Solas flipped the page with his index finger, landing on a bold, striking title:
The Witch of Trinity
Her origins remain unknown. Some say she was once a mortal girl, stripped of grace. Others claim she was never of this world to begin with—an entity of foreign will and forbidden power.
She was feared across every land, warping reality in her wake, slaying any who stood against her. Her presence alone was said to twist fate.
No one has seen her since her final appearance during the Great War, when the kingdoms, fractured by rivalry, united under one cause: to stop her from aligning both moons and the sun to create The Eclipse.
The greatest warriors of the known world were dispatched to confront her. Of those who returned, nearly all were broken—missing limbs, minds, or memories. She vanished that day. Her body was never found.
Solas studied every word, his eyes tracing the passage with a quiet intensity.
"The Witch of Trinity…" he murmured.
A soft voice spoke beside him. "What draws your interest to her?"
Solas didn't look up. "How long ago did this happen?"
"A century," Vargra replied, her voice losing its usual calm. "Queen Selqorra fought in the Great War. She stood against the witch herself." She paused before continuing, more carefully. "The Queen rarely speaks of it. No one dares utter the witch's name within Elara… or beyond. Some even believe the Queen was cursed by her."
Solas sat in silence for a moment, letting the knowledge settle. His fascination only deepened. This world—its magic, its history—was far greater than he imagined. And it was all waiting to be unraveled by his hand.
"I think I'll spend the rest of the day studying," he said, voice steady but inviting. "You're welcome to join me."
Vargra shook her head. "I have matters to attend to. But know this—tomorrow is a day of importance. Be prepared."
She began to walk away, but paused at the door, casting one final glance over her shoulder.
"I hope you find everything here to your liking," she said, then disappeared into the corridor beyond.
After Vargra left, Solas remained in the library for hours, poring over the texts, absorbing all the knowledge they had to offer.
From what he gathered, the world had been irrevocably altered when the Goddess lowered the birthrate of men. Over the years, this divine act led to a slow but steady decline in the male population. In response, kingdoms reacted in vastly different ways—some used it as justification to enslave or exterminate men altogether.
Others took a different path, offering refuge and protection to the dwindling male population. These kingdoms, though noble in intention, were viewed with scorn and hostility by regions that rejected such compassion.
Unfortunately for Solas, he had been brought into Elara—arguably the worst place for a man to exist. Ruthless, deeply hierarchical, and militarily unmatched, Elara had no mercy in its treatment of men. It was among the most powerful kingdoms in the land of Caelith.
He learned that after the Goddess's decree, women began rising to power, seizing thrones once ruled by men for generations. Elara was no exception—although Solas noticed that in its long history, female rulers had been more frequent than not. And at its helm now was Queen Selqorra, who had ruled for over a century.
Selqorra was a legend. A prodigy of magic by the age of eight. A hero of the Great War. A monarch whose rise to power was cemented through strength and strategy, leading her people to victory in one of the bloodiest conflicts the land had seen.
But despite her accomplishments, one mystery lingered in Solas's mind: Why did she despise men so deeply? From the records, she once had a family—a loving husband and a son. But beyond that, the details were either lost or deliberately erased. The truth, it seemed, was hidden.
He closed the book, his fingers lingering for a moment on the worn leather cover before glancing around the library. He let out a deep sigh. The hours of study had been exhausting—but enlightening. The shape of this world was beginning to form clearly in his mind. And he was fascinated.
This world was cruel. Divided. Unforgiving.
But if it had no place for someone like him—He would carve one out with his own hands.
Solas carefully stacked the books on the table. He considered returning them to the shelves, but unsure of their proper place, he left them where they were.
He stretched, his joints quietly protesting after hours of stillness, then turned toward the exit and began walking…
***
As Solas wandered through the manor, a quiet thrill stirred in his chest—an excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. This world was vivid, rich, and teeming with mysteries. Already, it felt far more alive than the grey monotony Earth had once offered him.
Vargra, too, intrigued him. From what he'd observed, she held a place of high standing in this kingdom—respected, possibly feared. It was clear she had expected his arrival, and that fact alone made him wonder what her true intentions were.
Since he had arrived, she had been generous—almost overly so. She gave him whatever he asked for, offered answers without hesitation, and made no effort to hide her resources. Was she studying him? Testing his nature to understand what kind of man he was?
She was unlike anyone he had met thus far.
As Solas ascended the stairs, his mind turned over these questions. This manor—was it simply something she inherited, or a reflection of the person she had built herself into?
Reaching the gallery, he paused, glancing down both corridors. Vargra was nowhere in sight, but a dim golden light spilled from a slightly open door at the far end of the hall. Without hesitation, Solas made his way toward it.
When he reached the door, he knocked softly and stepped inside.
The scent of fresh ink filled the air.
Inside, Vargra sat behind a dark wooden desk, her hand gliding across parchment with a quill. Above her, a small hovering crystal lamp cast a warm yellow light through the room. Behind her, a tall, tinted window was framed by heavy black curtains. On the side wall, shelves were stacked with neatly arranged scrolls and bound reports—documents, perhaps records or intelligence.
Something puzzled Solas. For a world with touches of advanced knowledge, she still used a quill and parchment. Was it preference? Tradition? He didn't have long to ponder—Vargra looked up.
"I presume you're finished," she said, her voice calm and composed.
Solas nodded. "Yes. But I wanted to know—what exactly should I be preparing for tomorrow?"
He suspected it had to do with the goblins he'd offered to help with.
Vargra offered a faint smile. "To head out, of course. You did say you could help with the goblins."
So he had been right. "Indeed I did."
She leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes still locked on him. "Is that the only reason you came to find me? Or is there something else?"
"Yes," his voice was firm, steady. "You expected me. Gave me a place to stay, clothing, answers. You're not the kind of woman who wastes effort—so I'll ask plainly. What is it you want from me?"
A smirk played on her lips as she leaned forward, eyes catching the low glow of the crystal light. "That would be you," she said softly. "You are what I want."
A slow, knowing smile tugged at Solas's mouth. He leaned casually against the doorframe, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If you want me… then prove I'm worth wanting."
She let out a soft hum, clearly pleased with his response. "Then I'll be sure of it in the days to come."
"I'll be looking forward to it." He pushed himself off the doorframe with quiet grace, turning toward the exit. But before leaving, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. "In time… we'll both get what we want from each other."
Her eyes held his, steady and unreadable. "So we will."
Solas stepped into the hall, the door closing behind him with a soft click.