No one would have expected the King's younger sister to have an aura as frightening as she had back when they were in the bath, the night before their journey to the Empire, not even the most cunning of the women. Just when Octavia thought that this could finally be the break she deserved from delving into nonsense literature, she winced at the piercing pinch on her hip. "G-g-"

Atia and Morgan looked at the young blonde, who they thought was still as ghostly white as ever despite being in a warm bath. Everyone's cheeks and shoulders have grown patches of pink, yet she was still fair and as sturdy as a statue, until Rhiannon neared unusually close to her.

"So it is true," Rhiannon whispered with sweet smile. "Why didn't you tell me of this pain, this morning?"

"I didn't see the need to," Octavia mumbled.

Rhiannon grumbled a small nag and perked her shoulders out of the warm water. At that moment, Octavia remembered the time when she and the Albion women had had a bath together, quarrelling over who Octavia fancied as a husband. It felt like months ago. Back then, she had not a fraction of a clue as to what would happen right after the King beckoned for her to follow him.

"Is that so?" she spoke and ran her wet fingers through her long wood-coloured hair. Atia and Morgan inaudibly blinked at the whispering two. It was abnormal enough that Octavia was not her stoic self in the bath, but to see the two sharing a clandestine conversation invoked a thorough inquisition. Atia simply squinted and went back to scrubbing herself with a rough cloth while Morgan tilted her head. "I think you didn't anticipate such a conclusion for today's meeting,"

"You're not wrong," Octavia said monotonous. "My thirst of knowledge has been quenched, Rhiannon. There is nothing left to ponder on unless in our hands are the scrolls and books from the Empire,"

"And what of the diagram this morning?"

Octavia paused and mused. "I see no meaning and neither do you," She turned to the brunette who sat inches below her height. "Yes, it might have given birth to the horrid creature. Even so, we are not completely certain,"

Rhiannon nodded. "Indeed," she sighed. "I suppose the imagery I have in mind has tainted me. I feel cold strings of chains raveling around my chest, which has since tightened so much, that I feel close to suffocation, a smothering of my own qualms. Never have I seen such a pictorial circle- and its lack of scriptures provokes me to-,"

"Did you read those scriptures?" Octavia asked abruptly.

"No," Rhiannon solemnly replied before her head tilted at Octavia. "I'm not sufficiently capable of reading such scriptures, especially when it comes to the imperial language,"

Octavia's eyes widened. Rhiannon paused. Not a moment after, she found herself forcefully tugged out of the water by the imperial strategist and was hurriedly ushered to the changing chambers.

"Well?"

Back hunched, Octavia stared, nose inches close to the drawing. While the blonde continued to silently dart her eyes over and over on the scriptures, Rhiannon found it entertaining how she could turn the paper like a wheel and still retain a completely blank expression. Since the sunlight poured through the windows and made an orange pool on the stone cold floor till the room being completely dark, the brunette had cleaned Octavia's entire room and placed whatever piece of literature she could find on or by the bed to meticulously dump them on the table. "It appears to be a riddle," Octavia finally spoke. "And it's ancient Latin,"

"Is it too difficult to decipher?" Rhiannon hummed and set beside the strategist who began to rest by the wall on her small bed.

"Quite. A word may mean differently now," She bit her lip then paused. "Hold on, you can speak ancient Latin, can't you?" She turned to look at Rhiannon, hair whipping to the side.

Rhiannon blinked. "My Words of Power…"

"Precisely!" Octavia smiled. "That was ancient Latin. If you understood and spoke in that language, surely you can-"

"I am afraid it is not as simplistic as it seems," Rhiannon grumbled and tapped her delicate fingers against her chin. She took the paper and tried to read it. "No, I was only able to recite the Words of Power merely because I looked into myself in a much needy time. I… I can't sense the dire necessity to do such a thing for only just this drawing, dear Octavia,"

Octavia's smile became pursed lips. Shaking her head, she took the paper back in her grasp in disillusionment. Rhiannon flinched.

"Forgive me, Octavia,"

"No, forgive me, Rhiannon," she muttered under furious breath. She sighed and rubbed her temples. "My ancient Latin is far from being trustworthy. To make matters even more depressing, I am certain that neither Nero, Antony nor Atia are sufficiently knowledgeable to bring youth to this primeval language. Mother would have known how to read this; the same with Brother. They had studied the language front and back,"

Rhiannon paused. "Primeval language," she mumbled and averted her eyes. "Prim-e-val… Prim-e-val… Prim-u-la found it prim-e-val too," Octavia tilted her head and could only give a flabbergasted look. "She had no clue as to what Latin was. She only knew because… she was tutored!" Rhiannon shook Octavia by her shoulders and dragged her out of the dim room. "Master Ogam was the one that taught me Latin!"

