A/N:

Welcome Back Everybody!

Welcome to the third installment of the series!

More Lore, More Easter Eggs and More Zophar!

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Forbidden Knowledge

Zophar held the hand of another child, a little boy so riddled with cracks that most of his skin had flaked away. Next to him, his mother, a young Astral woman named Olema, wept inconsolably. About eighty-three cycles ago, she had lost her husband, leaving her with only their child to console her. Now the same sickness that had claimed the father had come for the son.

The rank one prince knew his presence here would make no difference for the boy. His time would have much more utility continuing his secret project, securing the forbidden texts of the thirteenth archives. Yet in spite of this, he still came. On top of all his other work, he still made time to visit every ailing Astral he could.

"How many more?" He thought. "How many more will suffer and die before I can find an answer? Is there an answer, or am I just holding onto a false hope?"

The little boy let out one final gasp before a sharp crack split his head in half. As the two pieces rolled apart, the rest of his body disintegrated, his boy dissolving from the center outward until all that Zophar held in his hand was a silent pile of fine ash.

Zophar held onto the lingering remains of the boy until even the dust evaporated into the air.

"I am sorry," Zophar whispered to the boy's mother before slowly lifting himself from the ground with his glowing cane.

"Wait!" Olema cried, grasping Zophar by the hand. Zophar winced at the woman's firm grip, his body still incredibly fragile, but he did not pull away. "Please, my lord, I need to know…are the rumors true?"

Zophar eyed the woman with concern, not sure how to answer. Yes, he suspected something like this would happen eventually. His frequent meetings with Nephis and Arafel would not go unnoticed, nor would his increasingly strange service activities for seemingly random Astrals.

"What rumors?" Zophar asked carefully.

Olema leaned closer, whispering into Zophar's ear.

"They say you intend to change the Astral world, that you journeyed to the thirteenth tier in defiance of Eliphas, to show him that the first tier would no longer remain shackled! Some say that you challenged Eliphas to a duel, and in a rage, he tried to shatter you, but he failed. They say you have been working in secret ever since, gathering an army to challenge the forces of the higher tiers and overthrow the current order so that we may all live as equals. No more segregation. No more suffering. No more death. I need to know that there is hope, that my family did not die for nothing!"

The broken woman began weeping. Zophar stared open-mouthed at her, astonished at how outlandish the rumors had grown. Start a revolution? Overthrow Eliphas? No! If these rumors spread to the higher tiers, then it would spell doom for the first tier! He had to quell this somehow. But what was he supposed to say? He certainly couldn't pretend the rumors were true, but if he denied it outright, that would only look suspicious, as if he were trying to cover up his secrets.

Better to be honest.

"I am searching for a cure," Zophar whispered back, gently patting Olema's hand. "Nothing more than that. Just for a way to save our people from shattering. I have been working with others, searching for knowledge, so that I can solve this problem. If I am successful, then perhaps what happened to your son and husband will never happen again to anyone else."

"Is that why you have been seeing the archivist so much?" Olema whispered back. "At first, most of us thought you and she had…well…you understand what it must have looked like."

Zophar nodded. It was inevitable for the people to speculate, though he had shown the exact same kindness to many other Astrals after befriending the scribe.

"So it is true," Olema murmured. "You have been gathering relics. Ancient texts. Powerful spells."

She looked Zophar in the eye, expression fierce.

"Whatever it is you're planning, I want in," Olema insisted. "I have nothing left to live for. I will be your most loyal supporter! I will even walk to the thirteenth tier for you! Just please…tell me how I can serve you, my lord!"

Zophar looked into the woman's face, feeling pained. Yes, on the one hand, finding more helpers was just the sort of thing he was looking for to further his plans, but this was wrong. How could he exploit this woman's grief for his own gain? He could never do that. He would not give them false hope!

"But you've already done that. Already, they see you as a savior. What did you think would happen when you visited the thirteenth tier?"

Zophar clenched his teeth, both from the pain that racked his body and the pressing thoughts from his guilty conscience. Slowly, he answered the woman.

"I appreciate your kindness, Lady Olema," he whispered back, "but I cannot accept. You need more time to heal. Please, for your own sake, take care of yourself."

