A/N: Sorry for not updating regularly. I'm preparing for uni, first year too! Anyway, I just want to say thank you first of all. Secondly, as this story is still in progress, I might change things here and there as I continue to write a few chapters ahead. But, I assure you that it's all rather minimal. Thanks again! Enjoy your read!
Sun dawned upon the peak of the mountains as a slow march approached the woods. After much discussion about who had to stay on in Albion to handle its matters, they ended up leaving the elves as well as Decimus and Claudia to smoothen their inter-territorial communication. They were as close to leaving Arawn behind as they did quite easily with Arthur when he fled his mistaken stab with the Demon King. However, Rhiannon started crying at the mere thought of leaving her husband and everyone knew that having a woman's heart broken was one of Nero's biggest weaknesses. He complied with his feelings.
Arawn ended up handling the parchments of maps while Arthur singlehandedly carried Octavia's scrolls with a leather bag. The only difference between those two was that Arawn had expected a relaxed horse ride with no papers to worry on, while Arthur, on the other hand, had gratefully offered to assist Octavia with her precious literature, which he still thought she was awfully wedded to.
Back bent double, Arthur had his brown horse galloping towards the stone walled gates. "Are we all prepared?"
The sleepy bunch nodded and groaned their affirmatives. Octavia could feel her aunt leaning against her back. In slow circles, her boney fingertips rubbed her eyes. She yawned and the steady seep of breath made a chill run down Octavia's spine. "Are you ready?" A silence. "For certain?" Her voice was tender. Octavia couldn't help but notice a hint of worry in the publicly acclaimed genius.
"And you?" Octavia braved a response.
"I feel as though something is not quite right.."
"Your drowsiness, I presume," Atia stifled a chuckle and nudged Octavia's shoulder with her chin. "My apologies.."
"You are not one to be neophobic, however.." Atia whispered as she rested her head on Octavia. She lightened her weight on the young woman as the group started to venture into the deeper ends of the woods. Neophobia meant the fear of changes, Octavia figured. 'Neo' being 'new' and 'phobia' being 'fearful of'. But that would be paradoxical as she was definitely one to stick to routines.
The silence of the troop transcended to that of random gossips as time passed by. Nero had started whining about leaving Albion cuisine before joyfully shaking sleepy Antony who was steering their shared horse and yelled, "That's it, Antony! We'll bring it! We just need to make an agreement with the citizens to try and mimic their cooking styles. Every week, it is an obligation to make at least one Albion inspired dish!"
Antony jerked his shoulder to shake the Emperor's annoying hand off before, he thought, the horse would panic and knock both of them off to the wet soil. He couldn't afford to ruin his favourite pair summer trousers, and definitely not for his pathetic ruler, who seemed to have no shame in prioritizing things as trivial as Albion cuisine over the obvious shortage of grain that could kill half their city.
"If you don't mind," Arthur started. "I would suggest you involve yourself in stories such as Gael's. Perhaps that would help your ache,"
Nero sighed and plopped his whole weight on Antony's back. "In our empire, it would probably end up with bloodshed, I dare say," He turned to the king. "Stories are for children. Made by men to fool our minds, am I wrong?" Nero blinked at Arthur's and Morgan's blank expressions. "Aside from foods, I'd say that our side does not find relying with stories an interest,"
At that moment, Octavia saw from the corner of her eyes, Rhiannon making a pained look but quickly hid it with Arawn's ravel crimson scarf. "And philosophy?" Rhiannon squeaked behind Arawn's broad shoulders. "Aren't they made by men as well?"
Mark Antony smiled. "That is a fairly good point," He turned too fast, causing Nero to nearly topple from the huge animal. Without a second to spare, Nero had his assistant's middle heftily elbowed. "But isn't it a good point? Philosophers are mad about convincing others,"
"I'm not nudging at your remark!"
Awaking from her disrupted sleep, Atia exasperatedly hushed the bickering two. Octavia stared, realizing that they were well near around the half mark of their journey before reaching imperial gates. She kept on following the group, as she couldn't believe their dragging opinions dazed them of their mission. However, the quarreling did illuminate an idea of Octavia's. Philosophers, she thought, were deemed brainwashers until their theories were proven beneficial to the development of an empire. Before that era rose, philosophers did find stories and tales an easier medium to propagate their notions. It was a vulnerable move but was much needed.
It made her wonder; did her study stem mostly from philosophers or stories? She assumed that the creatures were nocturnal simply because the philosophers couldn't provide enough evidence that they were not. She averted her eyes. "To fool, are for stories… To convince, are for philosophies…"
Rhiannon caught her blue eyes and tilted her head. The blonde knew what the young sorceress was pondering on.
The drawing.
The diagram was neither told to be a mere story or a legitimate study. She stumbled upon the illustration that adorned itself with riddles like a lone philosopher in a crowd of storytellers, yet its design was like a lone storyteller in a crowd of philosophers. It neither gave truth or explanation. It just presented itself as it was. But deep inside, even when Octavia found it too difficult to admit it to herself, she was certain that that very drawing was the key to unlocking the chest of answers to this hideous situation.
She just halted herself from saying much about it even when she ardently wanted to. Vague it was, no less, no more. It made her question whether it was wise of her as the imperial strategist to hog on exposing the existence of that drawing to the group.
The truth was…. she was afraid.
"Halt!" Nero yelled and the cohort tugged onto their bridles. "Perhaps we should rest about here? I know of a river nearby which we can take water from,"
"I was about to suggest the same thing," Arthur responded and got off his horse. His boots squelched the second it touched the muddy soil. He looked around. "Shall we tie our horses here and proceed to a much bigger space?" He pointed at a pool of sunlight.
"Aye!" they shouted.
