Chapter 125 – Crumbling (2)

Distant stars glimmered in the night sky. Seeing them gave him relief. He had been half expecting to see a starless sky, just like how Ilya’s ancestors had, once.

“He wasn’t like this before,” Willow’s voice pulled his thoughts back to their conversation. “When he were beneath Bareon, he was a bit frightened, but aside from that-“ she suddenly paused, glancing at Midhir.

“What?” Ilya pressed, narrowing her eyes and furrowing her brows slightly.

“Um…” Willow hesitated. “He did seem a bit… out of it, now that I think about it. When the serpent attacked us, do you remember?” She asked, her gaze shifting between Ilya and Midhir.

“Yeah.” Midhir folded his arms. “He just stood in front of the creature. I think he was trying to cast a resonance.” He scowled. He had found it odd then too – Lonan wasn’t a fighter, he’d made that much clear. “Ilya, do you mind if I check up on him?”

The princess shook her head. “Knock yourself out. Just keep him away from me, I can’t take any more throne worship today.” Her discomfort was visible. “Willow,” she quickly turned to the young woman. “You’ve been at your father’s bedside for hours now. Come, let’s get you some food, then I’ll show you to your room.”

Blood rushed to Willow’s cheeks. “Oh, please don’t trouble yourself with my-“

Ilya rolled her eyes, sighed, and dragged her off. “I said I’m done with throne worship, and I’m starving. Come on, let my little brother sulk on his own for a bit.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as they left. As silence took hold, he turned around and peered into the starry sky once more. “Leviathan, huh?” He whispered. A being so large it could snuff out the stars and cover the world’s sky. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to fathom it.

With a sigh, he turned around and walked away from the guardrails. He ought to visit Lonan before going back to his room. The historian did seem more than a little troubled, and he couldn’t help but worry. Their paths had crossed often and he didn’t want to see him hurt himself in his own madness.

The room Lonan had been given wasn’t in a particularly luxurious part of the Vermillion Keep – it was one of the most secure places though. There was no balcony he could leap out of, and the windows had metal bars preventing unwanted entries – and escapes.

He knocked on the metal reinforced wooden door, then stepped back. The sound of rushing and stumbling footsteps sounded before the door swung open, and a disheveled Lonan grinned as soon as he saw Midhir.

“You came!” He slurred the words a little as he spoke, his excitement palpable. He grabbed Midhir’s hand, dragging him inside and letting the door close behind him. “I knew you’d listen to me.”

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Every flat surface in the room was covered in notebooks, torn pages, parchments and sprawled out papers. There wasn’t much space to walk, let alone sit. How he had made such a mess in less than a few hours, Midhir couldn’t understand.

“Look!” Lonan exclaimed, rushing over the stacks of papers, and kneeling by a large, somewhat crumpled map of the city. “After you used the altar below Bareon, I started to think!” He drew a sharp breath, waving his hand with fast, erratic movements. “If there’s an altar like that beneath Bareon, then there must be one beneath An’Larion too!”

He tapped a spot on the hand drawn map. “Look!” His voice rose, it grew sharper. “Here, below the thirteenth district, I found mention of old tunnels – tombs and catacombs!” His eyes were wide open, his pupils large and cloudy. “So I did some research!” He crawled on the ground, snatching some of the documents, skimming them, then throwing them over his shoulder. “Aha!” he exclaimed with an odd glee, waving a rather old looking parchment in the air. “There’s an altar below the thirteenth district! I know it. It’s there, and we can use it to make the mist go away. We can reclaim the district!” Somewhat out of breath, he stared at Midhir with excitement, almost like a child awaiting praise.

Ilya was right. This was madness.

“Lonan,” he hesitated. “When was the last time you slept?”

The other man waved his hand dismissively. “A few days ago, probably. It doesn’t matter!” He raised his voice, and scrambled to get up, still waving that parchment. “We can fix it! You understand, don’t you? Surely you do, if not the Empress or princess, you must understand!”

“Ok,” Midhir carefully stepped over the papers and books on the ground, gently held the historian’s arms and led him towards he bathroom. “I understand,” he took the parchment and placed it on the dresser. “I get it, you want to get rid of the mist. So do I.”

Lonan nodded, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “Then let’s go! We can enter the tunnels through-“

Midhir shook his head. “You can’t rush into it, Lonan.” He gently continued leading him here. “Now, we must clear this with her majesty the Empress.”

Lonan’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t believe me-“

“Because you look like a homeless man who’s lost his mind.” He hesitated for a split second. Was that too blunt? “Listen, why don’t you have a bath? I’ll have someone bring you some clean, proper clothes. Then you’ll get a good night’s sleep while I go over the documents and prepare a proper presentation. Alright?”

Lonan scowled. “It’ll take too long! We should go now and-“

“Alone?” Midhir asked. “Did you forget what guarded the altar beneath Bareon?”

The reminder of that gigantic serpent seemed enough to scare Lonan. He reeled back, his shoulders dropped, then he nodded. “A proper presentation…” he muttered, accepting defeat.

“Exactly. I’ll take the documents and prepare, ok? You should make sure to get some rest.” As Lonan nodded, Midhir closed the bathroom door, then let out a tired sigh. Ilya was right – Lonan was obsessed, and this level of madness could prove to be dangerous.

He didn’t waste much time as he gathered all the papers, parchments and notebooks covering every flat surface of the room, then he left. Walking down the hallway, he quickly made his way to the guard barracks.

“Your highness!” The guards saluted him.

“There’s a guest staying in the west wing. His name is Lonan, a historian. Make sure he is watched at all times – he isn’t allowed to leave the Keep. And send a butler with clean, fitting clothes. Confiscate any weapons he may have.”

He couldn’t let Lonan try to search for an altar beneath the thirteenth district. No one would survive the mist, and even if he did, an altar wouldn’t be what he found…