"I can prove myself to you," the woman begged. "Please, my prince! Let me heal by helping you! Otherwise, I have no hope, nothing to live for!"

"Do not say that!" Zophar urgently whispered back. "There is always something to live for. You are still healthy. You can ascend. There are others looking to you, others who care about you. Please. If you want to help me…then help put my mind at ease…knowing that you will choose to live."

"I will, my lord, for your sake," Olema whispered back.

Zophar winced at the last three words, but decided not to push back. At least now he could leave, knowing she wouldn't throw her life away.

He turned to go, heading back towards his house where he knew Nephis and Arafel would be waiting. His two friends had sent him an urgent communication just before he had to leave for Olema and her son. Apparently, they had made a breakthrough in their project. In spite of his pain, Zophar hastened his pace, desperate for any lead that would bring them closer to ending the suffering of the first tier.

Zophar paused at his front door, leaning heavily on his cane to catch his breath and let the throbbing of his painful cracks calm down. Arafel was right. He had barely survived his trip to the thirteenth tier and his body had not recovered. If anything, it had only grown weaker, cracks deepening and pain increasing. Worse still, he knew it would only grow worse. Astrals could not physically heal the way the humans of Earth could. They could only have their bodies reborn and rejuvenated by ranking up. That, Zophar knew, would not happen for him, any more than it would for the other afflicted he visited on a regular basis. He, like the rest of his suffering people, were on a timer.

Zophar gently pushed open his door before entering his home. Sitting at his table, Arafel and Nephis waited, the former's eyes darting about the room while the latter sat back with his arms folded. Once Zophar had passed through the door, Arafel leapt from his chair before darting past Zophar, slamming the door shut, and locking it.

"Were you followed?" Arafel whispered.

"Does it matter?" Zophar sighed as he hobbled towards the table before collapsing on a third chair.

"We're on the cusp of discovering something that could shake up the entire hierarchy of the Astral world," Nephis calmly replied from the other side of the table. "Some are resistant to the idea of change and will do anything to stop it."

"Which means that it is very important that what happens here remains a secret," Arafel replied, returning to his seat.

Zophar narrowed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but, what are you two talking about?" Zophar asked, gripping the edge of the table as pain rippled through his cracks, "I was under the impression that we were looking for a cure to the shattering disease, not some way to undermine the government."

Arafel opened his mouth to respond, but Nephis raised a hand.

"There's no need to overreact," he calmly replied. "We simply want to be careful. We all know we're working towards a righteous goal, but from the outside, others could see our actions as subversive."

Zophar sighed, thinking about his conversation with Olema.

"You're right," he sighed. "I'm sorry, It's just been very exhausting and distressing for me lately. We've been working at this for so long and…and I don't know how much time we have left."

"Well then," Nephis replied before putting on a pair of gloves and reaching inside a package resting on his lap. "Perhaps this will raise your spirits."

He carefully pulled out a heavy gold and platinum canister from the package, the cylindrical container glowing with blinding light. Carefully setting the canister on the table, he rolled it towards Zophar before removing his gloves and tossing them to the prince. Placing the gloves on his hands, Zophar slowly reached towards the canister to touch it, feeling its heat radiating through the protective gloves.

"is this-," Zophar whispered, staring into the glowing container.

"From the thirteenth tier," Nephis confirmed.

"How did you get this?" Zophar asked, still unable to believe what he was holding.

"Your plan worked, my friend," Nephis replied. "Arafel and I have been working to create a network of friends and allies. Thanks to them, we were able to get our hands on this."

"Thanks mainly to my connections," Arafel replied with a smug smirk.

"Oh?" Nephis questioned. "And how do you qualify that?"

"Well…" Arafel began, "...it all started when I contacted that old gossip, Lihilut, from the third tier…"

Arafel proceeded to regale them with a complex tale, involving the spread of various rumors, favors, and deals from a whole web of Astrals and dragons from various tiers. Zophar listened, feeling somewhat uneasy by how close Arafel's actions came to criminal activity. The names Arafel mentioned certainly didn't help. Dark rumors swirled in the grapevines of the upper tiers regarding what these so-called "friends" of Arafel plotted behind closed doors. Although, given what he had apparently managed to accomplish, he decided not to complain.

