Defy (Demigods of the Death Gate; Book #2)

Chapter 3: Runes

・Tuntuk, The SeaKings・

My only solitude is the night. Night is when I am not expected to do anything, because I am expected to rest and recuperate for the next day. I know this. And I do not obey. I consider it my own act of rebelliousness. It is not nearly as perilous a rebellion as others, those who have been cast into exile. I think I enjoy the little rush of a stolen moment to myself because of the potential of exile being a punishment. But I do not think any one of my brethren will see exile as fitting for a simple crime such as neglecting sleep.

There are worse things I could be doing, I suppose. But allowing myself this solitude with my pen gives me the ability to reflect upon the day. In doing so, I can see any mistakes I might have made, and a way to avoid them. I can look back upon the day's issues, and figure out a way to resolve them now for the future. And here I am, not doing any of that.

I can see the other stars outside of my window. How fanciful, calling them stars. They are not, of course. According to my parents, the stars were something we could not manage to recreate when the realms were formed in the Sundering.

I wonder if there's someone in one of the other citadels who, like me, is indulging in a small act of rebellion. Perhaps the same act, being awake in the night when it is not our place. But something about the night makes me thoughtful, and makes it difficult to sleep sometimes. It makes me wonder, sometimes, what 'my place' is. Not just in our society, in the realms themselves.

What would my life be like if I was on Arianus, or Abbarach, or Chelestra? What would it be like if I wasn't born when I was, but in a generation of Sartan before or after? What else would be different if I wasn't Sartan?

Rebellious thoughts indeed.

The entry ended there. Annabeth set down her pen and reread the translation, comparing it against the Sartan text for errors. She was getting better at understanding the language, she made fewer and fewer errors with each new entry in this journal. The Sartan who had owned it, centuries before, was a woman named Athena. Her entries were similar to the one Annabeth had just transcribed, full of questions and philosophies. She offered a valuable insight into the culture of the Sartan when the citadels were still occupied.

Not that Annabeth grasped all of the meaning behind her words. What did Athena mean, when she said the stars were not stars? Did the word have a different meaning in the pre-Sundering world? Annabeth knew what the stars on Pyran were. Everyone did. They came and went over the cycles, blinking in and out irregularly. In light of this new information, however, Annabeth would need to keep a closer eye on the stars. Perhaps they would offer a clue to the whereabouts of the citadels.

Another word eluded her. Night. Unlike the word star, which had appeared a few times in previous Sartan texts, this one had somehow gone unmentioned. Then again, the Sartan journals she had previously read had all without fail chronicled the Sartan's troubles in keeping the mensch under control in the close confines of the citadels. This seemed to have been a universal issue, plaguing each of them thus far. Until Athena.

Annabeth wasn't entirely sure how Athena's journal had managed to fall into her hands to begin with. If her written words were as 'rebellious' as she claimed, surely the journal would have been hidden, at least from the other Sartan. It had obviously left the citadel with the mensch, when the Sartan finally cast them and the tytans out. But how?

She absently rubbed at the bandages covering the brands on her forearm. It had been a week since the tytans had emerged from the norinth and given her the rune brands in exchange for a partnership in the search for the citadels. Thus far all she had gleaned from them was a description of what the citadels appeared to be. It wasn't much information, but it was more than she had before.