When he returned to the tower, Atgard was no longer in the dining hall. The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, Estogil was shrouded in semi-darkness, and through the windows he could see the light-blue twilight sky. Kairu climbed up to the library, lit a candle, and walked along the shelves, again and again inspecting the spines, pulling books out one by one, reading their titles, and pushing them back in. Silence and peace reigned, the flame did not flicker, casting reflections on the gilded spines of the folios. He gathered a stack of books with titles that seemed interesting and returned to the table.

  The book caught his eye almost immediately when he wearily sank into the chair and cast a tired glance over everything he had piled up on the table to study. It was lying slightly to the side, on the corner of the desk. Its cover was wooden, dark, without a title or author’s name. Kairu stared at it for a long time, trying to recall when and why he had pulled it from the shelf. Then he reached out, drew it closer, and opened it.

  The book was handwritten. It wasn’t particularly ancient—though, of course, the very notion of calling a manuscript "not particularly ancient," considering that the printing press had been invented nearly two hundred years ago, sounded silly. But somehow Kairu knew that the book had been written long after printing had completely replaced handwritten texts. He suddenly remembered Rita’s words: "In modern monasteries, they often still use parchment, unwilling to accept the convenience of the printing press."

  And yet the cover was worn, the title and author’s name completely erasedб or perhaps never written at all. The corners of the binding were gilded, and a small gilded clasp had once kept the book shut, but it was now rusted and broken. Inside, the letters were clear, the ink hardly faded, though the writing was hurried and the margins were dotted with ink blots. Nowhere were there any illustrations, which monks usually loved to decorate their works with. On the title page, there was a name in the original language, and below that, a bold inscription that confirmed Kairu’s suspicions:

  "Vaimarakirian, the work of the servant of God, Gorentum."

  1239th year of the Old Era, 549 years before the New Era.

  Translated by Konrad, son of Angvar, from the Temple of Tornir, in the year 1422 of the New Era.

  Konrad… They had just recalled his name today. And now before him was a book written by the hand of this mysterious Konrad. A coincidence?

  "And the man who awaited us in the Tornir’s Temple and was to lead us further north across Regerlim towards the Duanmar Plateau was Brother Konrad, your grandfather." That’s what Ashley had told Rita. It all matched. The name. The monastic title. The temple’s name. Even the year seemed plausible.

  But why was the book here?

  Kairu didn’t even know exactly what had caught his interest, but he took the book along with a dictionary over to the writing desk, dropped into a chair, set the candle nearby, and began to read. The book had a kind of magic. It pulled his gaze toward its weathered pages…

  Blessed be Dar forever, may His power be exalted in the mortal world, may His will be done over men, over birds, over earth, over ocean, over sky, over stars, over gods and over Time, and may only the Primordial Elements stand above Him. And may He accept in His praise this work of His servant, Gorentum, son of Akael, son of Veneran, written during the summer of the year 1239 and one hundred more days and one, and completed by the Winter Solstice in the Sanctuary of Dar, and laid upon the Altar of Justice in the temple of the greatest of sciences. May the Muses bless this labor, may they bestow humility, patience, and the will of Dar, so that the work begun may be completed for the greater glory of the Great Deities. May Tornir, patron of the wise, grant strength to his kneeling servant and place His word in his mouth, and speak through his voice, his tongue, and his pen. Amen.

  The year 1239 of the Third Kingdom Era is marked by the significant event that precisely one hundred years have passed since Darius and Octarus were bestowed upon mankind in the First Temple. Without delving into the social and political consequences of this historically pivotal moment, this work aims to explore its theological implications. For in the past hundred years, Darius and Octarus have directly influenced both official political discourse and interpretations of the Sacred Scriptures—so much so that in recent years we’ve seen an unprecedented rise in apocryphal cults, whose teachings deviate so far from the Church's official position that they are declared outlawed (see, for instance, the cult of the 'Black Lotus'). Furthermore, even within the highest echelons of the Church hierarchy, there is no consensus on certain issues, leading to regular public debates during the annual conclave. The logical conclusions drawn by opposing sides in these debates quickly spread among the populace and become obsessive ideas—seeds which should have been choked at birth, but instead are taking root and already threaten to shake the very foundations of the cult of Dar. The turbulence of our dark era's political events does not help solidify the Church’s position. On the contrary: in recent years, our state has evidently faced trials that are nearly impossible to explain through theology, except by proclaiming the gods' death or decline.

