Chapter 69 – Library of the Old Keeper Of Keys

“My apologies, that was the ring speaking. Greetings, old master.” 

Darya said with a slight bow. The old man’s eyes flared a bit, and his confused face relaxed. He gave her a toothless smile. 

“Ah, I thought that was odd…” He put his hands on his waist. Just as Sarka had noticed, they were fully black. “May I know your name?” 

“Apologies again, I’m Darya Altazark. I came here—”

“The Altazarks, from Karossa. Not every day I get visitors from royalty!” the old man smiled brightly. “Allow me to honor you, young lady Altazark.”

“I am Vantre Rugareth, the last of my bloodline. Keeper of the keys,” he announced in a stronger voice. He breathed in, adjusted his hands on his waist, and bowed way harder than Darya thought. His bones popped loudly. 

“Rugareth…?” Sarka whispered. 

“Whoa! Please, there’s no need for a bow!” Darya hurried to him, thinking the poor old man had snapped himself in half. 

“Princess! Don’t touch him! That could be Dreagan—” Sarka yelled. 

The old man straightened on his own and smiled. “There is only one reason you visited these Greybone ruins. You must be Prince Volfarro’s lover.”

“Lover? I’m not—” Darya paused. No one had told her anything like that. Maybe the old man came up with that fanfiction on his own. She took the path of least resistance. “Sure, can I see him?” 

“Why of course, princess.” The old man gestured cordially at the path behind him. 

“The black parts! I demand an answer!” Sarka yelled. 

Darya looked at the old man. “Apologies for the third time, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious.” 

Vantre gave her a toothless smile again. "This here is my curse. I was infected with a death orb a long time ago, when I was a child.”

“Infected?” Sarka exclaimed. "I have never heard of such a thing! Have you become a partial Shadow?” 

“This is interesting,” Darya said, eying the old man’s blackened limbs. There could be more hiding under his robes, but he was perfectly normal from the neck up. 

“Do you have perfect control over yourself?” Darya asked as the old man began to lead her through the path. 

“Of course not,” Vantre laughed. “I’m getting too old for most things. I’d be lucky to wake up with the strength to stand up one of these days.”

What was his plan then? Roll over and die all alone on this island? 

It was sadder than she realized. Vantre sounded so gentle, polite, and kind-natured. The keeper of the keys, the last one alive, dying on his own. That stung her heart. Perhaps she could take him on the Desert Rose. 

“I meant the infection,” Darya said. “You know, Shadows do things Dreagans want and all that?” 

“That is the second time I heard these strange words. Is this what people call death orbs these days?”

“That is one of the old names for them,” Sarka confirmed. “Old master, do you mean to say no one has visited here until recently?”

“Not many, for sure. People come and go over the years. Some stay for tea, some for lunch. Prince Volfarro is the longest anyone has ever stayed, but he hasn’t been in a talkative mood,” Vantre said.  

“If people came and went, how have you not heard of these modern terms? Considering there is one death orb hovering above this very island right now?!” Sarka asked. 

“Above us?” Vantre asked, craning his head back to look at the sky. He squinted. “Where?!” 

“It’s over the clouds, surely,” Darya said. “I can’t see it either, but I know it’s there. Have you ever seen it?” 

“Why, this is alarming!” Vantre said, wide-eyed. “People that came here don’t talk much at all….”

“That is very strange,” Sarka remarked. 

“Sarka, you didn’t even introduce yourself yet. You keep blasting questions out of nowhere. Isn’t that rude?” Darya asked.  

“Humblest apologies, old master.  I am Sarka vol Recaldor, the third seat of the Goliante High Council. That was about a hundred and twenty years ago. Now I live inside this soulstone ring.” 

“Oh my,” Vantre said, his eyes widening even further. “That name, I know who you are!” 

“Wait, you do?” Darya asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Indeed, I’ve read about legendary Archmages. Magus Sarka had published many books, if I remember right.” 

“Hah! Finally someone who knows about my brilliance. My fame has reached even the center of the crescent and survived when all else failed!” Sarka sounded quite proud. 

The old man smiled over his shoulder. “What a surprise! We meet again so soon!” 

“Soon? Now, hold on a moment, have we met before?” Sarka asked. “Soon? How is that possible?”

“Wait, do Merfolk even live that long?” Darya asked. She hadn’t thought about it at all. Lurim was three, and Nerima was twelve. Sarka himself had told her back in Galtea that Nerima was supposed to be a teenager in human years. 

Wait. That time gap isn’t extreme like it is for Elves. How could he have met Sarka then? Is he older than a hundred and twenty? When was Sarka’s last visit here? 

