A crisp dawn settled over Grenspar, bathing the logging town in pale sunlight. Xion woke to the scent of woodsmoke and the distant thrum of sawmills. In the cramped inn room at The Cedar's Rest, he stretched, shaking off the vestiges of uneasy dreams. No swirling illusions or cosmic watchers confronted him last night—just the mundane shuffle of a bustling town.
Lillian Weiss was already up, perched on the windowsill with a small notebook in hand. She gazed down at the muddy street below, where laborers were loading timber onto carts. A warm breeze drifted in, carrying the tang of fresh-cut pine.
"You slept better?" she asked without turning.
Xion offered a half-smile. "No nightmares about corridors of reflections, if that's what you mean." He slipped off the bed, running a hand through his hair. The events of the past days still weighed on him—the illusions of Veluria, the ominous presence of Chrona, the half-formed knowledge that he might carry a paradoxical power akin to an Epitaph. But for the moment, the routine bustle of Grenspar felt oddly comforting.
He joined Lillian by the window. "Any sign of watchers?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "No. Just ordinary folks starting their day." A pause. "We have a lot to do, though. Yesterday's leads on Epitaph lore were... minimal."
They had visited Aston, the local record-keeper, and Captain Rellan of the guard, gleaning only scattered rumors: talk of a con artist hawking an "Epitaph Mirror," and a traveler named Gilseth who once carried a relic with the word "Epitaph." Neither offered a clear path to proving Xion's potential Epitaph or unveiling the final rewriting that haunted his dreams.
"We can press more townsfolk," Xion suggested. "Someone must know more about these families and churches that shape the realm. If Epitaphs are cosmic scars, the great powers might have records of them."
Lillian nodded, flipping a page in her notebook. "Yes. This world is bigger than Grenspar. Perhaps it's time we piece together the major factions—the families and faiths that hold real sway." She glanced at Xion. "Understanding them might give us a vantage point. We can't keep stumbling in the dark."
He couldn't argue. "Let's see what we can learn." A small grin tugged at his lips. "At least we're not running from memory leeches."
Lillian chuckled softly, shutting her notebook. "We'll find trouble soon enough."
---
They descended to the tavern's main floor, greeted by the clamor of breakfast. Tovin, the rotund barkeep, bustled around with a tray of steaming porridge and bread. A few loggers downed hot tea before heading out. The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the hush of illusions they had known in Veluria.
Xion and Lillian took a small table near the wall. Tovin approached, wiping his hands on an apron. "Morning, travelers. Hungry?"
"Yes, please," Lillian said, sliding over a few coins. "And any local gossip?"
He smirked. "You folks do love your gossip. I can't promise it's relevant to your fancy arcane interests, but let's see..." He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "A merchant from the southwestern roads arrived last night, claims he barely escaped a roving band of exiles from some fallen noble house. Could be trouble if they set up camp near us."
Xion's curiosity piqued. "A fallen noble house?"
Tovin shrugged. "That's what the merchant said. Something about exiled scions who refuse to accept their family's downfall, stirring up local bandits." He straightened, glancing at the kitchen. "Anyway, enjoy your breakfast."
As Tovin left, Xion mulled over the snippet. Fallen noble houses, exiled scions—the realm was full of hidden lineages. Perhaps learning about these families might help him grasp the grand tapestry of power. He and Lillian ate quickly, then decided to chase down the rumored merchant.
They found him—a wiry man named Tarran—outside the tavern, loading crates onto a rickety cart. He eyed them warily, but softened when they mentioned Tovin's tip.
"Yes, yes," Tarran said, voice hushed. "I was heading from the southwestern trade route when a group of well-armed folk ambushed me. They wore tattered finery, insisted they were 'noble by birth' and demanded tribute." He spat. "Bandits in fancy clothes, more like. They kept referencing an 'Eldenwald heritage.' Could be nonsense, or maybe they truly belong to that old clan."
Lillian's brow furrowed. "Eldenwald? I recall hearing that name in rumors about an empire that was erased from official records." She glanced at Xion, who nodded. "Could it be they survived, clinging to lost glory?"
Tarran shrugged. "I didn't wait to find out. They let me go after taking a cut of my goods. I'd avoid that route if I were you."
They thanked him, letting him depart. As he rolled away, Lillian turned to Xion, eyes bright with intrigue. "Eldenwald is one of those rumored 'lost families' we read about in partial references." She paused. "If they truly existed before certain rewriting events, they might have knowledge of Epitaphs or undone timelines."
"We can't just wander the southwestern roads, hoping to find them," Xion cautioned, though the idea tempted him. "We still have other leads in Grenspar."
"True," she said. "But keep this in mind. Eldenwald might be a clue—like the mention of Gilseth or the Epitaph Mirror."
Xion exhaled, nodding. The puzzle pieces multiplied: exiled scions from a lost empire, traveling con artists, rumors of watchers. All of it hinted at a realm in flux, shaped by hidden histories. He needed a broader perspective—the big picture of major families and churches.
"Let's see if Grenspar has a local scholar or traveling bard who knows the realm's politics," Lillian suggested. "We can gather background on these families and the churches that define the faith."