As soon as the horses were neatly lying by their shaded trees, men and women got on to claiming trees of their own surrounding the pool of light, throwing their bags to the base of the tree, cleaning their weapons, trekking to the river to quench their thirst. They rested to their fullest before planning where to go next. Though, it was a shame since the rain that hit the woods the night before had left the ground too wet and dirty to comfortably sit on. Instead they had to rely on ugly rags of cloth, which wasn't all to everyone's liking.
Octavia nestled against a tree and had a moment to reminisce the time she used to stroll and sleep by the Aletic Lake. She had took in her possession her scrolls from Arthur and continued to observe the drawing in silence as her comrades hustled and bustled and chatted like there was no tomorrow.
She tapped her chin. She couldn't get her finger on something that had been bugging on her mind since the rulers argued. She was frustrated but mostly, fearful. She was terrified by the fact that she actually knew nothing much about the creature and here she was expected to lead people into tackling it.
She kept quiet.
"What's wrong?" Atia began and stood beside her crouching niece. "You seem… to be on edge,"
"Something's not quite right," Octavia replied. "Most of the philosophers stated that this creature is not of the night's liking whereas, the villagers stated the converse. If theorists were supposed to convince while storytellers were supposed to provide real life experiences, then surely what's justified is naturally the villagers,"
Atia stared. "Indeed," she said after a long pause. "So?"
Octavia hesitated. She got to her feet and walked to the pool of sunlight to clearly see the drawing for perhaps the thousandth time. Rhiannon looked and quickly neared her to observe as well before witnessing the blonde gasping in pure shock and clasping her mouth. The rulers from her far left saw the unusual reaction of the blonde and looked at each other.
"Is anything the matter?" Arthur spoke and hesitated abandoning his bickering with Nero to make his way to the young blonde. Yet, he saw his younger sister skittering across in unimaginable speed before clasping in her tiny hands the trembling shoulders of the imperial strategist.
Octavia opened her mouth but no words nor mere syllables spilled. She simply stared and that was when Rhiannon began to widen her eyes at the sight of the paper. She shot a glare at the blonde, then, back at the paper, brows furrowing.
Right before her eyes, under the rays of the Sun's illumination that had pierced through branches and green-knotted leaves, like never before, were foreign words abruptly spreading across the drawing in pale white. And it was in none other than ancient Latin.
See not the Sun, she thought. See not the Sun for it possessed the unadulterated truth behind the black being's weakness. It was there; the solution she needed but in a language she was too young to comprehend even given her valuable insights and knowledge.
She took a deep breath. "Who knows how to read ancient Latin?" she hurriedly shouted as she continued on looking at these white alphabets, seemingly flickering on the brown paper. She peered around at flabbergasted faces. Then, she stopped at Arawn. "Arawn. You must know," she yelled in a rush. "You've lived long enough to know, surely. Right?"
Nero had long ditched his conversation with the King of Albion and had gone to walk towards his cousin in an expression as vexed as lions and dragons. Octavia stared. For that very moment, she thought, despite the absolute abhorrence for her cousin, that she deserved whatever harm that Nero needed to inflict on her, be it a punch or a kick or a stab to her gut. She had put an entire troop comprised of important authoritative figures on a rope, which beneath them awaited a pit of vipers, utterly hungry for their flesh and cries.
Arawn halted him, glaring with crimson.
"Calm down," the white haired said serenely. He quickly jogged to the imperial strategist's side to see for himself what had put the usually stoic blonde at a huge discomfort. "I'm not as experienced as Ogam. But, that doesn't mean I can't help,"
"Read them, Arawn," Octavia said and prodded her finger on the silver coloured words. "Just the white ones,"
He squinted for a long while. Everyone waited and slowly crept closer to their weapons without actually making themselves noticeable, as though even they themselves couldn't accept the reality that this cruel creature might have been amongst them the whole time, looking at them, snickering at them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when they least anticipated, when they completely believed that it was impossible for them to roam this exact forest in broad daylight.
"The first line states," Arawn started. "'Thou possess an abhorrence towards the married Suns for they not only spew light but emanate-"
He paused.
Thick darkness suddenly blanketed them; sun veiled behind clouds. Growing were shadows, hiding fearful expressions donned by the Albions and the Imperials that have long been concealed by a stance of confidence and their weapons.
Nero stormed towards him, mud flicking under his hard leather boots. "Don't stop," he yelled in a forcefully calm tone. He clenched his sword, eyes rapidly darting from the Demon King to Octavia. "What is it, dear cousin? Tell me,"
The three couldn't believe it at first but after a moment of terror, staring at this paper, Rhiannon finally stammered, "The text… is gone,"
Octavia looked up, yet a drop of rain made her abruptly flinch and immediately hug on to her precious finding.
"Sunlight," she mumbled. "Sunlight! I need sunlight for the text to appear,"
"See… See not the Sun!" Rhiannon exclaimed.
"Exactly! It only appears under sunlight!"
Octavia felt her heart sink. She needed it now. Yet, when she tilted her head back again, she found the sky that was once bright baring blotches of grey and black, prepared for none other than a heavy downpour.
"A-an abhorrence towards Suns for they spew light and... And-and what?" Octavia whipped around, looking at Arawn.
He shook his head. "I couldn't catch it,"
Before anything happened, she needed just a speck of sunray to miraculously touch her paper and expose to her again the truth she had yearned for so long. Before the being makes its first appearance, before she sees a comrade fall to her poor judgment, before…
Octavia gasped.
"MORGAN! TO YOUR LEFT!"
Everyone shifted gazes. A swift dodge made the dagger miss by mere inches. Rhiannon screamed and dashed towards her husband before seeing Morgan lunge back for her life. There, before the mass, was a White Spirit.