  Thus, the main questions that have sparked theological disputes and even the emergence of new religious branches over the past century are as follows: How does the doctrine of Dar reconcile with the idea of Elysium? How does it reconcile with the fact that humans have gained the ability to receive instantaneous feedback from the future into the present, and even change the past to alter the present—and simultaneously, the future? And most importantly: What are the long-term consequences of such games, if we assume that the gods exist and exert direct influence on our lives? Do the Priests of Dar not place themselves on the same level as Dar himself, when they declare themselves masters of time, claiming access to an absolute understanding of cause and effect that entitles them to make decisions determining the future of humanity for millennia to come?

  The author of this work does not seek to support or refute any official or alternative viewpoint on these matters. Instead, he aims to briefly present the main points of contention and the various ways proposed by theologians to address them, allowing the reader to reach their own conclusion through cool-headed logical reasoning. This book is intended to be a popular-scientific work, aimed at facilitating understanding of the essence of the issue and paving the way toward new solutions—both for young, inquisitive theologians and for church officials in high-ranking positions within the Office of the Sacred Throne.

  And so, let us begin this discourse with the core tenets of the faith, which we must always keep before our eyes, that they may serve as our beacon through the tangled labyrinth of logic. If we set aside the political function of the Cult of Dar (which, without doubt, is the most significant), the second most important function is social—namely, that religion serves to establish a kind of moral denominator that applies equally to the individual and to any group, up to and including an entire nation, where the doctrines of religion become codified into law and may be used to administer justice. Morality, in its most general sense, is the distinction between good and evil—and the doctrine of Dar, without question, offers clear definitions of both.

  What is good and what is evil, according to the Holy Scripture?See the Book of Dar, Chapter 24, Verse 10: "And then Dar descended upon the earth, and carved the following laws into the stone of Mount Etheltikon, and commanded the people to follow these laws for all eternity, and then, at the end of days, they shall inherit the kingdom of eternal peace, pleasure, and harmony." (Note: even these lines have been regularly reinterpreted ever since the concept of Elysium made its way into official state discourse. At the Ecumenical Council of 1215, High Priest Astiat proposed to enshrine the interpretation equating the kingdom of eternal peace, pleasure, and harmony with Elysium into law.)

  The Laws of Dar say: do not kill—unless in self-defense; do not steal; do not covet your neighbor’s wife, and so on. The reader may consult the original source for a complete understanding. In the context of a standard approach to cause and effect, the Laws of Dar are more than justified, and serve as a clear moral compass, indicating the correct choice in any situation where immediate decision-making is required, and where instant feedback follows every action.

  Now let us turn to the problem of Darius and Octarus. The dilemma of choosing the lesser evil in exchange for a greater good was defined many years ago (see, for example, Dailitarkada, Ch. 5), but in the context of modern technologies, it becomes far sharper and, in many cases, far less clear-cut. Murder, according to the Book of Dar, is a mortal sin. But is political assassination a mortal sin, if it is carried out under the order of the High Priest, who has consulted a Seer? In this case, the consequence becomes known before the cause, and the Priests are certain that the sin of murder must be committed in order to prevent far greater consequences in the future.

  See, for example, the case of the rebel Kastingez, 1225: the verdict stated that ten years hence, the condemned would become the founder of an apocryphal cult and the leader of an armed uprising. Such verdicts are usually passed behind closed doors and carried out in strict secrecy—though in Kastingez’s case, the information leaked to the public and caused justified outrage across many different circles. The question many have asked since this case:

  Are the Seers abusing their power?

  Is the very fact that they can see the future and interact with it enough to render the future invalid?

  And how morally justifiable is it—how does it align with the teachings of Dar—to pass verdicts based on a vision of the future that will change the moment the verdict is issued and carried out, and in a way that is completely unpredictable?

  The lines slowly drifted past his eyes. Kairu suddenly flinched, snapped out of it, and looked up, a little surprised by his surroundings. He had forgotten that he was sitting in the library, that it was evening already, and that darkness had nearly fallen outside.

  "Vaimarakirian." He reached for the dictionary. With difficulty, he managed to find the necessary combination of glyphs, using the title of the manuscript as a guide. There it was… "WAI (arch. ‘uai’) – star, light…" Light. That was more interesting. Kairu found the nearby word "Mar", which meant, in addition to "night," also "gloom," "darkness," and "dusk." He had to flip through several pages to find the word "kirian," but he found that too: "reflection" or "contemplation."

