The Bard Class has the fewest individual spells, but allows players to compose their own songs to use when activating a spell. A yearly contest was held in which Bards could submit their own compositions and the winners would be combined into a mashup that was added to the game’s background music library. There was also a special category for boss fight music. —Annwyn Online Player’s Guide.

  Araedi. Day 04.

  “I’ve found it!” Malikela’s excited voice carried from the other side of the library, jolting Sinnamon awake. The excited Serethi woman ran to the table, holding up a thick, somewhat faded, red binder.

  Sinnamon wiped the sleep from her eyes. She hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off, using a book as a pillow. If her librarian mother were here, she’d probably kill her.

  “What’d you find?” Sinnamon asked, peering at the binder’s blank cover.

  “It’s a floor by floor overview of the contents of this building. The most important bit is that it makes special note on where to find the translations that had been started. We walked right by them!”

  The problem Sinnamon and Malikela had come into when going through all of the information within the archive was two fold: the vast quantity of it and the fact that almost none of it was written in Serethi or Common, the two languages spoken by most of the communities around Navorinelle. Whatever universal translator allowed players to speak with the locals apparently didn’t know this third tongue.

  Malikela had insisted the people who had stored everything in this building must have started translating some of it. “How else could they have arranged everything so neatly?” She’d argued.

  Sinnamon agreed with Malikela's assessment and so they'd shifted to finding this building’s equivalent of the Dewey Decimal System.

  “Walked right by the translations?” Sinnamon repeated. “How? Where are they kept?”

  “The records room is off a hallway under the stairs in the main lobby,” Malikela answered. “I went to go confirm while you were asleep. I guess my excitement woke you!”

  Sinnamon’s cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t out long, was I?”

  “You missed lunch…” Malikela replied sheepishly.

  As her own stomach growled, Sinnamon couldn’t help but laugh at herself.

  When Malikela asked what she was laughing at, Sinnamon just replied, “Nothing. Take me to the records room. Let’s see what we’ve got!”

  The room where the translations were kept was locked, though it yielded to Sinnamon’s guild building crystal and opened. The labels on the drawers of the wall of cabinets was easily readable and Malikela confirmed they were written in Serethi.

  “Hey, Sinn, you’re gonna wanna come see this,” came Weaver’s voice through their telepathic voice chat. “I found a big, silver… thing… I can’t open it. Says I need a key.”

  “The guild vault? I thought I already gave everyone access.” Sinnamon opened her menus to check the permissions. Everything was as it should be.

  “No, it’s not that. It looks… alien. Just come here. Lowest floor.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” Sinnamon turned to Malikela. “Anything in that book about what’s on the lowest floor?”

  Malikela opened the binder and, after a moment, frowned.

  “What is it?”

  Malikela handed Sinnamon the binder.

  The entry described the vault only as super dangerous and to be avoided.

  That doesn’t sound welcoming, Sinnamon thought. “Weaver and I’ll check it out. Wanna see if you can find anything more on what we can expect to find?”

  Sinnamon sent a quick message to AnnaLee asking her to meet her at the elevator. It wouldn’t hurt to have her healing if they needed it, even if she was a full twenty levels below Sinnamon. Given Sparrow and JonJon were even lower leveled, they were better served acting as the go between between Sinnamon and Malikela, who didn’t have a telepathic means of keeping in touch.

  ***

  Sinnamon hit the button for the lowest floor in the guildhall and the elevator proceeded to go down.

  And down.

  And down.

  Enough time had passed that Sinnamon wondered if they were stuck. The elevator didn’t work like a normal one from earth and was definitely powered by some sort of magic. It didn’t leave a seam where one could see the chute and it didn’t move under foot until it came to a stop.

  Finally the elevator gave a soft hiss and the doors slid open to reveal a large cavern with an egg-shaped object the size of a small house lying about forty-five degrees off its side with the pointed end in the air.

  Alien hadn’t even come close to describing it. Nearly everything Sinnamon had seen in this world had an almost pre-industrial vibe to it. This thing looked to have come straight out of an Arthur C. Clarke novel. The egg’s “shell”, for lack of a better word, was made of silver parallelograms, each the size of a large dinner plate. The seams between them were so precisely fitted together, Sinnamon had actually almost missed the hidden shapes.

