. To comfort his troubled emotions, he resolved to make sure that after the two days were over, the book would be back in that drawer. They called his name. He walked out with the book, vice-gripped in his brown knuckles.

[Graffius]

Tension was thick in the air. It was an appropriate response and precisely what he expected. With little concentration, he withdrew the Res which forebodingly dripped down his limb. “A wise decision madam.” Once again he bowed. His elongated travel to Avanthal was successful, mostly. He’d rather have purchased the book outright and now he was taxed with copying its pages, a tedious task. Still though, there was no room to complain. He’d have his knowledge and get to keep his coin in the process. A door would open and the sour face of Santaro would appear. As asked, the book was handed to him. “Thank you.” Gripping the book, he withdrew it from Santaro’s small hand and studied him for a moment. “Don’t be upset child. The book will be returned safely to you. You have my word.” With a smile and without delay, he turned on his heels, preparing to leave and descending down the flight of stairs. For now he’d return to his temporary home and study – tonight would be a night of reading and re-printing Svarna’s book. Curiously though, it was something he enjoyed. Before leaving, he turned to face Santaro for a final moment. “Child, over there by the velvet seat I was sitting in. Reach under it. I’ve left you something.” With his final words, Navad’s wiry form vanished from site with each step and as quickly as he’d arrived, he left the building. Beneath the chair, he’d left his coinpurse. Not unlike Svarna, currency was of little value to him as well.

Fin.