"And from there, Zebuul took care of the rest," Arafel finished.

"I thought Hatahiin was the one to requisition access to the archive," Nephis mused, scratching at his cracks.

"Only after I persuaded her with a bit of free information regarding certain…erm…sins…of her rivals," Arafel replied.

"Regardless, I suppose we'll have to thank Zebuul later for his part in this," Nephis sighed. "And the rest of our network. We couldn't have succeeded without them."

Zophar continued to stare at the book, gloved fingers tracing the astral glyphs on its burning surface, barely registering what his friends were discussing.

"How long do we have?" he whispered.

"Before the book needs to be returned?" Nephis replied. "Officially, the princess of the twelfth tier requisitioned the book for her personal use. We have as long as it takes for the higher-ups to notice the discrepancy in their records."

"You stole this?" Zophar whispered, voice hitching.

"We worked through all the official channels," Arafel soothed. "The princess of the twelfth tier leaves so much of the work to her servants that she hardly knows or cares about what goods come and go from her palace. Really I'd say it's her fault for not being a better manager. But if you want us to immediately return the book to her and explain everything…"

"No!" Zophar growled, clutching the canister in an iron grip.

"Didn't think so," Arafel replied with a smirk before Nephis cleared his throat.

"The text is encrypted with a cipher that prevents common Astrals from reading it," Nephis explained. "Only princes and princesses officially ordained by Astral law can read it. Given the sensitivity of our timeframe, I think it would be best if we began now."

"We also brought some tablets," Arafel added, indicating a stack of clear rectangles. "For note taking."

"Right," Zophar replied with a nod of his head before examining the glyphs, which seemed to shift from his perspective before becoming legible. "It says I have to press my palm against the surface of the book to confirm my identity. Then it will open."

"Oof…" Arafel grimaced.

"That is…regrettable," Nephis sighed. "I hate to ask even more of you, friend, but-"

Zophar ripped off his glove, stuffed it inside his mouth, and pressed his palm against the burning surface of the canister, a muffled scream escaping his lips as the tier 13 record burned like an oven against his brittle skin. Gems embedded along the outside of the book glowed before the canister opened, revealing the rolled-up tablets within.

Zophar ripped his hand from the canister, his skin peeling from the charred surface. Working quickly, Arafel removed a set of bandages and a glowing salve from a pack before dousing the bandages in the salve and wrapping them around Zophar's palm. The burning on Zophar's hand cooled, though the damaged flesh continued to throb with pain. Reaching out with his remaining gloved hand, Zophar gingerly set the contents of the canister on the table before reading aloud. Across from him, Nephis and Arafel began taking notes.

…

Zophar's eyes narrowed as he reread a passage from the book. He and his friends had been studying nonstop for hours, but he hardly noticed the passage of time. It had not taken long for Zophar to see why the book had been so heavily restricted. Paragraph after paragraph detailed secrets, which, if they were to get out to the public, would greatly diminish their faith in the Astral world's purity. There were records of dissidents being imprisoned, of dark and terrible spells, and of conspiracies to silence and cover up events for the sake of the Astral world's security. But of greatest interest to Zophar and his friends were the records detailing the existence and properties of something called "Chaos Energy."

"Right here," said Zophar, gloved finger tracing a passage. "It says that an Astral explorer visited Earth to conduct research. During his research, he made contact with an unknown source of energy and was…transformed."

"What do they mean by 'transformed?'" Arafel questioned, taking notes.

"It doesn't specify," Zophar replied, rereading the passage in frustration. "It just says that the explorer was "purified" but was rendered unable to ascend beyond his tier from that point on. The passage goes on to explain that regulations have been put in place ever since, restricting exploration of Earth and the study of its inhabitants."

"Do you think the higher-ups found something that could threaten their position?" Nephis asked.

"I'm more interested in what they mean by 'transformed,'" Zophar replied. "Did it hurt him? Was it dangerous? Or was it just something they were afraid of? I need to know more."

"We've only gone through about ten percent of the tablets," Arafel replied. "Surely there must be more information about this somewhere."

"We should keep looking," Nephis advised. "At our current rate of research, we should be able to finish the records in about four or five rotations."

"Four or five rotations?" Zophar questioned, glancing up at a time-keeper on his wall. "How long have we…oh no!"

