Page 41 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“History is written by those who outlast and survive,” Yarla said.
“And sometimes, purposefully rewritten by those with something to hide,” Lark added.
A gleam of metal caught Lark’s eye. Behind one of the toppled shelves, partially hidden by debris, was a small door she hadn’t noticed during her previous visit. Unlike the rest of the archives, it appeared untouched by the Entity’s destruction.
“This door, it’s still shut,” she said, moving toward it. “It wasn’t broken into.”
Venrick helped her shift the heavy shelf aside. The door was made of a strange metal that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. No handle or lock was visible, only a circular indent with twelve smaller circles arranged around it.
“Another ward,” Lark murmured, running her hand over the smooth surface. “But different from the others.”
Yarla joined them, her eyes widening. “This is elven craft,” she said in surprise. “And very old.” She placed her palm against the center of the door, closing her eyes in concentration. After a moment, she withdrew her hand with a puzzled expression. “It’s still active, even after all this time. Whatever’s beyond this door, the Entity couldn’t reach it.”
“Can you open it?” Venrick asked.
Yarla studied the circular pattern. “Perhaps. These twelve points,” she indicated the smaller circles, “they would need to be activated simultaneously in the original binding. But there’s a shortcut built into these kinds of elven wards.” She pressed her fingers to specific points in a complex pattern.
Nothing happened.
“It needs power,” she said. “A catalyst.”
Lark touched her pendant, feeling Nix’s presence stirring within. “Would fae magic work?”
“Possibly,” Yarla replied. “But we would need dragon magic as well, to mirror the original binding.”
Venrick flipped his sword around to offer the Yogo Sapphire. “Would this help? I don’t think there’s anything left in it after Haven’s Edge. It’s not pure dragon essence, but it holds magical energy.”
Lark shook her head. “It needs to be from a direct source.” She extended her hand to Yarla. “The last time I did this, I lost control. With your knowledge of spellcasting, maybe we try together? With an extra set of hands, I might be able to direct the flow better.”
Yarla hesitated for just a moment.
“I can channel White Eye’s power through our bond. With your help, providing an extra conduit, I can weave Nix’s power in without unraveling the wards and destroying whatever’s inside.”
“I could help,” Venrick said. “I’m not as skilled as Yarla with magic, but maybe I’d be enough to help support you, Lark.”
“Someone needs to remain apart in case it goes terribly wrong. You will be our safety net if we fail,” Lark told him.
Yarla nodded and took Lark’s hand. As their fingers intertwined, Lark felt the elf’s innate magic, cool and flowing like a mountain stream, mingling with her own dual sources of power. She closed her eyes, drawing gently on her connection to White Eye. His energy came willingly, a warm current flowing through her veins.
Nix,she called silently.We need you.
The pendant flared hot against her skin. For a moment, Lark felt Nix’s reluctance, but then a flood of fae power joined the mix, dancing like flame through her blood.
Yarla gasped as the combined energies flowed from Lark into her. Together, they pressed their free hands against the circular pattern on the door. The metal began to hum, the twelve points illuminating one by one, alternating blue and silver. When thefinal point lit up, the door slid open with a sound like a long-held breath finally released.
Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of preserved parchment and ancient ink. Beyond the door lay a small chamber, its walls lined with untouched shelves. At its center stood a pedestal bearing a single book bound in what appeared to be dragon scale.
“A secret vault within the archives,” Venrick whispered. “Protected from even the Entity’s rage.”
They stepped inside, the combined magic of dragon and fae still tingling between Lark’s and Yarla’s joined hands. Unlike the chaos of the main archives, this chamber remained in perfect order. Scrolls were neatly arranged on shelves, their cases crafted from the same light-absorbing metal as the door. Small crystal orbs provided a soft illumination that burned for centuries without consuming fuel.
Lark approached the pedestal, drawn to the book at its center. The cover was indeed made of dragon scale, not brismil, however. This midnight black and iridescent scale was not from any of the original twelve dragons who’d ascended to the realm of the gods. This book’s cover was meant to serve the test of time, protected by the plate-armor like scale of a dragon shaped to protect whatever was written there.
“Careful,” Venrick warned. “It may be warded as well.”
But Lark felt no resistance when she reached for the book. As her fingers brushed the scaled cover, a sense of recognition passed through White Eye. A part of him, the ancestral memory he held, knew this tome.
She opened it gently, revealing pages of thin metal rather than parchment. Etched into each sheet was text in the same dual language they had seen throughout the sanctuary.
