Chapter 501: Shadows in Stone

"Have you tried reading the book at all?" Daniel asked.

"Of course. The book talks about a time when the goddess walked the lands of Nirvana—"

"...She has a shrine here that’s also a grave, and she also walked in Nirvana?" Ronan interrupted. "You mean I’ve been walking on holy ground?"

"Possibly," Orion replied. "But can you stop interrupting? Do you want us to stay here past midnight?"

"It’s not a doubt we’ll be here for a while anyway," Ronan muttered. "But I’m just shocked that I’ve been walking on the exact same place the goddess stepped on. Is that not—"

"Sorry, brother," Orion cut in, "but I’m not so sure the goddess walked around this side of Nirvana. The pack where she lived is located deep in the heart of Nirvana, after all."

Ronan opened his mouth to argue.

Orion gave him a look.

"Just shut up for a while, brother."

Ronan sighed and nodded.

Sophia smiled faintly and continued.

"Honestly, the book is a diary. It’s handwritten, and it’s old. But... I had only just begun reading it. I hadn’t even gone very far, and now—after seeing this—I’m not sure I’ll be able to get far at all."

If she hadn’t been distracted by Orion and his kisses and his constant, infuriating seduction, she would have gone farther.

Maybe not that same day.

But at least within the week.

But Orion had distracted her.

And truthfully... she had liked the distractions too.

Orion turned to Ronan.

"Do you have the drawings of those black rocks you saw in the Heart of Nirvana?" he asked quietly. "Especially the symbols written on them?"

Ronan leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Orion. "I do," he said, voice low. "And I brought them with me."

He reached into the pocket of his pants, fingers brushing against the rough fabric, and drew out three folded parchments. The folds were crisp, edges frayed, corners darkened as though kissed by fire.

With deliberate care, he unfolded them and laid each on the table, one by one. The rustle of the parchments echoed softly in the quiet hall.

Orion’s eyes flicked to Sophia, then back to the parchments. He didn’t move immediately. He wanted to see her reaction first.

Lysander leaned forward, voice soft, careful, as he began describing what was drawn on the parchments to Brynhild.

"The first... it’s a rough sketch of a jagged stone, the black rock they talked about I’m sure. Lines etched across it, deep and irregular, almost like they follow no pattern—but there’s a rhythm in them. You can see curves and angles interlacing."

He paused. "The second is a fractured boulder, split into two halves. There are markings inside the split. Sharp and precise. They are deliberate too, just like the first one. The lines twist over each other, sometimes vertical, sometimes curling. You can’t tell what it says just by looking."

"The third," Lysander said, softer now, "is a taller stone, rising from the earth. The etchings are tiny here, almost microscopic. They weave into themselves. Symbols within symbols. I can describe the shape, the form of the lines... but the language itself, I can’t. I’m sorry, love, I cannot tell you what it says."

No one spoke until Lysander was done describing everything to Brynhild.

Sophia’s hand rested on the parchments, drawing them to herself as she broke the silence.

"You don’t need to, Lysander," she said softly. "I’ll do my best to explain what’s written."

She selected the second parchment, the drawing of the fractured boulder. The sketch was careful but raw. Inside the split, tiny, jagged lines traced shapes she recognized—the same shapes as the altar, though smaller, condensed, almost like a message whispered into stone.

The writing was delicate, the lines sharp yet flowing. She traced the symbols with her finger.

ᛚᚢᚾᚨ’ᛗᛖᚱᚨ ᛋᚺᚱᛁᚾᛖ ᚲᚨᚱᚢᚢᛏ ᛒᛚᚨᚲᚴ

ᚷᚱᛖᛖᚾ ᛋᚺᚨᛞᛖ ᚲᛚᚨᚢᛋ ᚠᚨᛚᛚᛖᚾ

ᚹᚨᛏᛖᚱ ᛋᛁᛝᛋ ᛚᛟᚱᛞ ᛒᚢᚱᚾ ᛞᚱᚨᚦ

The script was small, intricate, each line curling like it was frozen in the stone. Crescents and vertical hooks punctuated the patterns.

Sophia drew a slow breath before she spoke aloud for them all to hear.

"Vyn’thar al’kor...

Shal’nur esh’vel...

Kor’esh drae’thal...

Vyn’esh althra...

Zha’ryn sul’kor...

Velis’esh thal’kor."

Her voice was quiet, soft, deliberate. Short clicks punctuated the syllables, a hum lingered in the longer vowels. It carried a rhythm as if the stone itself expected it.

The council watched her, silent. Even Ronan’s usual grin was gone, replaced by a sharp, uneasy focus.

This was the first time most of them were hearing Sophia speak this lost language outright, after all, and it was quite shocking even if they knew she could speak the language.

Brynhild spoke then, her voice laced with humor.

"That didn’t do anything to help me imagine it. I just heard vowels and... honestly, I don’t even know what I heard."

"That makes all of us," Ronan said with a chuckle. "Well, except Sophia."

"Honestly," Sophia began, "I’m also confused."

She traced the last lines again with a fingertip. "It’s... a riddle," she said softly. "And while I do live for a challenge and would absolutely love to solve them, I thought it was going to be something straightforward."

Madam Tyler leaned forward. "A riddle?" she asked, voice tight. "What does it say? Perhaps the rest of us may be able to put our heads together to solve it?"

Sophia traced the symbols one more time, muttering softly under her breath, shaping the words as they were meant to be spoken:

"Wash the eyes of the earth...

While the water sings, the Great Disaster sleeps...

But heed the silt: when the blood runs black before the rain,

And the sea seeks a new successor of the night...

The First Key has turned.

But the wheels turn too, for an ancient shadow may no longer be left a shadow."

The hall was once more silent after Sophia’s words.

"No one has an idea?" Caspian asked.

Eldric adjusted his glasses. "I may turn out to be inaccurate about this but I have a theory what it could possibly mean."

All heads turned to Eldric then.