He grabbed his cane with his good hand before using it to slowly rise from his chair.

"I'm sorry," Zophar groaned, "but I have to leave."

"Leave!?" Arafel exclaimed. "For what!?"

"I made a promise to look after the afflicted," Zophar explained. "I've already left many of them waiting for me. I'll come back later and we can resume research once I've taken care of them."

"Leave them," Nephis growled. "What we're doing here is far more important."

"My people are dying!" Zophar snapped. "At this moment, there are hundreds of families watching their loved ones decay, and many more dying alone. I made a promise to be there for all of them."

"What do you think you'll accomplish with this…symbolic gesture?" Nephis scoffed. "You can't help them by holding their hand, by whispering to them softly. They'll die anyway. But this…" he gestured towards the stacks of notes, "...this could lead to a breakthrough! You'll serve them far better if you come to their home with a cure rather than kind words and a concerned look."

"I can't just abandon them!" Zophar countered.

"And you won't," Nephis soothed. "You'll just be helping them in a different way."

"I made a promise," Zophar replied, turning to leave.

"What does that matter?" Nephis growled, an edge of annoyance coming into his voice. "So you skip a day. What does that affect? Are you really going to let yourself be bound by something you said in the past?"

"Emotional support will not cure these people." Arafel reminded him. "This, on the other hand, will. If anything, you're betraying them more by wasting time that could be spent on researching a cure."

"I will not go against my principles," Zophar calmly replied before opening the door and walking outside, leaving Arafel and Nephis behind.

…

Zophar forced himself not to look back as he proceeded down the glowing Astral streets. In spite of the conviction he had demonstrated, Zophar had to admit that his friend had a point. What did he accomplish visiting the homes of the sick? Did he truly comfort anyone from his visits? The book, obtained after so long and with so much risk, offered a solution. Surely researching would lead to the best result for his people. But what if it didn't? Would it still be worth it to let his people suffer alone?

No, he had made a promise. It might not directly lead to a cure, but it was simple acts of service like this that enabled him and his friends to get this far to begin with. It had made him into the ruler he was today and he would not abandon it the second it became inconvenient.

He gently opened the door to the first sufferer he was to visit, a lonely astral boy whose parents had both shattered not too long ago.

But what he found inside was not a lonely boy writhing in pain.

"Olema?" Zophar exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The motherly Astral tenderly stroked the hair of the boy, her other hand carefully wrapping soft bandages around his cracking body.

"Your friend is right, my lord." Olema quietly whispered, hand continuing to stroke the hair of the boy who was managing to sleep, albeit fitfully. "You must study the book."

Zophar started, mouth going agape.

"I followed you home and listened," Olema explained, almost apologetically. "When I heard about the book, I knew it was the key to saving us, but I also knew you wouldn't give up your other burdens. So I decided to take them from you."

"Olema, I-..." Zophar stammered.

"There is no need to thank me," Olema soothed. "You have served us all. Let us give something back. Go. Study the book. Find a cure. I will take care of the sick. Just promise me, promise me, that no more mothers will have to suffer as I have."

"I…I will try," Zophar gasped, a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Good," Olema whispered, sighing with content. "That is all I needed to know. Do not worry about us. We have faith in you. That's all we need."

She returned to her ministrations, leaving Zophar to reflect on Olema's words, both reassuring and demanding at the same time.

"Thank you," he whispered, before turning to leave, his frail body hobbling home as fast as it could carry him.

…

"So…you changed your mind?" Nephis asked as Zophar stumbled through the door before collapsing back onto his chair.

"That was…surprising," Arafel admitted.

"Someone took my burden," Zophar replied before pulling over one of the tablets. "I owe her a massive debt. I intend to pay it."

"Then let us resume our work," Nephis agreed before the three of them continued.

A/N:

Thank you all for continuing to support this series. We are getting into some major story beats with the securing of the plot-critical book. What did you think of the chapter? What do you think will happen going forward? What hidden identities did you lore-obsessed readers manage to pick out from the various Easter eggs? What other Easter Egg characters do you think will show up in the future? Winner who gets the most right will get a virtual rice crispy treat.

Until Next Time, this is Don and Nox Signing Out!