---
They wandered through Grenspar's busy lanes, scanning for signs of an entertainer or historian. By midday, they spotted a small crowd gathered near the market square. A slender figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat and colorful cloak stood atop a crate, plucking a lute. People clapped and swayed to the melody.
"A bard," Xion whispered, exchanging a hopeful glance with Lillian. "They might know lore beyond local gossip."
They joined the crowd, listening. The bard's tune was lively, describing ancient battles in a distant desert. When the song ended, applause erupted. The bard doffed his hat, revealing cropped blond hair, and accepted a few coins. He introduced himself as Ravion.
"Thank you, friends," Ravion said, voice carrying a practiced warmth. "I come from the far east, bearing tales of old heroes and fallen kings." He winked at the crowd. "Who has a request?"
Several onlookers shouted for love ballads or comedic ditties. Ravion obliged, launching into another jaunty piece. Xion and Lillian waited patiently, letting the crowd thin as the bard played on. Eventually, the watchers drifted away, returning to chores. Ravion hopped down from the crate, stowing his lute.
Xion approached. "Great performance. Might we speak with you? We're travelers seeking knowledge of deeper histories."
Ravion eyed them, curiosity lighting his features. "Deeper histories? I've plenty of stories, but they'll cost a coin or two."
Lillian produced a small coin from her pouch. "We'd gladly pay for your time." She smiled gently. "We're especially interested in the realm's major families—those with lost or hidden legacies—and the great churches that shape people's faith."
Ravion's brow rose. "A lofty topic." He pocketed the coin, then gestured to a quieter spot by a shuttered stall. "All right, I can share what I know." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Though be warned, not all these families or churches want their secrets bandied about."
They found a corner near a grain store, out of the main foot traffic. Ravion rested his lute against a wall. "Where to begin? The realm is vast, but certain powers loom large." He cleared his throat, adopting a more serious tone.
---
"First," Ravion said, "let's discuss the old bloodlines—those that carry influence or were once rumored to. Some are recognized by all, some are whispered of in hush." He counted on his fingers:
1. The Weiss Dynasty: A lineage of scholars and keepers of lost knowledge. They rarely claim open political power, but rumors say they manipulate events from behind the scenes.
2. The Eldenwald Clan: Once an empire, now believed erased from official records. Some say they were undone by a rewriting event. Survivors roam as exiles, clinging to old glories.
3. The House of Ayakashi: A clan of assassins and illusionists who served the Forgotten Lords in eons past. Their name surfaces in old ballads, but few claim to have met them.
4. The Etherion Bloodline: Renowned alchemists rumored to craft artificial Epitaph-like relics. They're said to have retreated into secrecy after a catastrophic experiment.
5. Trinity Family: Legends swirl about them having devourer instincts or bloodthirsty transformations. Some believe them extinct, others say they lurk in remote enclaves.
Ravion paused, eyes flicking over Xion. "You two likely heard these names if you dabble in deeper lore." He smirked. "They rarely appear in everyday talk, but every so often, a rumor surfaces—like the exiled Eldenwald scions harassing travelers."
Xion absorbed this, recalling how Lillian once mentioned the Weiss name. She had introduced herself as a "Weiss," but only fleetingly. He glanced at her, seeing a subtle tension in her jaw. She gave no sign of interruption, letting the bard continue.
"Many smaller families exist," Ravion went on, "but these five cast long shadows. Some say they predate the Divine Concord's rule. Others suspect they hold secrets of undone timelines." He shrugged. "What's truth and what's legend is anyone's guess."
---
Next, Ravion shifted his posture, leaning closer. "If the families shape the realm's bloodlines, the churches shape its soul." He counted again:
1. The Divine Concord: The official faith that enforces moral order across many kingdoms. They revere a pantheon that claims dominion over fate. Some see them as protectors; others call them tyrants.
2. The Silent Choir: A secretive church that worships the erased or lost. They vow to keep forbidden truths hidden. Their shrines often demand silence or memory as offerings.
3. The Blood Psalms: Devourer worshipers, praising primal hunger and evolution. They see power as the only truth, and many fear their rites.
4. The Eclipsed Throne: A faith that claims the 'true god' vanished and the current gods are usurpers. They wait for their deity's return, scornful of the Divine Concord.
5. The Argent Order: Though not exactly a church, they enforce a 'higher justice' from the shadows, rumored to bind or sever cosmic laws. Some worship them as living saints.
Ravion's expression grew grave. "Clashes between these churches or orders can reshape entire regions. The Divine Concord hunts those who defy their pantheon. The Silent Choir snuffs out knowledge. The Blood Psalms devour the weak. The Eclipsed Throne subverts existing faith. And the Argent Order... well, they appear when laws are broken, punishing or pardoning at will."
He let out a long breath. "That's the big picture. Most folks live their lives ignoring these extremes, but occasionally, events force them into the spotlight."
---
Xion felt a swirl of realization. The realm was a patchwork of hidden lineages and faiths, each with ties to cosmic mysteries. If Epitaphs were indeed cosmic scars or paradoxes, these families or churches might have encountered them. He thought of the Trinity rumors—bloodthirsty transformations reminiscent of devourer instincts. The name resonated uncomfortably with his own. 'Trinity Pendragon,' he recalled, though he'd never fully explored that link.
