We navigated through the bustling shopping district, weaving between merchants hawking colorful trinkets, elaborate elixir shops with their glowing bottles displayed in windows, and past the familiar weapon shop where we'd equipped ourselves the day before. The morning crowd parted around us as we methodically gathered supplies for the journey ahead—sturdy travel packs capable of carrying our necessities, preserved food that wouldn't spoil on the road, compact sleeping rolls designed for the vagrant lifestyle we'd adopted, and various other essentials.
Rowan maintained a list, methodically checking off items as we acquired them. "Water purification tablets," he muttered, making a mark on his parchment. "We should get some pain relieving healing potions too."
As we rounded the corner into a quieter section of the market, my attention was caught by an elderly woman struggling to prop up a wooden floor sign outside a small, single-story building. The faded lettering on the sign read "Velda's Volumes," and through the dusty windows, I could see towering bookshelves crammed with leather-bound tomes.
Something about the modest establishment struck a chord of memory within me—suddenly, I was transported back to Rublesville, to the cramped bookshop near the orphanage where I'd spent countless hours hiding from both the world and my circumstances. The familiar tightness gripped my chest, a bittersweet nostalgia for simpler, if not happier, times.
"Hey guys, I'm gonna stop in that bookstore real quick. I'll catch up," I said, already drifting toward the entrance, drawn by an impulse I couldn't quite articulate.
Maya glanced at the shop with mild curiosity. "Ok, don't take too long. We still need to visit the apothecary before midday."
As I pushed open the door, a small bell announced my arrival with a gentle chime. The interior was exactly as I'd anticipated—dimly lit, with dust motes dancing in the few rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the grimy windows. The familiar scent of aged paper, leather bindings, and the subtle underlying mustiness that all good bookshops seem to possess filled my lungs, causing me to cough slightly before I adjusted.
Seven-foot bookshelves created a labyrinth throughout the small space, their towering presence both intimidating and comforting. I navigated the narrow passages, running my fingers along the spines of countless volumes, each one a doorway to another world or repository of forgotten knowledge.
The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with spectacles perched precariously on her nose, glanced up from her ledger but offered only a polite nod before returning to her calculations. This, too, was familiar—the unspoken agreement between bibliophiles that browsing was a sacred, solitary activity.
I moved with purpose now, scanning the shelves methodically. If this shop was anything like the one in Rublesville, religious texts would be... yes, there in the back corner. My eyes scanned the titles until, with a small surge of triumph, I found it—a modestly bound volume with gold-leaf lettering that had partially flaked away with time and handling.
"Thelosus the Divine."
I carefully extracted the book, its familiar weight in my hands triggering a cascade of memories. This wasn't merely a children's fable or simple religious text—it was the foundation of the predominant faith that spanned the continents in this world. The calendar itself began with Thelosus's death and subsequent defeat of the Mad King, an event that occurred 517 years ago.
The tome chronicled the life of Thelosus, the first and only light magic user ever recorded in history. His conquest against the Mad King and his armies who sought to subjugate the world had transformed from historical account to religious doctrine over the centuries. According to the teachings, Thelosus hadn't truly died—he had transcended, becoming one with the divine light he wielded. Devotees believed that through prayer and righteous living, Thelosus would grace them with his purifying light, offering protection and salvation.
I opened the book to a familiar illustration—Thelosus standing atop a mountain, arms outstretched as beams of light radiated from his form, driving back the darkness that engulfed the lands below. Something about the image had always captivated me since I first discovered the book shortly after arriving in this world. I'd read it at least ten times, finding new details and nuances with each reading.
A strange dissonance tickled the back of my mind as I stared at the illustration. The righteous light that Thelosus commanded inspired awe and reverence... yet I recalled the visceral hatred I'd felt toward similar light in my dreams. The contradiction unsettled me, but also intensified my curiosity.
Perhaps reading this again would offer some insight into my troubling visions. At the very least, it would provide familiar comfort during the uncertainties that lay ahead.
Decision made, I approached the counter and placed the book before the shopkeeper. She glanced up, a knowing smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
"Ah, Thelosus. Not many young folks interested in the old religion these days," she remarked, her voice surprisingly melodious for her apparent age. "Five copper."
I counted out the coins, the transaction depleting my personal funds more than was probably wise, but some instinct told me this purchase was necessary. After carefully wrapping the book in protective cloth, the shopkeeper handed it back to me.
"His light guide your path," she offered—the traditional blessing of Thelosus's followers.
I nodded politely, tucking the precious volume into my newly acquired travel pack before stepping back into the street. The sudden brightness momentarily blinded me, and I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the change.
Up ahead, I spotted Rowan and Maya emerging from another shop, their packs noticeably fuller. I quickened my pace to rejoin them, my mind still partially lingering among dusty shelves and ancient tales.
"Find anything interesting?" Rowan asked as I fell into step beside them.
"Just an old favorite," I replied, patting my pack. "Thought it might make the journey more bearable."
Maya raised an eyebrow but didn't question further. Instead, she gestured toward the northern district. "We've got everything we need. Only one thing left to do now."
Her words hung in the air between us, the unspoken weight of farewells adding gravity to our steps. We'd all grown attached to this place and its people, despite our short stay.
"Smith and his group," I confirmed with a nod. "Let's not drag it out. Quick goodbyes are kinder in the end."
As we turned toward the area of the medical building, I felt the book pressing against my back through the fabric of my pack—a reminder of light and darkness, of ancient conflicts and, perhaps, answers to the questions that haunted my dreams.