By The Moon's Blade

5. Grasshaven, Six Months Ago

I arrive at the tomb again around the same time the next day, but am able to get in much sooner in the day with an exact point of entry. I find the roughly disguised entrance and move the vines and grass that I used to conceal the stone hole.

My journey this morning began at sunrise and I left another note for my father before setting out. As much as this hope fills my stomach with whirls of excitement, I also recognize the importance of this place. And some part of my brain refuses to allow him into this sacred place. Whether that's the influence of the Demonclaws or my own personal demons, it doesn't matter. I'm determined to explore this place on my own.

The less my father knows, the better.

I make my descent, cover up the entry halfway with the slab, and set out down the spiral staircase yet again. This time, I think ahead and bring my lantern to light the torches lining the hallway. I keep my footsteps light to monitor for any potential intruders that may have found their way in.

But when I walk through the hall of lunar gods and face the door, I hear nothing outside of the sound of my own breathing and the crackle of the lantern hanging in my palm. I raise my knife in my other hand to the door and it begins to creak open again.

I sneak my way in and this time close the door until it seals with definite thud behind me. I set down my bag in the corner and walk again towards the brightstream in the middle of the room.

My mind is set at ease as the water mimics the same color as the brightstream flowing through the fountains in Starmill, a reassurance that every moment yesterday was not a figment of my imagination.

That same glow illuminates my face and a smile escapes from my lips. The first genuine smile I've experienced in... way too long a time. It's foreign to me, but I try not to question the energy that seems to be burrowing its way into my body. My strength feels greater just standing within this room.

With the water flowing at a slow pace, I decide to grab a couple of vials from my bag that I was able to find buried in our belongings. I take each vial and dip it into the water, filling it with that beautiful iridescent liquid. I place the vial up to the light and watch it swirl with some sort of delicate lilac sparkle. The swirls mesmerize me as I stare into the glass.

I blink quickly and carefully place the vials within a small pocket in my bag. I look back at the stream and inspect the rocks that are lining the bottom of the five-foot wide divot, the sharp edges jutting out into a rough surface. I carefully grab one of the rocks and bring it up from the trickling stream. Upon closer inspection, I notice the same crystalline matter transforming the bottom half of the stone. Anything submerged in that water has become a clear, purple crystal.

I pocket the rock and investigate a few more of the stones, all of which have been transformed into the same crystalline material. Dead Vestiges. All of them are Vestiges.

My eyes flare with anger and confusion as I get up from the stream to look around the room. I pull out one of the books I packed during this venture, A History of Timeworn Texts, and begin to leaf through the pages until I reach an earmarked section titled Lunarian Wordplay. The chapter outlines some of the basic tenets of the ancient Lunarian language, including translations of basic words and lettering.

I make my way over to the etching of the hands and peer up at the large wall of text next to it. I sit down far enough away to keep the whole excerpt within eyesight. Back and forth, my head tilts up to read and back down to the book to interpret the lettering. I scribble notes down with translations until I get a rough estimation of the text.

The words flow gently like calm water through a stream, gently trickling.

For the muse we sing