He also recalled Lillian calling herself a Weiss. She had never elaborated, but now the mention of the Weiss Dynasty as watchers of forbidden knowledge felt pointed. He cast a sidelong look at her. She stood quietly, expression unreadable.
"You've given us a lot," Lillian told Ravion. "Any idea how we might approach these families or churches safely, or find records about them?"
Ravion chuckled. "Safely? Hard to say. The Divine Concord is easy to find—they have official temples in many cities, though you risk inquisitions if you mention Epitaphs. The Silent Choir is rumored to have shrines in hidden places, but they don't welcome visitors. The Blood Psalms... best avoided unless you fancy their devourer rites." He paused. "As for families, they're scattered or secretive. Eldenwald exiles roam. Weiss scions appear unpredictably." He gestured to Lillian. "You might cross a Weiss scholar and not even know it."
She tensed slightly. Xion caught it but said nothing.
"Thank you," Xion said, pressing a few more coins into Ravion's hand. "You've helped more than you know."
The bard gave a flourishing bow. "I do love a good tale. If you uncover more, share it—maybe I'll spin a new ballad." With that, he bid them farewell, drifting into the crowd to gather an afternoon audience.
Xion and Lillian stepped away, the weight of new knowledge pressing on them. They found a quiet alley, leaning against a timber wall.
"So many forces," Xion murmured. "It's no wonder illusions and watchers lurk. The realm's built on layers of secrets."
Lillian sighed, eyes flicking to her staff. "We must be methodical. If the Divine Concord hunts anomalies, we can't just march into a temple asking about Epitaphs. The Silent Choir would silence us. The Blood Psalms might turn us into prey. The Eclipsed Throne could see us as pawns in a grand rebellion." She rubbed her temples. "Yet somewhere among them, a clue to Epitaph detection or the Hall of Glass must exist."
"And the families," Xion added. "We already see hints of Eldenwald exiles. The Weiss..." He trailed off, studying Lillian's reaction. She offered no elaboration, but her shoulders tensed. "Let's keep that on the table, too."
She nodded, gaze distant. "Agreed."
---
As they strolled back toward the inn, a subdued hush lingered between them. Finally, Lillian halted in a side lane, exhaling a shaky breath.
"Xion..." She hesitated, biting her lip. "I haven't been fully transparent. About the Weiss name." She cast a quick glance around to ensure no eavesdroppers. "I am connected to that dynasty. I told you my surname was Weiss, but not what it truly means."
He stilled, heart pounding. "You're part of the Weiss Dynasty? The watchers of lost knowledge?"
She offered a wan smile. "Yes. My family is one branch of that lineage. We... preserve secrets, gather forbidden lore. Some of us manipulate events from the shadows to keep the world from unraveling." She grimaced. "But I left them. I grew disillusioned with how they hoard truths." She paused. "When I found you in Veluria, I recognized certain anomalies in your presence. That's partly why I guided you. I sensed... you might be tied to something bigger."
Shock rippled through Xion, though a part of him had suspected. He recalled the day in Veluria's library, how she navigated illusions with practiced caution. "Why keep it hidden?"
Her voice softened. "Because the Weiss prefer secrecy. If they knew I was revealing or investigating Epitaphs with an anomaly like you, they might intervene. They believe in controlling knowledge, not freely sharing it." She sighed. "But I see no path forward except honesty. You deserve to know who stands beside you."
A swirl of emotions churned in Xion. Relief that she trusted him enough to admit it. Worry that a powerful dynasty might hunt them. A sense of betrayal that she had withheld it. But overshadowing all was gratitude for her presence.
"I appreciate your honesty," he said quietly. "And I'm not angry. This realm is full of secrets. I can't fault you for having your own." He inhaled. "What does this mean for us going forward?"
She met his gaze, determination lighting her eyes. "It means I'll keep helping you, no matter what my family might want. I left them for a reason." She mustered a faint smile. "But if we cross paths with other Weiss agents, we must be cautious. They might see you as a threat or a curiosity."
"Understood," Xion said, exhaling. "One more complication in a sea of complications."
They shared a moment of silent acceptance, the bond between them reinforced by mutual trust. Then Lillian squared her shoulders. "So, with that out in the open, how do we proceed?"
"We keep gathering info. We decide if we want to chase the Eldenwald exiles, investigate the local Concord temple, or see if any traveling scholars have arrived." He offered a wry grin. "And we watch for watchers."
She nodded, relief and tension mingling on her face. "Yes, let's do that."
---
By late afternoon, they decided to glean at least a cursory sense of how the Divine Concord operated in Grenspar. According to Ravion, the Concord's presence was modest here—a single temple with a handful of clergy. But any temple might hold records or references to Epitaph heresies.
They found the temple near the town's center: a squat structure of stone, topped by a small spire bearing the Concord's sigil—a golden scale set over a stylized sunburst. Two robed clerics chatted outside, occasionally blessing passing children with a sign of the scale.
