Hermit of the Mind.

[Albireo]

Tbd.

[Albireo]

Spring 42, 511 AV They say there is neither paper nor ink. In fact that’s a lie, most of them laughed and spit on the ground as if saliva was the magic that made the sand and dirt form things out of thin air. The naive girl asking for paper instead of freedom amused them to no end. I’m glad I could be of service, gentlemen. So I’m writing on walls with sharp stones I find lying around. Some of them produce copper lines, salt and metal on my tongue, and I prevent my thoughts from straying too far into their past. This hell is worse than living on the surface with Leth staring in my face every night. Sometimes I wonder if He hears, if He even knows this place exists. I doubt it, then I hope it, then I try not to think about it. But thinking is the one thing I can’t change about me. It frightens me as much as everything else does – that while lying under the next brute who paints my skin like a canvas I can’t help but think about the Gods and the world. As if nothing was happening. In a way, I can see where I’m coming from. There is a distance, right? How do I say it... I’m splitting? In my imagination those who pass this wall read a few words and forget them as the senseless ramblings of a madwoman. Nikallum. That’s what they think we are, isn’t it so? We offer our flesh in exchange for a flicker of life. But down here the candles never burn long – the wind howling through pitch-black caves blows them out. Light never stays. I’m tired, so tired. This hole is endless and without borders. I don’t even know how many caves there are. It is a silent rule, another piece of the puzzle, that nobody enters the deepest caverns. The place might be endless, but scratching my copper lines is getting dangerous. I better leave you, wall, for I trust you to keep my words until someone comes along who understands them. Maybe it’ll be me, maybe not.

[Albireo]

Tbd.

[Albireo]

Summer 84, 511 AV It’s a piece of Alvadas, the ever-changing spoiled brat laughing into my face from the streets – yet I will take this journal with me on the tedious journey through high mountain peaks, among bushes of wild flowers and herbs. It will adopt the fragrance of road dust, sweat and horses as we take step by step on the way to the voices calling us. That is, I don’t quite understand my little companion’s motivations, but she has pledged to stay by my side and I’m glad for that. A familiar voice in a sea of foreign and dangerous terrains – I certainly won’t complain! I will hide from the others and cling to every moment of peace I can get so that by the end of next season I can take in glowing structures and be closer to the stars. I also hope to fill these pages more quickly once this undecided drop of rain has touched firm ground. Until then, I remain, thinking of You. Spring 18, 512 AV Ripples of the great tragedy are still visible on the faces of passers-by. They exclude me from their sorrow though for I wasn’t there when the worst struck. The caravan clung to a fragile camp set up literally in front of salvation’s gates. Now I am here and the past is like a black cloth that was just taken from my eyes. I see the stars and the black silk of the sky and of course I see Your comfortable light. My heart is overflowing with emotions I can’t express. And then my gaze drops to the ground as a Shinya walks by and his weapon reflects the shine of skyglass. And my stomach turns inside out when I set foot on a bridge that moves in the mountain breeze. I am weak and I know it. How am I to fight what has brought me to this beautiful place though? The city is not the Ukalas, but it is almost like a paradise and the only one of its kind in the whole of Mizahar. Sometimes I don’t understand. Sometimes I don’t want to. My thoughts are overflowing with possibilities and observations and flinching and closing eyes, believe it or not. I don’t know where to look anymore. My eyes have almost become a source of danger themselves. And how long will it last, this...? There are no words. I keep repeating myself, but the truth knows no second chance. Why if not now; when if not here? My Lord, if you cannot hear my pitiful voice, let me raise it so it reaches Your heavenly ear. I will work for You, for You alone. And pray for my effort to be recognized. Is this what they call arrogance? But to me it is confusion, no more and no less. Spring 23, 513 AV My stay in this wonderful mortal paradise has reached its first anniversary. Does it call for celebration or respect, this particular mark in time? I cannot begin to express the happenings and changes they have brought forth. Even more so than last spring, I am consumed by a flood of conflicting emotions and tangled thoughts, ideas. Tidying them up will take a small eternity. If it was the Ukalas, time would mean nothing and I’d put it behind me in the blink of an eye. Then again, is it reasonable to trust hazy and fragmented memories? I shall not. The Ukalas is but a dream, as fleeting and false as the name mortals address it with. It is not the real thing. The stars are still as far away as ever and with them the face of my Moon Lord. He has not answered, although He surely must hear my daily calls. Perhaps I am dreaming, but there has been change: Although He has not answered, I feel His presence more acutely and warmly, as if He is keeping an eye on my unworthy form, holding a hand over my fragile head. There has been change. I dug my roots in this magnificent place of glitter and rustling pages and it has not disappointed me. Another like me has stepped forth and offered me his arm to walk with. We are two sides of a coin: while I am silver and obsidian, he is gold and bronze. I have read and I have written many pages, countless words. Somewhere in these tales, legends, journals, reports, treatises, a secret of great importance is hidden. Through breathing the air of the library, I can tell it. If I discover it, I will be one step closer to the dream I am chasing. I know it. I look forward to it and I will do everything to achieve it. My Lord is ever watching, ever listening, of that I am sure. It seems like that is the gift the City of Stars has given me: clarity.