  Sinnamon blew out a breath. “And this giant alien egg-thing was just sitting under here without anyone knowing about it?”

  “Kinda hard to find it when the city itself won’t let you dig up the ground and the buildings are blocked by force fields,” Weaver shrugged sarcastically.

  That prompted a giggle from AnnaLee.

  Sinnamon rolled her eyes playfully at her boyfriend. “Alright, where’s the door?”

  “Over here.” Weaver walked around to the far side of the large egg and pointed to a podium.

  There was a small impression in it and it was a perfect fit for the guild building’s crystal. There was a soft vibration as Sinnamon brought the crystal closer to the podium. When they touched, the crystal flashed.

  The ground shuddered and groaned as whatever locking mechanism had been activated strained to wake up after the likely hundreds of years it had been left abandoned after the Serethi Civil War.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  One by one, the tiles on the egg touching the ground began to fold and slide underneath and away from each other, revealing an entrance.

  Weaver led the way, followed by Sinnamon and AnnaLee. Soft white crystals flickered to life, revealing the entire inside was a domed auditorium, complete with seats surrounding a stage in the center.

  More than half the seats held wooden crates and sacks like the place had been converted to storage right before it had been abandoned.

  “I think the only thing dangerous about this place is all the dust.” Sinnamon coughed and brushed away a spider’s web.

  “Look at that. What is it?” AnnaLee pointed to the stage.

  In the very center was a large sphere floated less than an inch above a podium with a bowl-like impression. Finger-sized crystals of every color were embedded within the craters that pocked its surface.

  “It looks almost like… there was a space exhibit at the natural history museum in New York, you remember, Weaver?” Sinnamon asked, drawing a blank.

  “Hayden Planetarium?” Weaver offered.

  “Yeah! There was a thing that looked something like that. I think it was a projector.”

  Sparrow suddenly cried inside Sinnamon’s head. “Guys, Malikela found the book for that floor. It's definitely not good. It says a very powerful mage killed just about everyone who went into the chamber down there!”

  “Well, there's nothing Here except this floating rock and some boxes. Whoever that mage was, they're long dead,” Weaver said. He reached out to touch the floating sphere.

  But before he could touch it, a blue light suddenly lit up behind all three and the door leading out of the auditorium suddenly closed.

  Sparrow had been mid-sentence repeating Malikela's words from the book when her voice suddenly cut out.

  “You still there, Sparrow? JonJon?” Sinnamon asked.

  She didn't get an answer from either.

  A soft, grandfatherly voice spoke from the direction of the light and the fact that all three of them were alone, coupled with Sparrow’s sudden silence, sent a shiver down Sinnamon’s spine.

  “I wouldn't touch that if I were you. It's very delicate.”

  Sinnamon slowly turned to see the glowing blue light take on a hologram-like appearance of a man in blue robes. His whole body was a translucent blue that flickered and he had a short, bushy beard that was well trimmed. His hair held flecks of lighter blue which suggested the greying of age to match his somewhat wrinkled skin.

  “Who are you and what is that thing?” Sinnamon asked slowly.

  “I am the Archivist, the Ikhwez Drone who maintains this device and many similar ones in the other crystal cities. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what it does,” he answered.

  “Why not?”

  “You haven't the permission to know.”

  “I own the building, shouldn't that give me permission?”

  The Archivist ignored Sinnamon’s question with one of his own as he pointed to her and AnnaLee. “You two hold the appearance of the Serethi, but you do not speak their tongue. What are you?”

  Weaver turned to fully face the Archivist. “We'll only answer your questions if you answer ours.”

  The Archivist gave a soft laugh, his eyes showing a friendly warmth. He spoke like a grandfather might to his grandson. “I answered your question to the best of my ability. I can only tell you what I am able to tell you. I cannot be faulted if you do not find the answers I give satisfying.”

  Weaver gave Sinnamon a look. She returned it. The Archivist was right, he had answered their first question. It seemed the only way they’d get anything from him would be through a back and forth exchange.

  Weaver sighed, rolling his eyes, and addressed the Archivist. “The people of this world believe we are magical warriors here to protect them from goblins and other monsters.”

  There was an amused smile on the Archivist’s face at Weaver’s nonanswer, but he gestured for him to ask his question.

  Two could play this game, Sinnamon mused.