Xion's gut twisted. The Concord had once labeled him a heresy for reasons he never fully understood—something about his Trinity lineage. If these local clerics recognized him, or if word spread, trouble might ensue. Yet curiosity burned. He and Lillian approached slowly.
A tall woman in priestly robes stepped forward, noticing them. Her expression was polite but reserved. "Welcome to the Temple of the Divine Concord. May the blessings of order and light guide you."
"Thank you," Lillian said smoothly, adopting a respectful tone. "We're travelers. We've heard the Concord fosters knowledge about deviance from natural law. We wonder if the temple keeps records of unusual phenomena or..." she paused, "carefully, heresies that distort reality?"
The priestess frowned. "Heresies? Our archives hold certain cautionary texts, yes, but they are not open to casual inquirers." She studied them, suspicion creeping in. "Might I ask why you seek such knowledge?"
Xion forced a calm facade. "We encountered illusions in our travels. We suspect they tie to forbidden relics." He let a thread of desperation color his voice. "We only wish to protect ourselves from them."
The priestess relaxed slightly, sympathy crossing her features. "I see. The world can be perilous. But the Concord encourages faithful hearts to trust in the pantheon's order, not chase secrets." She folded her hands. "If you suspect a relic or phenomenon is heretical, you should report it to the nearest inquisitor or temple official."
"We prefer to investigate quietly first," Lillian said, mustering a gentle smile. "We wouldn't want to trouble the Concord without cause."
The priestess nodded, though her wariness remained. "I can share only general warnings: illusions often stem from entropic forces or curses. If you truly fear a heresy, submit a request to the Concord's main archives in a larger city." She gave them a pitying look. "We are but a small outpost."
They thanked her and withdrew, gleaning no direct help. As they left, Xion's shoulders sagged. The Concord, as expected, offered no immediate path to Epitaph knowledge. They merely reaffirmed that illusions were heretical. If they discovered he might be an anomaly, they'd clamp down swiftly. He and Lillian hurried away, relieved not to have triggered an inquisition.
---
That evening, back at The Cedar's Rest, they conferred in hushed tones over a modest supper. The day had brought glimpses of how the realm's major powers functioned, but no direct route to confirming Xion's Epitaph status.
"So we have: The Divine Concord, not helpful unless we want to be flagged as heretics," Lillian summarized, ticking points on her fingers. The Silent Choir, even more secretive and dangerous. The Blood Psalms, borderline monstrous. The Eclipsed Throne, a wildcard faith. The Argent Order, ephemeral enforcers of cosmic justice." She sighed. "And among families, we have rumors of Eldenwald exiles, Weiss watchers, Etherion alchemists, the House of Ayakashi, the Trinity's devourer lineage." She gave him a pointed look. "No easy path."
Xion nodded, swirling his spoon in a thin stew. "We might investigate other hidden orders, too." He recalled passing references to groups like the Whispering Eye or the Abyssal Choir. "But that's more secret societies." He exhaled, a wry laugh escaping. "We're in a labyrinth."
"At least we're not alone," Lillian said softly, offering him a reassuring nod.
They planned next steps. Xion suggested they remain in Grenspar for a few more days, discreetly questioning travelers or local records. If nothing concrete emerged, they might venture beyond—either to chase rumors of the Eldenwald exiles or to find bigger archives in a city. Lillian agreed. They parted to rest, though sleep came fitfully to Xion.
He dreamed again of corridors with infinite reflections, each reflection wearing different emblems of families or churches—some brandishing a scale of the Concord, others cloaked in silent black, others bearing devourer marks. The reflections converged, swirling into a black star that pulsed with cosmic dread. He woke in the predawn gloom, chest tight.
---
Morning dawned, and they rose early to begin their discreet inquiries. But as they left their room, Tovin intercepted them, a perplexed look on his face.
"A woman arrived late last night," he explained, voice low. "Asked if two travelers were staying here. She insisted on leaving a note for you." He handed over a small folded parchment.
Xion's heart leapt. Could it be watchers, or Chrona? He took the note with trembling fingers. Lillian peered over his shoulder as he unfolded it:
> To Xion and Lillian,
> I hear you seek deeper truths.
> Meet me at the old orchard on the town's northern edge at midday.
> Come alone.
> —A Friend
No signature, no crest. The handwriting was neat, feminine. A chill crept along Xion's spine. Lillian's eyes narrowed.
"This could be a trap," she muttered. "Or it could be an ally."
Xion glanced at Tovin. "Did you see her?"
He shook his head. "Only a glimpse. Hooded cloak, silver hair, I think. She paid me a coin to deliver the note, then vanished." He frowned. "Should I be worried you're stirring trouble?"
"No trouble," Lillian reassured, though her face was pale. "We'll handle it."
Tovin shrugged and left. Xion re-read the note, suspicion and hope mingling. Another silver-haired figure? Could it be a Weiss agent? Or someone from another faction? The orchard rendezvous could reveal new leads or new dangers.
They decided to prepare carefully. If this was a trap, they wouldn't go unarmed. But if it was truly a friend, refusing might cost them crucial information. At midday, they left the inn, heading north through Grenspar's outskirts, past a row of small farmsteads and stables.
