Layers, the Realms of Lorian

"Perfect. This is exactly what we needed. To think the Sorcerers overlooked this," Sanni said, her tone sharp with satisfaction as she tapped the edge of a worn, leather-bound book.

"It looks like any other book labeled Foreign Affairs," Mirak replied, his voice flat, as if unimpressed by her excitement.

Sanni's silver eyes flicked up from the pages, narrowing at her companion. "This 'ordinary book,' as you so carelessly call it, contains records of the trade routes of the Ancient Empire."

Mirak shrugged as he flipped through another book, his fingers brushing over brittle, yellowed pages. "And I fail to see why the sea lanes of an empire erased from history would matter now. It's hardly relevant."

Sanni leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing her legs and tilting her head as if sizing him up. Her voice dropped to a controlled, clipped cadence. "This book displays routes connecting Trie to Votheau. Do you have any idea what could be accomplished if we uncovered a network that linked all elves, orcs, and men? The very foundation of Lorian's fractured kingdoms could shift."

"No," Mirak said blandly, without looking up. "I'm a Publici. I'm not paid to care about politics."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sanni's lips, though her gaze sharpened. "Ah, forgive me. I momentarily forgot my place. Of course, the concerns of states and kingdoms are beneath you, Mirak." Her voice was sweet, with just enough of an edge to draw blood.

He bristled at the remark but didn't rise to her bait, choosing instead to turn another page.

Sanni continued, as if speaking to herself. "In the end, it may not matter. Sunreachers will never allow ships to sail that far into the ocean, let alone establish new trade routes."

Mirak glanced up briefly, curiosity flickering in his amber eyes. "Sunreachers? Aren't they just pirates? Why would they care what happens in the far oceans?"

"'Pirates,'" Sanni repeated with a scoff. "Is that what they call themselves now? Don't let the word mislead you. It would be foolish to believe what comes out of their mouths. Sunreachers are far more than brigands on the sea—they are the self-styled guardians of the ocean. They have plundered for centuries, yes, but their motives are obscured by layers of plots and secrecy. Expeditions to sail beyond the Divine Tower, even those backed by Koona herself, never reach farther than the swirling waves that encircle that cursed spire."

She pressed her lips together, her tone darkening. "They are bad for business, Mirak. And worse for the stability of the world."

"Trade is the Fell family's bread and butter," Mirak muttered, "so I suppose they'd feel the pinch the hardest."

Sanni leaned forward slightly, her pale fingers brushing the corner of the book. Her gaze lingered on him for just a moment too long before she said, "Yes. And that is why this book is important. A needle of truth hidden in the lies of the Sorcerers and their carefully curated histories. It may yet tell us how the Ancient Empire mastered these sea lanes."

Mirak frowned, scanning the text before him. "It's just another biased account of the Second War of Thought," he said, his voice laced with doubt. "It practically reveres Atta as divinity. The author must've been a Sorcerer's lapdog."

"Then it's worthless," Sanni replied flatly. Her expression, so carefully composed, faltered for a fraction of a second. She closed the book and leaned back, her fingers tapping the spine in an unconscious rhythm. "All this work, and it leads us to yet another dead end."

Mirak, who had been mostly silent until now, cleared his throat softly. The sound was tentative, but it drew their attention.

Sanni arched a silver brow, her gaze sharp but curious. "You usually don't start the conversation, ," she said, her tone poised but not unkind.

A faint flush crept over Mirak's face. "...I've seen things," he said after a moment, his words halting as he forced himself forward. "Things Sorcerers would call impossible."

Sanni's expression shifted ever so slightly, her interest piqued. Her silver eyes flicked around the library, scanning the rows of shelves as though ensuring they were alone. Then she turned back to him. "You tread on dangerous ground. The Sorcerers kill for far less."

Mirak interjected, leaning back with a smirk. "All I'll say is that Atta isn't everything. Look at the elves. They accomplish far more than simply 'harmonizing' with their environment."

"Elves?" Sanni said with a faint laugh. "You mean those outcasts marooned on fractured islands? Their sub-species squabble more amongst themselves than any kingdom of men. They're hardly relevant."

Mirak shifted tactics, his voice more pointed now. "And what about the Saki? Are you going to claim their powers come from Atta too? It's ridiculous!" He carefully avoided mentioning Revenants, though his tone carried the weight of unspoken words.

Sanni's eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak often of Sorcerers and Atta, but you don't seem to believe all the lies they peddle. That's interesting, for a Publici."

Mirak straightened his back defensively. "They hold the most power in Lorian. That doesn't mean I have to swallow everything they say. It's better to…" He faltered as Sanni leaned forward, her piercing gaze making his words catch in his throat.

"I'm waiting," she said, her voice soft but commanding, as though daring him to squirm under her gaze.

Mirak nearly toppled backward as he scrambled for words. "I… traveled with a Sorcerer. On the way to Koona."

Her brow arched higher, and her faint smirk grew. "And the Publici shackles?"

Mirak stiffened, cursing her sharpness. "An unforeseen… circumstance."

Thankfully, Sanni didn't press further. Instead, she returned to her book, flipping through the pages with casual precision. "A truth for a truth?"

Mirak hesitated. "What truth are you looking for from a 'lowly Publici'?" he asked, his voice wary.

Sanni's smirk deepened, the rose-pink curve of her lips softening her otherwise cool expression. "A simple one. Nothing that should trouble you much."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Mirak muttered.

She folded her hands neatly atop the book. "Will you answer my question, or not?"

"To the best of my ability," he replied.

Sanni tilted her head slightly. "What was the Sorcerer's name?"

Mirak blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. "That's it?"

"Did you expect something else?" Sanni asked, her silver eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It was a Sorceress, actually," Mirak said cautiously. "Her name was Winter."

Sanni's expression shifted slightly, her gaze sharpening. "Winter Blackwood?"

"That's her," Mirak confirmed.

"The Sorceress of Storms," Sanni murmured, almost to herself. "The one to whom all winds bow. A Voda of the Sorcerer's Temple. The last I heard, she traveled with no one and despised bloodshed. So tell me, Mirak—why would such a woman accompany a Publici?"

Mirak's response was careful, his voice measured. "She was patient enough with us… until she abandoned us."

Sanni studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "You've answered my question. I suppose it's only fair I answer one of yours."

Mirak's breath caught. He had only one question, one that burned within him since the deaths of his friends. He had to know the truth. He played his hand.

"What are the Essences?"

Sanni's smile widened, her expression unreadable. "Why do you think there are more than one?"