Chapter 38

In his pained need to leave the group in the hotel, Jedah hadn't paid attention to where he was going, merely cast himself out on the wild impulse of his heart, reaching for somewhere that might bring him peace and solitude. One place had resonated, his heart yearning and reaching, pulling him to return to solidarity, to alight on the ground with a click.

Light blue eyes opened, and Jedah found himself standing in the ruined building that magic indicated that Cassandra had used as her own. What was this place? Why had he drawn himself here? Magic spilled out from his hand, a glittering gold illuminating the room where he had appeared.

What might have once been rich tapestries, elegant creations covered the walls, the colors run and faded with time. Frowning, he moved towards one, touching it and watching it crumble to dust at his fingertip. This place was old, steeped in memory, dark in magic. It whispered of secrets long gone past, of stories lost and things best left unremembered.

It was a ruined chapel, Jedah realized with a start, a place that had once been home to candlelit ceremonies, vigils and quiet vespers. It was a place where Cepheid had once been held in reverence, but somewhere along the way had fallen. It was familiar to him, though distantly, the memory tingling just out of reach.

He moved out of the room, casting, sensing, the decided feeling that he had been here before creeping over him with tiny little tingles. Down the hall, around the corner, through the arch and down the stairs, there should be a niche where... Yes. He had been here, though it had been almost… no, more than a thousand years.

This was a monastery, a place that Jedah knew entirely too well. But why had Cassandra chosen this place? Was it because it was abandoned? Did she even know why it had been? How could she have? He doubted that she knew, though a part of him wondered why Xellos hadn't said anything. Maybe it had been due to the shock of seeing the Heart in the room that he now knew had been on the lower level of the dormitory.

Everywhere he stepped, memory whispered. A table had been there, a desk over there. Sconces with candles should have adorned the walls, making the air heavy with the scent of tallow. The stone floor rang echoes of missing carpets in his ears as he walked. It felt surreal, as if he'd tried to go home to find that home had moved on without him. He'd never lived within these walls, but he'd spent enough time here with…

Xelander.

The name had been nearly forgotten, buried in the depths of his life some thousand years past. Yes, that had been the name once and long ago. It brought the pained quirk of a smile to his lips, and Jedah shook his head as he continued walking through the ruins of the chapel, turning towards the scriptorium and through it on to the library, his magic lighting his passage through the halls.

Here, too, time had wrought its own magic, the books that hadn't been taken with those who had left fallen to dust. His memory filled the gaps, narrow little tables standing neatly in seemingly endless rows, each with its own purpose. Some were for books that needed to be copied; some were for books that needed repair. Some others were for research and writing, while others were for overflow book storage.

Jedah could almost hear the scratching of quills on parchment, could almost smell the wax candles that were carefully tended lest the precious books within the room catch fire and burn. He'd helped douse a wayward candle once, though none had known it was he who had done it. He hadn't mentioned it, either, for the thought that a Mazoku would act to preserve a portion of a monastery for Cepheid was alien. All he'd truly wanted to do was protect the copy that… he forced his mind away from the memory, dousing his magic, letting the library settle into darkness.

He left the room quickly, slipping out into the arcade and walking along it as he looked through the open arches to the cloister. It had grown wild, a testament to nature's ability to adapt, for he found that the brilliant pink roses had completely taken over the refectory, barring access to all but those such as himself. And even he didn't wish to tangle with those thorns. He'd been accidentally pushed into that rosebush once, and he could still recall the anguish of the Priest who had done it.

Shaking his head in bemusement at the memory, for the Priest had never known how marvelous the pain had been for Jedah, he turned into the long hallway that led to the catacombs, and found to his amazement, that the large stoneworked door was still intact. It wouldn't budge, however, so he slipped through it, emerging into nearly complete darkness on the opposite side. Granted, that didn't bother him, it merely took a thought to change his method of seeing. He didn't bother casting for the golden light this time.

He did not dare use magic, did not dare to breathe in the dust of the crypt where he stood. Instead, Jedah shed his mortal appearance and allowed his Mazoku nature to expand, to allow him to see and exist, to move himself silently along the corridors, passing the graves long turned to dust. Deeper into the heart of the crypt he went, finally coming to stop in a deathly silent niche. Here, he might find solace. Here, where he once upon a time had met with a mortal that dared to choose something greater.

He allowed the darkness to soothe him, welcomed the solitude that it granted. There was no living creature within a day's walk from here, and there was no reason for a mortal to dare shelter within these walls. It granted him the space that he needed and the memories that could wash over his fragile Mortal heart and help it to heal.