“There are some long-lived merfolk bloodlines, but Rugareth isn’t one of them,” Sarka explained. 

“Hmm? Didn’t we meet a few years back?” Vantre asked, scratching his head. “Perhaps I imagined it, or misheard the name.” 

That made things even sadder. Vantre’s memory was jumbling things. He was indeed getting too old to live all alone. 

“Either way, this is exciting! An archmagus on the finger of a Karossan princess visiting me on this old island!” Vantre laughed. “This is a tale for the ages!” 

Sarka cleared his throat. “She is not just any princess, old master. She herself is an archmagus,” Sarka said. 

“Oh my!” Vantre gasped. “So young, so beautiful, and so talented!”

“Why do you sound surprised?” Sarka asked. “Not all archmages are wrinkly old men. I looked really good in my eighties, thank you.”

Vantre laughed. “I only meant it as a compliment to the princess.” He looked ahead at the tree looming at the top of the slope. “Prince Volfarro has such a brilliant lover. I will be blunt and honest. This is rather surprising.”

“Oh, because he’s whining like a baby?” Darya asked with a grin. “Has he been giving you a hard time?” 

“He refuses to even get off my bed. I’ve been sleeping on the floor. So many days now.” 

“You should’ve kicked him out already. Why didn’t you?” Darya asked. 

“I would never disrespect royalty,” Vantre said loudly. “Besides, the prince is quite young and delicate. He needed careful tending, and only light persuasion.” 

I’ll show him some light fucking persuasion when I get up this damn slope. I’ll carry the idiot if I have to. Give this poor old man his bed back.

They walked up the slope, Darya feeling bad with every step the old man had to take. She couldn’t believe he walked this on the regular. The only way this was even possible was with these limbs that weren’t as aged as the rest of his body. Maybe he had one good knee, or a strong hip because of it. The top half was hunched and swaying like an old ship. 

They made it to the old tree, which covered a large patch of flat ground. The cabin was built next to it. It looked nothing like what she saw through the branches from above. The wooden part was just an attachment.

The real building was made of old stone and looked as old as the tree. The roof itself was built like a miniature castle. It had stood the test of time. 

Everything about this place had an odd smell of nostalgia about it. It was homely. That sense of a welcoming place, a place that made her brain immediately tick off the 'I want to live here’ check box. She had only felt the same thing on the Desert Rose.

The door was an old set of black planks with large iron hinges. The old man almost lifted an inch off the ground when he caught it after opening the latch. 

Getting too old, he said. He’s going to fly off this door and fall down the slope. 

Inside the building, it looked more like a library than a cabin. Book shelves decorated almost every wall, and they were almost crystallized, almost part of the wood. 

“This used to be a library?” Darya asked, looking around. This place didn’t look like anything Nerima told her. 

“A very long time ago,” Vantre said, gesturing at a stone doorway. “My eyes aren’t good anymore, and most of these books can’t be opened. My father used to say they were frozen with a powerful spell.” 

“Why would anyone freeze a library?” Sarka asked. “What sort of knowledge did this place contain? We must undo the spell at once!” 

“We just got here, calm down,” Darya said with a scoff. Unfreezing a library was somewhere at the bottom of her checklist. Find Emil, kill that Dreagan, and get this old man off this island. 

“Curious why magus Sarka is surprised by this,” Vantre said, gesturing at the shelves. “I could swear he stood right here with me not so long ago.” 

“You must have the wrong druid, old master. I promise you I’ve never seen this place!” 

“How strange. I wonder who that druid was!”

She followed Vantre through the doorway and came up on a place that actually fit the description Nerima gave her.

It was the wooden attachment next to the stone building. This looked more like a hunter’s cabin. There was a round pit at the center and a chimney above it. All sorts of fish hung above it, as well as some other cuts of meat. 

It had a small kitchen area, and a section on the other side covered with an old curtain. Vantre gestured that way with a smile. “There is your prince, princess.” 

“One moment, princess!” Sarka said. “I’ve been thinking about this other druid. It is bothering me. Isn’t that really strange?” 

“It is strange, but I don’t think master Vantre can tell us much more than that,” Darya said, looking at the old man. He was nodding.  “Maybe some people passed through here over the years. We can’t be the only explorers. Time must have blurred in his memories.” 

“Well, I just had a terrible thought.” Sarka hesitated for a bit. “What if that was my Shadow? What if anyone old master Vantre had ever met was just a Shadow, except for Prince Volfarro of course.”

Darya opened her mouth. “I—wh?”

She closed her mouth.

Some unlikely dots started connecting in her head.