  Contemplation on light and darkness?

  Why hadn’t Konrad translated the title? It would’ve been so much clearer.

  Contemplation on light and darkness.

  Kairu stared at the glyphs of the ancient Nocturne language above the title. They suddenly seemed familiar. Where had he seen similar glyphs recently? And then it hit him.

  "The parchment itself is new, by the way. These are the kind commonly used in monasteries, where they still refuse to accept the convenience of the printing press."

  He shot up from the desk as if scalded. Rushed out of the library, bounded up the stairs to his bedroom, pulled out his travel bag, and from it took the chest stolen from Garamant’s house—the one Rita had entrusted to him for safekeeping. With the chest in his hands and his heart pounding wildly, he returned to the library, opened the chest, laid out the brooch, the coin, and the scrap of parchment, and placed the parchment beside the title of the manuscript.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He nearly shouted with joy. The glyphs were identical.

  But Rita had translated them as "Meditation on the Sun and the Kraken."

  "For example, the word ‘Vaimar’ is made of the glyphs vai (‘star’) and mar (‘night’), meaning ‘starry night.’ But the same glyphs, read differently, could mean eudirith (‘everfrost’), gertrum (‘blue moth’), or niflnordil (‘icy wind’). Those are just the ones I remember, the dictionary lists more." Rita had learned to read glyphs from Axel, who likely learned from Konrad. Konrad was a monk—therefore, a specialist in religious texts and corresponding dialects.

  Kairu grabbed a different dictionary and found the right glyph. At the end of a long list of meanings was written:

  "Octarus – the Kraken. Symbol of the god of night, Tornir; in the Kaldic pantheon – Vaimos."

  Kairu struggled to think.

  Before ending up in Garamant’s possession, the chest had been with Rita’s mother. How did it get there? Most likely, it was given to her by Rita’s father, Axel, who had been part of Petros’s expedition. The parchment bore the title of the manuscript translated by Rita’s grandfather, Konrad, who had also taken part in the expedition… The parchment itself is new, by the way. These are the kind commonly used in monasteries, where they still refuse to accept the convenience of the printing press. Maybe Konrad had written the glyphs with the manuscript’s title on that piece of parchment and placed it in the chest.

  A clue. That meant he had found the right book. That meant this book was important. But damn it, did he really have to read the entire thing to understand why? Kairu flipped through the manuscript in despair: there were several hundred pages.

  He paused again. The parchment points to the book. The brooch is an artifact over two thousand years old. The manuscript—only a few decades old. But what about the coin? It was older than it seemed. So either Garamant put the coin in the box... Or it was minted much earlier, and someone purposely stamped a false year on it.

  A false year.

  Kairu turned the coin over. 1453, the year of minting. He thought for a moment, then opened the manuscript to page 14 and counted down 53 lines.

  That point marked the start of a new paragraph. And beside the first word, faintly drawn in pencil in the margin, was a symbol. The same one that appeared on the brooch.

  May Dar forgive my comparisons and bold hypotheses. What distinguishes us from the gods? It is that all of us are made of Light and Darkness, but only the gods have learned to see clearly the boundary between the black and the white within themselves. Therefore, only the gods can know all that has been and all that will be, and can unambiguously define good, evil, and the situations where evil is necessary to bring the world into the Kingdom of Good.

  Humans see only probabilities. We forget that it is impossible to analyze an event without analyzing all its causal connections precisely. And such analysis is, by definition, impossible, because any event may echo for a very, very long time. We do not know how long ripples will travel across water after a stone is thrown. Maybe a few seconds, maybe thousands of years. That is why the games with time, which the priests have recently begun to play, are so dangerous…

  The Problem of Unjustified Interference has preoccupied the minds of philosophers and theologians ever since the Seers began actively using Darius and Octarus, and we now witness it on various scales everywhere. The most vivid example is the problem of reaching Elysium. According to the official position of the Sacred Throne, the rejection of Darius and Octarus and their concealment in the sanctuaries of Dar and Scarlet, respectively, are currently necessary, because we know that only in that case is Elysium attainable.