  “Are you the mage who killed everyone who came in here before us?” Weaver’s asweyr gauntlets appeared around his hands.

  Apparently Weaver’s skipping straight to the point.

  If the Archivist noticed the threatening gesture, he didn’t show it. “Only in defense of that device. I suggest you heed the lesson of your forebears: You might hold great power, you might even be the new owners of this place, but within these walls, I am the master of this domain.”

  He punctuated his words by flicking a wrist to his right. Dust and boxes flew away as though carried by a strong gust of wind, revealing six mummified figures sitting in the chairs behind them.

  Finally acknowledging Weaver’s gauntlets, the Archivist continued, “There is no need for your weapons. I can see you three surpass me in sheer strength. Considerably so. But I can also see you are smart enough to realize that breaking this machine would help neither of us and in doing so, would likely kill the three of you and harm me as well.”

  Mutually assured destruction? Just how important was this device that he’d threaten that? Sinnamon did catch that he had unknowingly revealed he didn’t know they were functionally immortal through the respawn mechanic. But he had said he would be harmed, not killed.

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Sinnamon broke in before either could escalate any further. “We’re not from here. We just want to find a way home. You said you’re an archivist, maybe you could help us and then we won’t have to bother each other again. Do you know who the Revi are? We think they brought us here.”

  Sinnamon knew it was a gamble telling this man everything, but they had to get more out of this back and forth. Someone had to give, and it might as well be them.

  The Archivist shook his head sadly. “You’ll be hard pressed to find them. I’m afraid most of the Revi have been dead for a thousand years.”

  The room went quiet with the weight of his words. Dead a thousand years. Malikela had said the oldest Guardians had only been around for about a hundred and twenty years. A dead end, then? But no, there was something in the way he phrased his answer…

  “‘Most’? Not ‘all’?” Sinnamon asked.

  “One still lives, though I cannot be sure. I have been disconnected from the greater world for some time.” The Archivist walked over to the machine, gesturing for them to follow. “The truth is, this device will not work for you because you lack the proper form.”

  Along one side of the device's base was an impression much like the one on the podium that let them enter the auditorium outside. Sinnamon placed the guild’s focus crystal in the impression, but its shape was completely wrong. As she expected, nothing happened.

  Then an idea hit Sinnamon. She reached into her bag of holding and took out a fist-sized violet crystal. The Archivist’s eyes widened somewhat as the crystal’s pulsing light brightened the room slightly.

  Sinnamon put the crystal in the impression and it was an exact match. The crystal’s on the device flared to life with a rainbow of color as the device began to spin. It spun faster and faster until all the colors melded into a bright white light that illuminated the ceiling.

  The light on the ceiling began to resolve into an image that showed Gaea as viewed from her moon, Diurne. Navorinelle, the continent they were on, faced them, but the planet was rotating slowly and the other continents creeped in from the edges.

  A prompt appeared before Sinnamon’s eyes.

  Greetings, Guardian. The contents of this repository can only be accessed by Reylynn or through a key belonging to those she has entrusted with its safety. As the Caer Fragment used to activate this repository did not belong to an expected person, its contents have been locked. Find the Key to access this repository.

  Another prompt appeared, blocking the first one. It was blank at first, but words began to appear as though they were being typed in real time.

  Guardians Recognized: Ashley Miller. Andrew Weaver. Reina Lee. Failsafe Quest has been Activated.

  Minimum Class Level: 1

  Maximum Class Level: None

  Description: Reylynn is gone. Barrier is failing. Isiphelo comes. He comes. He comes. He comes. Find Fel Find Fel Find Fel Find Fel. You need you need you need you need you need you need Fel

  ALERT! THIS QUEST CANNOT BE REFUSED!

  The string of words were as frantic as they were incoherent. As quickly as the message and light show happened, it ended with the orb dropping to the podium like the rock it was.

  Sinnamon looked at Weaver and AnnaLee. “Did… Did you guys get that message, too?”

  Both slowly nodded back at her.

  A ghostly blue light flared, filling the room.

  The Archivist cleared his throat. His next words came in a threatening voice that made Sinnamon regret turning her back to him.

  “Perhaps we should start over from the beginning. You are going to tell me exactly how you came into possession of that Ikhwezi’s body.”