The orchard lay on a gentle slope outside the palisade, a grove of twisted apple trees that had shed most fruit. Summer was nearly past, leaving half-ripe apples on the ground. The midday sun shone bright, casting short shadows. Xion's sword hung at his side; Lillian's staff was readied. The orchard was quiet except for the rustle of leaves.
They entered cautiously, scanning for movement. Then a soft voice called:
"Over here."
They turned to see a figure step from behind a tree: a woman in a dark cloak, hood lowered. Silver hair framed her face, and she wore an expression of measured calm. Her eyes glinted with intelligence. Xion tensed, recalling Chrona's chain or the watchers' illusions, but she carried no visible weapon—only a small satchel.
"You're the one who left the note," Lillian said, staff angled warily.
The woman inclined her head. "I am. My name is Sera. I heard from certain... sources... that you two are seeking knowledge of Epitaphs and cosmic rewriting." She paused. "I come as a friend, though trust is scarce these days."
Xion studied her carefully. Her silver hair was not two-toned like Lillian's, nor was it pinned up. She had a refined air, reminiscent of someone from a noble background. "Why help us?" he asked, voice cautious.
"Because I, too, walk the line between families and faiths," Sera replied softly. "And I sense you're honest." She lifted her chin. "If you want a chance to learn about major families and churches from a vantage few outsiders get, come with me. I can guide you to a hidden circle where such knowledge is exchanged."
Lillian tensed. "Hidden circle? That sounds like the domain of secret orders." She narrowed her eyes. "Which order do you serve?"
Sera exhaled, glancing at the orchard's edge. "I serve no order. But I have ties to the Whispering Eye, a network that collects forbidden truths." She raised a hand. "We're not all malevolent conspirators—some of us simply wish to unravel illusions without the heavy hand of the Divine Concord or the Silent Choir."
Xion recalled fleeting mentions of the Whispering Eye: a clandestine group rumored to gather knowledge the churches suppressed. They were said to straddle the line between benefactors and manipulators. He eyed Sera. "How do we know this isn't a trap?"
She gave a thin smile. "You don't. But if you truly seek to confirm your Epitaph potential and understand the realm's forces, the Eye can open doors." She paused. "I can't guarantee your safety once you step into those circles, but knowledge never comes without risk."
A hush fell. Xion's pulse pounded. Lillian studied him, then turned to Sera. "Where would you take us?"
"To an enclave north of here, near the forest's border." She looked around warily. "A small gathering of scholars, exiles, and watchers from various lineages. They share information—some genuine, some bartered. If any place in these parts holds clues to Epitaph detection, it's there."
"And your price?" Xion asked, suspecting a catch.
"Only that you let me observe your quest." She shrugged. "The Eye thrives on understanding anomalies, and you are an anomaly if rumors hold true."
Lillian frowned, but Xion sensed no immediate malice from Sera. She might be a double agent, or she might be a genuine ally. The orchard felt stifling with tension.
"We can't decide lightly," Xion said, forcing calm. "We only just arrived in Grenspar."
Sera nodded. "Take a day to prepare. I'll wait in the orchard tomorrow at dusk. If you come, we'll depart for the enclave. If not, I vanish." She gave them a final measured look. "The choice is yours."
Then, with a swirl of her cloak, she slipped away among the trees, leaving them stunned. The orchard grew quiet, wind rustling the branches. Xion stared at Lillian, heart thrumming.
"The Whispering Eye..." Lillian whispered. "They do hoard knowledge. They're rumored to have a trove of secrets from undone timelines." She swallowed. "This might be our best lead, or a lethal trap."
"Everything is a risk," Xion said. "But if the Eye truly has records on Epitaphs, we can't ignore it."
They left the orchard, minds churning. A day to decide whether to follow Sera into a secret enclave. If it was real, they might finally find an Epitaph-detecting method or glean insight into watchers, undone timelines, and cosmic rewriting. If it was a trap, they might never emerge.
---
Back at The Cedar's Rest, they sequestered themselves in their room, debating well into the evening. Lillian worried about the Weiss family's stance on the Whispering Eye—some Weiss watchers considered the Eye dangerous. Xion, meanwhile, dreaded illusions or watchers might ambush them mid-journey. But the lure of knowledge was undeniable.
"We're running out of options," Xion admitted. "This might be the only path forward." He set aside a short list of their current leads: the vague rumor of Gilseth, the ephemeral Epitaph Mirror, Eldenwald exiles. None promised immediate answers.
Lillian tapped her staff on the floor, eyes haunted. "I sense we must face bigger powers soon." She looked at him, voice softening. "If the Eye can confirm your Epitaph link or teach us about the final rewriting, it could be worth it."
They decided to accept Sera's offer. The risk was high, but so was the potential reward. The next day, they would gather supplies, settle their tab with Tovin, and at dusk return to the orchard.
"We move carefully," Xion said. "We keep watch for illusions or watchers." He exhaled. "And if this is a trap, we'll fight our way out."
Lillian nodded, though apprehension laced her gaze. "Agreed." She forced a small smile. **"At least we face it together."