  But what is Elysium, and is its definition not dependent on the Era, the political discourse, and the interpretation of sacred texts? We know that even minimal Unjustified Interference may jeopardize the existence of Elysium. So wouldn’t it be better for us to know nothing about Elysium or when it is to come, so that we do not sin by interfering unnecessarily? But if that is so, why did the gods give us Darius and Octarus? Not claiming to hold the truth, the author of this work dares to suggest: Darius and Octarus were given to the great Nocturn people as a test.

  If the test were passed successfully, the Nocturns might attain Elysium. But the longer people hold dominion over time, the clearer it becomes that they only make mistakes and bring themselves to ruin. It is the duty of every Seer who understands this to initiate the Eternal Return. And for the one who seeks this path, the signs will be given in the place where Darius and Octarus shall be kept.

  At this point, the text cut off mid-page. The phrase "to initiate the Eternal Return" was faintly underlined.

  Kairu took a deep breath. Darius… he had heard that somewhere before. Where had he come across that name or term?..

  The sun had set, and Estogil was sinking into darkness. Kairu sat, reading the final line over and over, until he realized the gloom had thickened around him and the candlelight illuminated only the book before him, when the library door creaked open and footsteps sounded behind him.

  "Kairu, dinner is ready," Rita said softly. "Everyone else is already downstairs, waiting for you. Did you find anything?"

  He turned to her, staring blankly, slowly coming back to himself, brushing away the whirlwind of thoughts crowding his mind.

  "Yes," he said, carefully closed the book, picked it up, and stood abruptly from the table. "Let’s go. I need to talk to Ashley."

  They went downstairs. The chandeliers in the dining room were lit. Ashley was at the hearth, stirring a huge pot of something bubbling and aromatic. The others sat at the table, chatting animatedly, but fell silent when Kairu and Rita entered. Kairu stepped up to the table and laid the "Vaimarakirian" on it.

  "Where have I heard of Darius?" he asked, looking around at his friends.

  "Darius?" Rita repeated in confusion, and then a flash of realization crossed her face.

  "Oh, right! That’s the name of the lake near the Aktos shrine at the base of Rokastr."

  Kairu froze, as if struck by lightning. Of course. They had been complete fools. They had been there and didn’t even think to look. And the real Lake of Aktida had been right next to them. Everyone had been wrong. Nubel. Petros, in all his fruitless searching…

  "Possibly," Ashley said dryly, rubbing her eyes. "But if you're interested, I have another theory. Petros mentioned it in his dissertation, it’s well known to anyone who studied that era. Darius is another name for the Lake of Aktida diamond, used in the ancient Nocturn tongue. They named the diamond after Dar, the supreme god of their pantheon. The one we know as Aktos."

  Kairu’s heart began to race. A memory suddenly slashed through the fog in his mind like lightning — it came back so vividly he staggered. Last summer, Petros’ camp in the Southern Province. The foreman of the Nocturn brigade, doing the excavations, Mbagwa:

  "They had Darius. That’s what we call the Lake of Aktida…"

  "It is the duty of every Seer who understands this to initiate the Eternal Return," Kairu quoted. "And for the one who seeks this path, the signs will be given in the place where Darius and Octarus shall be kept." This is from Vaimarakirian, I found it in the library. The translation was done by Konrad, your grandfather, Rita. Back in 1422."

  The reaction exceeded his expectations. Ashley let out a soft gasp and sank into a chair, whispering:

  "Aktos preserve me… how many years has it been…"

  Kairu stared at her, stunned, piecing everything together in his mind.

  "Ashley, where did you get this book?" he asked. "And have you read it?"

  "I don’t know," Ashley admitted barely audibly. "I had no idea it was in the library… But I saw it once, in the Temple of Tornir in Derelzfjord, when Konrad first started translating it. He had a copy from an original manuscript that vanished without a trace. A very old copy, discovered somewhere by Petros. Petros and Saelin used this book, because apparently, it described something important about the crossroads of time…"

  "So Darius is the Lake of Aktida," Kairu said excitedly. "The diamond. And the place. I feel like we missed something crucial during the expedition. It’s very possible the lake mattered more to the ancient Nocturns than the shrine. The shrine — for humans, who are meant to die finding the diamond. The lake — for the Seer, who is supposed to use it to find the way to the First Temple. And Octarus — that must be the Star of Vaimar Saelin spoke of."

  He began pacing along the table, energized.