Octavia nearly tripped, in an attempt to stabilize herself while suddenly sprinting to Ogam's study. "But you just claimed that your knowledge in Latin is, well, subjective to your spiritual being! How can you not know ancient Latin if Ogam-"

"Hush!" They skidded by the sole of their hard boots, nearly missing the large entrance to Ogam's study. Rhiannon puffed and giggled sweetly to Octavia before bumping hard bolts of fists on the wooden door with unadulterated enthusiasm.

As though he had a premonition of their late night visit, he opened the large door in less than five seconds and proceeded to ushering them inside with a warm welcome exemplary of his old good spirit. He brushed his white moustache with the tip of his wrinkly fingers before saying, "My, my is my foretelling quite as sharp as the hawk's eyes this cold night,"

He laughed and insisted on sitting Rhiannon and Octavia by his long study table, which juxtaposed to Octavia's neatness, was cluttered with ink spots and broken dried leaves that has gone months without much needed cleaning. They stared, fidgeting, waiting until Ogam demanded a reason for this visit that lacked the aggregate courtesy of the two ladies. "Though, I must say, never did it come across to me that you pair would actually come together for something as…" He looked at their desperate faces. "….Dire as this? Speak,"

"Master Ogam," Rhiannon started. "You were the one who taught me ancient Latin, correct?"

Ogam sat down steadily and exhaled content. "Yes," he sighed. "And no. But mostly, yes,"

Octavia opened the rolled up drawing with its companion scroll that handled its description and hurriedly placed two beakers by each of its side to hold it in place. "Here, this diagram. We need you to read it for us,"

"It's important," Rhiannon begged. "For tomorrow's trip to the Empire. I thought it might be closely linked to the Black Being's metamorphosis or creation, any of the sort,"

Ogam blinked at the diagram with a blank expression. Shortly after, he proceeded on reading its companion scroll with infuriating serenity and at the end of his inspection, he breathed deeply, closed his eyes shut, paused to which the two women began to tap their feet apprehensively on the hard ground, and when he opened them back, he began looking directly at Octavia. He squinted. "Where did you get this?"

She nodded at the scroll in his hand. "It came with it,"

"Then where did you get this scroll?"

"The Grand Library,"

"Which section?"

"Anonymous,"

"Which shelf?"

"Master Ogam," Octavia snapped.

"Lady Octavia," he said with an abrupt stern in his voice. Rhiannon blinked between the two. Octavia looked and gripped the loose hem of her long tunic.

"Shelf number 3. Rack 2. Basket 1,"

Ogam paused, raised his hand to halt the youngsters from uttering a syllable before inspecting the diagram again. "It says, at the top half of the circle," Rhiannon and Octavia were on the verge of falling out from their seats. This was it- the Black Being's secret! " 'With nocturne's season shall the grim beam at its reflection that seizes to merely reflect'. At the bottom half, 'With its sunny counterpart shall the grim find its untimely demise'," Ogam turned the paper vigilantly. "By the suns, it states, 'See not the sun' and by the moons it states, 'See not the moon'," Ogam leaned back and rested against the chair. He folded his hands.

"Is that all?" Rhiannon squeaked.

He nodded as slow as a sleepy snail, looking down at the paper and back to Octavia.

"What do you think, milady?" he asked and handed the parchments back to her.

Octavia thought to herself for a while. She felt her heart sinking at the sudden importance this scroll displayed. One moment, it was synonymous to crab dung and now it dictated the actual conclusion of her long-winded research. "At the top half, it describes that at night, and only at that time, can this creature see the fears within people and morph into them. Grim connotes to something of darkness, terrible purposes and memories. However…"

"It also refers to the Black Being itself," Ogam spoke, monotonous.

"Indeed," Octavia looked at Rhiannon who fell silent. "Thus, the grim beaming at its reflection which fails to reflect no longer, means that the creature smiles at people's buried fears and becomes them, confirming many other articles and stories I read. I reckon. I am not certain. I-I suppose?"

"It is possible," Ogam raised his brows. "That was my proposition as well, but merely at first sight. Continue,"

"And at the bottom half, it merely describes that the creature dies during the day," Octavia's shoulders arched. "Not seeing the sun saves the Black Being, while not seeing the moon saves, well, the humans. Simply because during the day, the creature meets its doom and during the night, it…" Octavia paused. Rhiannon had her brows scrunched.

"I think you two can see the clear paradox this shows," Ogam spoke. He stood to his feet and ambled with his wrinkly hands folded behind to the large window by his four-poster bed. He glared the moon. "If this circle, as Rhiannon had said, is responsible for creating the beast, it does not stir me much because it acts much predominantly like that of bridles with horses. We use spells, it comes to life, but we need a significant ruling to kill them. Like with our fire spells, the withdrawal of our staffs almost immediately annuls its ignition. In this case, the sun is our bridle,"

"However," Rhiannon voiced. She stood and pinched her chin, gripping the paper before her face. "It cannot be possible that something as contradictory as this is actually applicable to create the being. It should not exist. If the ruling is the sun, then…"

Octavia sighed. "It would have died the first minute the sun rose,"