They turned in for the night, each weighed by anticipation. The quiet of their inn room seemed an ill-fitting stage for cosmic intrigue, but that was their reality now. The realm's hidden families, shadowy churches, and clandestine orders converged around them. Xion drifted into restless dreams, imagining a labyrinth of corridors, each leading to a different family's domain or church's altar, all culminating in a single black star shining overhead.
---
The following day, Xion and Lillian wrapped up their affairs in Grenspar. They purchased extra rations, refilled waterskins, and discreetly inquired if anyone recognized Sera's description—silver hair, cloak. None had, reinforcing the notion she was an outsider.
By late afternoon, they were ready. Their hearts pounded with a mixture of excitement and dread. Tovin bid them farewell, confused that they left so soon, but not pressing. The townsfolk went about their routines, unaware of the swirling cosmic puzzle enveloping these two travelers.
As the sun dipped low, they ventured north, leaving the palisade behind. The orchard, bathed in golden light, appeared serene. A gentle breeze stirred the branches. And there, under a gnarled apple tree, stood Sera, cloak swaying.
She inclined her head, a slight smile on her lips. "You came." She scanned their gear. "Prepared for trouble, I see."
"Always," Xion said, hand near his sword.
Sera shouldered her satchel. "Then let's go. The enclave is a half-day's journey through the northern forest." She paused, meeting their eyes. "Once we arrive, the Eye's watchers will test your sincerity. I can't shield you from that." A hint of regret colored her tone. "But if you speak truth, they'll share more than you can imagine."
Lillian nodded, determination overshadowing fear. "We're ready."
And so they departed. The orchard's edge melted into rolling hills dotted with wildflowers. The road was faint, more a game trail than a proper path. Sera led them with confident strides, her silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight. Night soon fell, forcing them to rely on lanterns and moonlight. The hush of nature enveloped them, reminiscent of the quiet tension Xion once felt in Veluria, but this time without illusions or devouring horrors—only the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
They walked for hours, occasionally resting. Sera said little about the enclave, only that it was hidden in a glen near a rocky outcrop. Lillian asked once about the Eye's purpose, but Sera deflected: "We gather knowledge. We believe truth can break illusions." She left it at that.
Near midnight, the forest parted around a shallow ravine. A faint glow shimmered beyond a ring of large boulders. Sera motioned for silence. They crept through the ravine, emerging into a secluded clearing lit by blue-tinged lanterns hanging from twisted pines. A handful of tents and lean-tos surrounded a central fire pit, where a group of figures conversed in hushed voices. Some wore cloaks of varied designs; others had simple garb. At the clearing's far edge stood a carved stone arch, runes faintly pulsing along its surface.
Sera led them to the fire. A tall man with a braided beard stood, arms folded, eyes keen with suspicion. Others turned to watch, curiosity mingling with caution.
"They're here," Sera announced softly, inclining her head to the tall man. "Potential allies."
He studied Xion and Lillian, expression unreadable. "We'll see." His voice resonated with authority. "I am Arvell, a keeper of the Eye." He gestured around. "This enclave is a place of exchange. We don't abide spies or Concord inquisitors." He paused, gaze flicking over Xion's sword and Lillian's staff. "State your purpose."
Xion swallowed, stepping forward. "We seek knowledge about Epitaphs and cosmic rewriting." He hesitated. "I suspect I might carry an Epitaph or be tied to undone timelines." The hush thickened. "We'll share what we've learned if you help us confirm or deny it."
Murmurs rippled among the watchers. Arvell's eyes narrowed. "Bold claim. Many speak of Epitaphs, few truly grasp them." He nodded to a slender woman with intricate tattoos along her arms. She approached, swirling a faintly glowing crystal in her palm.
"We have ways of testing the resonance of anomalies," Arvell explained. "If you are genuine, the crystal might react." He eyed them. "But be warned: if you lie, or if your presence threatens the Eye, we'll cast you out."
Lillian braced herself, staff held close. Xion's pulse raced. He nodded. "We accept."
The tattooed woman stepped up, holding the crystal near Xion's chest. A subtle hum emanated, the air tingling with static. Xion felt a flicker of the same force he'd channeled in Veluria. The crystal's surface shimmered, turning from pale blue to a swirling silver.
A gasp escaped some watchers. The woman's eyes widened. "It resonates strongly... This is no mild anomaly." She glanced at Arvell. **"He carries a deeper contradiction, or is touched by one."
Arvell's face remained impassive, though tension colored his voice. "So you do hold something beyond mortal norms." He turned to Lillian. "What of you?"
She hesitated, letting the woman test the crystal. It glowed softly but nowhere near the intensity it showed for Xion. The watchers relaxed. Lillian offered a small smile. "I'm only a scholar—one who left a certain lineage."
Arvell nodded, stepping back. "Very well. We'll not bar you from the Eye's knowledge." He gestured to the carved stone arch. "Within that arch lie wards that conceal our gatherings. You may join us. But remember: betray us, and you'll wish you hadn't."
Relief mingled with apprehension in Xion's chest. They had passed the first hurdle. The watchers parted, allowing them deeper into the enclave. Sera gave them a small, encouraging nod, then melted into the circle of watchers conferring near the fire.
"We might actually get answers," Lillian murmured, voice quivering with cautious hope.