  "Now I’m sure… It was Konrad who placed the parchment and the coin in the box. A clue, pointing to where and what to look for, for someone trying to find Octarus and understand what to do with it. Garamant wanted to find Octarus too, no doubt. But he didn’t figure it out.

  "It’s a cipher — one that can only be broken if you have both the book and a passage in the original language. I’m almost sure Konrad deliberately altered the translation, it wasn’t a mistake. He meant to write it that way, so we could understand. Contemplation on light and darkness. Meditation on the Sun and the Kraken. Darius — Sun — Light — Aktos — The Lake of Aktida. Octarus — Kraken — Night — Tornir — Vaimos — The Star of Vaimar.

  "It’s all connected. This Gorentum, who wrote the original text, says Seers abuse their ability to alter the future, and that in order to reach Elysium, one must fulfill the Eternal Return. And we’ll only understand what that means if we visit both shrines. Do you understand?"

  "Barely," Viggo admitted. "Your historical ramblings are hard to follow. But one thing I do understand well: we’re going to Mount Rokastr to re-examine that damn lake. And after that…"

  Kairu grinned triumphantly.

  "And after that, we’re going to Vaimar," he said. "First, to the Temple of Tornir — to meet Konrad. But most importantly — we need to retrace the journey Petros and Saelin took thirty years ago. And find Octarus. Once we have it, we’ll know what to do next. Right, Joanna?" He looked directly at the Nocturn woman.

  Joanna smiled.

  "Follow what your heart tells you, Seer," she said cryptically. "I don’t know if you’re right. But if you want my opinion — I agree with the path you propose."

  Silence fell. Viggo rubbed his hands in excitement:

  "Perfect! When do we leave?"

  "What about Rita, Ashley?" Kairu asked bluntly. "Can she travel?"

  "Not on horseback. And only if you don’t get into any dangerous situations before Petista."

  "Is that you, Ashley?" Atgard chuckled hoarsely. "Avoiding dangerous situations? Remember what you were like at not-quite-nineteen? I remember very well!"

  "Oh yes, I was insufferable!" Ashley burst out laughing. "I had a terrible, selfish, reckless, stubborn, and ambitious nature, I was my teachers’ nightmare… In the Guild, I managed to land in the worst trouble, get away clean, and stir up chaos again… Remember, Roger?"

  "How could I forget," her husband muttered. "I also remember how bold and cheeky you were, but also kind, damn beautiful, and not without some talent in alchemy… You only settled down by the time you were thirty — when you had our first son. But once the little devil in a skirt left her, Ashley became the perfect mother and a great scholar. Would you deny that?"

  "No," Ashley answered modestly. "And that’s exactly why, Roger, I really don’t want to leave all this we’ve built with such effort. But we must. When I packed my things, I felt like crying…"

  "It’s okay." Roger embraced her in the stillness, and she just sat there — tired, sleepy, indifferent to everything. "We’ll manage. Vaimar’s still better than a war right on our doorstep. We’ll cope. We’ll leave the essentials with Aglin in Asternia, then head by the north of the Enchanted Forest to Petista… It’s safer that way."

  "And Estogil?" Atgard asked grimly.

  "What can we do. We’ve got plenty of money, the war hasn’t canceled our bank accounts or devalued our bonds… If we live to see the end of this, we’ll build a new tower here. If not — well, you know where the official testaments are kept. Nothing will be lost. Not the money, not the patents, not the honors."

  "So it’s decided? You’ll destroy it?"

  Roger waved his hand:

  "Wipe it from the face of the earth. Disable the defenses. I think in three days we’ll have everything packed into wagons. We’ll warn the villagers nearby to leave, and then we move out. Otherwise, the hounds from Tepei-Kuon will find this place. You guys singed their tails pretty good the day before yesterday."

  "It’s decided," Kairu said. "Well, Anzerrat? Are you coming with us?"

  "To the Folkar’s Pass… and maybe beyond," the Nocturn answered enigmatically.

  "Joanna." Why was he asking? He already knew the answer…

  "I’ve already told you what I think," the girl smiled.

  "Rodrigo… you and Demetra will travel with us." She smirked. Kairu looked at Yuf:

  "And this time, you won’t leave your old friend?"

  "How could I!" Yuf grinned, and suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, pulled him into a tight hug. "We’re friends, damn it!"