Eldin sat at the desk, a leather-bound book in hand. It was a vast room, the floor a glittering mosaic of coloured tile. At the other side of this library, twin stairways led to a balcony, held up by marble columns which penetrated the upper walkway and reached the slightly domed roof made of glass and poured in great shafts of light. And then the walls, panelled with dark wood, held a plethora of art that told more story than all the books here could.
                The cases that held the books were so large; they required ladders to reach the tops and every single one was filled with books of all different sizes and shapes.
                Damyen was proud of this room. His family had acquired a great number of these tomes over several hundred years from the Old Land and even, he boasted, Old Magoria. Even his ancestors had contributed to the wealth of knowledge that lay here, and most had written accounts of their lives and there were several portraits of them hanging from the most prominent and large spaces available. He could see some now. His grandfather, tall and straight-backed, sat at a table in this very room. He was a handsome man, his down hair parted, those dark eyes looking down. That was the one thing he detested of this room, those that came before him, judging him.
                He walked as fast as he could up the stairs and round to the south wall where his son had seated himself. His favourite spot in this whole area, right at the window overlooking the edge of the cliff and out to the sea, endless and a deep, dark blue. The waves were high today, he noted, as he took a seat in front of the boy.
                Much like his great grandfather, he too had the parted dark hair and eyes, but the freckles and thick lips of his mother. He was thin too, far too thin to prove effective in combat, hence his hunger to read his books.
                “What is it you are reading today, son?” it was a simple question.
                “And nice to see you too father.” His words were slow and drawn out, an arrogant twist to them that made him want to strike him every time. No matter what he tried, the boy was petulant when he had the mood to be.
                “Indeed, so you are reading?” he knew not why he urged this. Maybe it was to prove some point.
                “The History of Magorane, in the time of the Magorians, of course.”
                “Of course.” The boy confused him. It was a grim book that told stories of fantastical creatures. “Why?”
                “Why does one read books father?” he shot back, his watery eyes flitting above the pages, then back.
                “Many different reasons,” he returned, “care to pick one?” he let out a low sigh. Sometimes he could be a very real struggle.
                “Did you know—“ oh here we go. “—that Magorane, in Eastguard, was the original name, long ago prior to our return to this land?” Damyen nodded, his lips pursed. Eldin had placed the book down now. “And did you know, that the cities along the coast have been there longer than we can remember?” Again he nodded, his eyes sharpened. “And did you know that its occupants had disappeared before we can remember?”
                This time he let out a breath. “They are my books, of course I know—“
                “Well then, do you not find this rather curious?” Damyen shook his head, placing his head in his hand for just a moment. “Think, where did they go? Why did they go? Why only here?”

The End

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