Garrett ran his fingers over the ancient page of the tome. Sat on his father's armchair before the waning fire, it would have been far too dim for anyone other than the thief to read, not that Garrett was using his eyes.
Much had been lost during the first Dark Ages. So many histories and legends, stories and lores, wiped clean from existence by the negligence and folly of Keepers long past. All that remained were long faded journals kept by those set in the ink and quill ways.
For when the Primal first ran dry all those lifetimes ago, so too did the ancient Glyphs those old dead Keepers used to scrawl their stories.
Of course, the Haven had learned its lesson, the Haven had learned its lesson well. Glyphs were still used, but never for scripture. Coding information had been practiced by civilizations far before and far beyond the City and the reaches of Morley, and if it were good enough for others, it was good enough for the Haven.
There were still flaws in the practice, it had taken quite some time for order to reestablish, and even longer for the surviving Keepers to claw their way back underground, hiding away from the city once more until the Haven was once again little more than an old whispered legend.
By the time the new First Keeper was sworn in, a century had already limped by, and with it, life worth's of work.
The New Haven had sworn to never fall victim to the same mistakes of its past and remarkably, the oath had stood firm. Thus, the collateral dealt to the Haven presently wasn't quite as devastating as it could have been.
The tome in Garrett's lap was an old journal, the personal diary of one Keeper Wyrrnrr, a humble bookkeeper who had managed to survive the collapse of the Haven.
It was written in the old tongue, and though the ink had long since faded, Keeper Wyrrnrr had a heavy hand and his words scoured the pages deeply, allowing those with a deft touch to read with nothing but their fingers.
It was an interesting read for sure, but not a pleasant one. Detailing the deaths of many Keepers, how, once the Glyphs failed, and the Haven was discovered, the many Keepers sheltering within the sanctuary were rounded up like sheep to the slaughter.
Keeper Wyrrnrr had been lucky to escape, and even luckier to survive. He had even been lucky enough to live to see the New Haven be conceived. That was however, what concerned Garrett most perhaps…
Keeper Wyrrnrr's last entry detailed how he fretted over what the Haven was to do without the Primal. For the Haven was designed as an instrument, made to tune the Primal. The Haven was both the musician and the flute, but the Primal was the wind, the breath needed to play.
Without the Primal, the Haven was naught but fools blowing empty breaths in a silent orchestra.
When Garrett had first gotten his hands on the tome, he had laughed at the image painted by Keeper Wyrrnrr. But now he was living, a part of that silent orchestra. The Haven may have been able to salvage the stories and lores and histories they so deeply cherished. But as those histories proved, relying so heavily upon the Primal left them to stagnate when they were forced to do without.
The Keepers were meant to be the eyes and ears of the city, the unseen record keepers of rolling times, dutifully transcribing the happenings without interference… But the Keepers relied on Primal flowing just beneath the ancient stones they walked upon so graciously to keep their vigilant unaltered. For with their Glyphs the Haven could see and hear all they wished and needed to.
Garrett had once asked why the Haven was so hellbent on residing in such a backwater city when surely, there were other, more important, more interesting places to govern. All Artemus could offer his son was that the city was simply special. Though truthfully, he too sometimes wondered why the city.
In the beginning, the very, very beginning of the Haven, it was believed that the First Keeper was blessed by the so young god and tasked with guarding and guiding the Primal. Eventually, that blessed individual settled in the Eternal City, finding the veil between the waking world and the Primordial Sea far too thin to be left unattended.
Thus, supposedly, the Haven was born, purposed with the original task of that long forgotten Keeper.
Though presently, the Haven's duties strayed far from that initial foundation, branching more so into means of utilizing and incorporating the Primal safely into the world rather than simply guarding it. The Primal was a living, breathing thing, it pulsed with life, it desired to ebb and flow like a river, creep through stone and flesh alike, the Keepers had merely sought to balance out the energy within the City. The Keepers, never thought to force the hand of change, they never sought to use it with intent that would stray far from their origins.
They coexisted with the Primal.
And the Leviathan allowed it.
There were few who knew of the exact properties of the Primal, fewer still who could wield such power without repercussion. In fact, besides the rare few blessed with the Leviathan's boon, there was only one other faction within, or more accurately, around the City who were granted access to the wells of power the Primordial Sea offered.
Keeper Wyrrnrr had written about a strange gathering of people who existed on the fringes of both the city and civility. Many other old tomes and texts remarked on their existence, but Keeper Wyrrnrr's recollection of his time spent with the Pagans was Garrett's favorite.
All other texts were too detached, too clinical. They explained facts and nothing more, but Keeper Wyrrnrr had lived alongside the Pagans for many years whilst the city chewed the Haven apart. Wyrrnrr had even earned himself a Pagan Name, Fable Upon Olde Rings.
Another, more selfish perhaps, reason why Keeper Wyrrnrr's diary was one of Garrett's favorite tomes was because in the later pages, Fable Upon Olde Rings proved his name as both a storyteller and historian, recounting many Pagan legends that had eluded the Haven for eons.
For the Pagans, a beautiful people they were, held more significance to the Leviathan than any other creature in the world.
For before the Leviathan became a god, when he was but a babe, but the child of change.
He was the son of life and death, who met in strange times, loved dearly and then died, damned with the rest of humanity.