Xion exhaled. So far, so good. The swirling silver reaction in the crystal proved that a paradox lay within him. He recalled the fleeting power he'd summoned, the ephemeral glow of his sword. This was the next step: the Eye might know how to detect if it was truly an Epitaph—and how it tied to undone timelines or cosmic rewriting.
---
Inside the enclave, a roped-off section near the arch served as a makeshift library or archive. Shelves laden with scrolls and old tomes stood in haphazard arrangement. The watchers parted to let Xion and Lillian see. The hum of whispered conversation pervaded the space. Some watchers wrote notes, others debated quietly, referencing maps pinned to a wooden board.
Arvell guided them to a large table where a robed elder sorted through pages of cryptic symbols. "This is Enira, one of our lore-keepers." He introduced them. "They can direct you to texts about Epitaphs and the major powers in the realm."
Enira peered up, silver hair braided with beads, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So you're the new anomaly." She offered a cordial nod. "We rarely see one so open about it." She beckoned them closer. "What do you seek specifically? Our records are broad."
"Everything," Xion said with a shaky laugh. "But especially how Epitaphs connect to families and churches." He glanced at Lillian. "We suspect the families or faiths hold keys to undone timelines or cosmic rewriting."
Enira's lips curved into a faint smile. "That's quite the quest." She rummaged through a stack of scrolls, pulling out a few. "Here are references to known Epitaph sightings in the last century." She handed them over. "And these detail how certain families or churches responded." She paused. "We also have a partial treatise on the Trinity lineage and their rumored devourer powers—though it's incomplete."
Xion's heart pounded at the mention of "Trinity." He was Xion Trinity Pendragon. He recalled the stories that the Trinity Family carried a devourer-like instinct, or so the rumors said. Could his own existence be shaped by that?
"Thank you," Lillian said softly, accepting the scrolls.
Enira continued. "We gather fragments from exiled scions, defected clergy, or accidental travelers who saw too much." She sighed. "One day, we hope to unify this knowledge so illusions and watchers can't exploit ignorance." She gave Xion a measured look. "But be warned: the more you learn, the deeper you sink into cosmic crosshairs."
"We understand," Xion replied, voice steady. "Ignorance isn't an option."
Enira nodded, then returned to her tasks, leaving them with the scrolls. Lillian and Xion found a quiet corner, unrolling them carefully under the enclave's lantern light.
---
The first scroll recounted three Epitaph bearers from different eras, each forging alliances with or battling certain families or churches:
- An Epitaph of Shattered Time emerged near the capital decades ago, rumored to slow entire city blocks to a standstill. The Divine Concord labeled it heresy, and the Argent Order intervened, capturing the bearer. No record of their fate.
- A Devourer Epitaph manifested in a war-torn region, aligning with the Blood Psalms. Entire armies fell, devoured by unstoppable hunger. The devourer eventually vanished after clashing with unknown foes—some say the Epitaph consumed itself.
- A Veiled Epitaph that bent illusions to rewrite memories. The Silent Choir attempted to seal it, while the Eclipsed Throne tried to harness it. Both failed. The illusions spread, culminating in a rewriting event that erased an entire fortress from history.
"Rewriting events," Xion murmured, scanning the lines. "Like what might have undone Eldenwald." He turned to the second scroll, detailing major families and their responses:
- The Weiss Dynasty sometimes infiltrated Epitaph crises, extracting knowledge for unknown ends. They rarely took direct sides but manipulated outcomes to preserve equilibrium.
- Eldenwald was rumored to have once possessed an Epitaph or allied with one, leading to an empire's rapid expansion before it was undone. Survivors might still chase relics.
- House Ayakashi specialized in illusions and assassinations, possibly tangling with illusions-based Epitaphs. Their current status unknown.
- Trinity Family references mention "blood hunger," devourer traits, or partial Epitaph synergy. The texts remain inconclusive, as if large portions were erased.
"Blood hunger," Xion muttered, a chill creeping along his spine. Could that tie to his own lineage?
Lillian noticed his reaction, but said nothing, focusing on the next scroll: the role of the major churches:
- The Divine Concord typically declares Epitaphs heretical unless they can be twisted into their pantheon's narrative. They send inquisitors or align with the Argent Order to neutralize threats.
- The Silent Choir seals knowledge or forcibly erases memories to keep Epitaph revelations from spreading.
- The Blood Psalms revere Epitaphs that embody raw power or devourer aspects, seeking to harness them.
- The Eclipsed Throne claims Epitaphs are remnants of a vanished true god's power, attempting to gather them to dethrone false deities.
- The Argent Order enforces cosmic balance, punishing or pardoning Epitaph bearers as they see fit, beyond mortal laws.
A hush lingered as they absorbed the words. The realm's tapestry was indeed shaped by these families and churches, each with stances on Epitaphs. Xion saw potential allies or enemies at every turn.
"No direct mention of the Hall of Glass," Lillian noted, flipping pages. "But references to undone fortresses, illusions, devourer empires." She looked at him. "We're not alone in this quest. Epitaphs have shaped history repeatedly."
He exhaled, heart pounding. He was part of something far larger. This knowledge gave context to the watchers, illusions, even Chrona's role as a cosmic enforcer. He closed his eyes, recalling the swirl of potential futures in his dreams. If he truly carried an Epitaph or a paradox, was he destined to cause another rewriting event?
---
Night deepened outside the enclave, the watchers drifting about with quiet purpose. Some approached to see if Xion and Lillian had found what they needed. Others eyed them from afar. Sera lingered near a lantern, observing them with a faint smile.
Arvell returned, arms folded. "You've gleaned some knowledge, yes? The Eye doesn't give all secrets at once." He arched an eyebrow. "What will you do next?"
Xion and Lillian exchanged a determined glance. "We'll continue searching for a method to confirm my Epitaph," Xion said. "These scrolls mention partial synergy, devourer traits, illusions. We need something more concrete—like a test or a relic that can force an Epitaph to manifest."
Arvell nodded slowly. "We have no immediate device that can forcibly reveal an Epitaph's nature, only the resonance crystals." He paused. "But we do know rumors of such relics—some say the Etherion line once crafted artificial Epitaph-like tools, or that the Trinity possessed a devourer artifact." He shrugged. "If you truly want direct proof, you may have to chase those leads."
"Etherion... Lillian murmured, recalling the bard's mention. "They vanished into secrecy, yes?" She frowned. "That might be a long chase."
Arvell offered a wry smile. "All knowledge worth having demands a journey." He eyed them. "We won't hinder you if you choose to leave. But you're welcome to stay a few nights, glean more from our archives, talk to other watchers.** He lifted a hand. "As long as you keep our secrets from the Divine Concord or other hostile forces."
Xion and Lillian nodded, gratitude flickering in their eyes. They had found an unexpected haven—a trove of forbidden lore. Though the Eye was cautious, it offered more leads than they'd had before. They could spend days or weeks cross-referencing the major families, the churches, and rumored relics that might confirm or shatter Xion's paradox.
"We appreciate it," Xion said. "We'll abide by your rules."
Arvell's expression softened. "Then welcome." He glanced at Lillian. "A Weiss, I suspect, or at least related. You should find synergy with some watchers who likewise parted from great families."
She nodded, tension in her shoulders easing. "I hope so."
Sera approached, smiling faintly. "I told you the Eye could help."
"You did," Lillian agreed, offering a genuine smile back. "Thank you."
---
And so, under the hush of midnight in the hidden enclave, Xion and Lillian found a new direction. They had glimpsed the intricate tapestry of major families—Weiss watchers, Eldenwald exiles, Etherion alchemists, Ayakashi assassins, Trinity devourers—and the great churches—Divine Concord, Silent Choir, Blood Psalms, Eclipsed Throne, Argent Order. Each shaped the realm's fate, each might hold or destroy knowledge of Epitaphs.
Xion felt no illusions that the path ahead would be simple. If anything, it had grown more complex. But knowledge was power. With the Eye's resources, they could map potential routes—perhaps tracking Etherion rumors, investigating Trinity's devourer artifacts, or even confronting the Silent Choir. And in time, they might unearth the final rewriting, the Hall of Glass, or the cosmic secrets that Chrona hinted at.
For now, they embraced a moment of calm. The watchers cleared a small space for them to rest, offering a spare tent near the glen's edge. Lillian sank onto a makeshift cot, reviewing the scrolls by lanternlight. Xion stood at the tent's entrance, gazing at the star-filled sky. The orchard in Grenspar felt worlds away, though it had only been half a day's journey.
He closed his eyes, imagining the swirl of corridors in his dreams. Each corridor might represent a different family or church, a different rewriting event. He would walk them all if he had to. He recalled the crystal's glow, confirming the paradox inside him. This was no mere speculation. He truly was an anomaly. A sense of purpose glowed in his chest, tempered by fear.
"Tomorrow," Lillian said softly from inside the tent, "We'll dig deeper into the archives." She sounded both excited and apprehensive. "One step at a time, yes?"
He turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "One step at a time."
Night embraced the enclave, the watchers drifting about their silent tasks. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, a gentle reminder that the forest lived. Xion inhaled the cool air, steeling himself for the labyrinth of secrets that awaited. He would find the truth of his Epitaph—and of the families and churches that might hold the keys to rewriting fate. For all the illusions and watchers in the realm, he refused to be just another erased footnote.
Thus ended another chapter in his odyssey, but the real story had only begun. He was forging a path among hidden powers, guided by unwavering resolve—and the steadfast ally at his side. The cosmos might watch from a distance, the black star pulsing, watchers lurking, families plotting, churches scheming. Yet Xion Trinity Pendragon marched forward, determined to shape his own destiny in a world woven from paradox and secrets.
Tomorrow, the search for Epitaph detection methods and cosmic truths would continue. The Eye's archives beckoned, brimming with legends of undone timelines and devourer lineages. The hush of the forest glen resonated with possibility. And in Xion's chest, the paradox burned like an ember, defying a realm that insisted anomalies must vanish. He would not vanish. He would rewrite the final rewriting, or be consumed in the attempt.
Under the star-laden sky, Xion allowed himself a moment of rare peace, lulled by the thought that knowledge, at last, might be within reach.