The cart had been moving for several hours now, and the afternoon light was beginning to soften toward evening as they passed through a stretch of dense forest.
Alucent sat beside Joy on the cushioned bench, with Gryan and Raya facing them on the opposite side. The cart was spacious enough that there was comfortable distance between each of them, and the white window curtains with their golden edges had been pulled back to the sides, allowing the landscape to pass in full view.
They had traveled through mountain roads first, the cart swaying as the wheels rolled over uneven stone, and then descended into valleys where rivers cut through the land like silver ribbons catching the light. After that came forests, dense and green, with sunlight filtering through the leaves in shifting patterns. Somewhere in the canopy above, birds called to one another in sounds Alucent did not recognize.
He watched the trees pass and thought about how vast this world was. He had seen maps in the Scriptorium, had studied the regions in his father's journals, but seeing it unfold outside the window was different. The scale pressed against his mind in a way that ink on parchment could not convey.
At that moment, the cart jolted as it passed over a root, and Alucent's shoulder brushed against Joy's arm. He straightened and said, "Apologies."
Joy glanced at him with a slight smile. "The roads through the Vale are not known for their smoothness."
Alucent nodded and looked back out the window. After a moment, he asked, "Runepeaks Vale. What can you tell me about it? I've read of it, but not in detail."
Joy reached into her satchel and pulled out a small cloth bundle, which she unwrapped to reveal several pieces of dried fruit. She offered it to the group, and Raya took a piece with a murmured thanks. Gryan shook his head, and Alucent took one as well. He bit into it and found it sweet and slightly chewy.
"Runepeaks is the Vale of mastery and discipline," Joy said as she selected a piece for herself and ate it. "Tradition, precision, and a steady, technical kind of spirituality reign above all else there."
Alucent chewed and swallowed before asking, "Technical spirituality?"
Joy wiped her fingers on a small cloth. "They treat the divine the way a clockmaker treats his gears. Everything must be measured. Tested. Standardized." She folded the cloth and set it aside. "It is the great mountain-workshop of our world."
Gryan shifted in his seat and reached over to adjust the curtain on his side, pulling it back further to let in more of the fading light. "I've heard they're strict about their craft," he said.
"Every line drawn must be flawless," Joy said, nodding. She looked at Alucent. "Their creed is simple. 'A crooked line is a crooked life.'"
At those words, Raya's gaze shifted to Alucent.
She said nothing, but her eyes held his for a moment, and Alucent felt the weight of that glance settle somewhere in his chest.
He remembered standing at Gryan's workbench, the gun design spread out before him, and Raya's voice sharp with anger. "There's a creed in the Rune-Weave. 'A crooked line is a crooked life.' Every flaw in your inscription reflects a flaw in your character. It shows in the work. That's why we train for years to maintain focus. Because the Weave reads your soul when you etch. It knows if you're lying."
He remembered her pointing at the design. "What could be more crooked than this? Pre-etching runes in safety and comfort, then firing them later when there's no mental cost? No discipline required? You're trying to cheat the fundamental principle of the path."
And now the Caster sat in the pouch at his belt, loaded and ready.
Raya looked away, and Alucent said, "The birthplace of runes, then."
"Yes," Joy said. "The place where the magical Weaves were first measured and standardized for all the other Vales to use." She folded the cloth back over the remaining fruit and tucked it into her satchel. "Their people are industrious, ritualistic, strictly hierarchical. Because of this, Runepeaks is the most respected of all the Vales."
"And the most necessary," Raya said. She took another piece of fruit from her palm and ate it, her tone neutral now.
Joy nodded. "Without their exacting standards, the runic language we all rely on would fracture. The Weaves themselves would lose their reliability." She looked out the window at the passing trees. "Every other Vale, in the end, depends on Runepeaks' precision."
The cart continued on, and the forest began to thin. The trees grew shorter and more sparse, and then they parted entirely to reveal open land stretching toward the horizon.
And beyond the open land, a lake.
Alucent leaned forward to look. The lake stretched out before them, vast and impossibly still, its surface reflecting the orange and gold of the approaching sunset. The water was so calm that it looked almost solid, like polished glass laid across the earth. No ripples disturbed the surface. No wind seemed to touch it.
Raya turned in her seat to stare at it. Her eyes widened, and she said nothing, but her gaze remained fixed on the water as the cart rolled along the road that skirted its edge.
Joy watched her for a moment, then asked, "Do you feel anything, looking at it?"
Raya didn't turn away from the window. "I do," she said quietly. "Something heavy. Like the water is watching me back."
Joy nodded slowly. "This is Tiamont Lake."
Gryan leaned forward to look as well, his brow furrowing. "I've heard that name before."
"Most have," Joy said. She folded her hands in her lap and looked out at the water. "It is said that during the late stage of the Sixth Myric, during what the old records call the Absolute War, a dynasty fell here. Their history, their fortune, and the powers of the Deity they served all sank into these depths."
Raya turned sharply to look at Joy. "The Sixth Myric?"
Gryan's expression shifted as well. His eyes narrowed, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded like "infinite depths" and "death wish" mixed together with a gruff exhale.
Alucent looked at Raya's face, at the surprise written plainly across her features, and felt a faint amusement stir in his chest. Endearingly naive, he thought. Like a pup discovering fire for the first time.
He glanced at Gryan, who was gripping his knee, his jaw tight.
They've both lived their entire lives without knowing any of this. And here Joy speaks of it as casually as she might discuss the weather.
"Many people in this current Myric have tried traversing the lake," Joy continued. "Going into its depths in search of riches, or power." She paused and looked at the still water. "None have ever returned to tell whether the depths are infinite or simply dangerous."
"None?" Gryan said, his voice low. "Not a single one?"
"Not a single one," Joy confirmed.
Gryan shook his head and muttered, "Fools swimming into their own graves for a story."
Raya leaned forward, her composure forgotten. "The Sixth Myric," she said, her voice eager. "How long ago was that? What else do you know about it?"
Joy smiled gently and gave a small shrug. "Personally, I feel that much of it is simply myth. Stories passed down and embellished over generations."
"But you just said—" Raya began.
"I said what the records claim," Joy said, her tone patient. "But consider this. The Sixth Myric, according to those same records, lasted for over one hundred and eighty thousand years." She tilted her head. "Does that not seem absurd to you?"
Raya's mouth opened, then closed.
Alucent watched her struggle with the number and felt the amusement deepen. She looks like someone just told her the sun is actually a lantern hung by giants. The same woman who lectured me about crooked lines now sits slack-jawed at the mention of deep history. This is charming, in its way.
"One hundred and eighty thousand years," Joy repeated. "And we are meant to believe that a single era, with its wars and dynasties and deities, persisted for that long?" She shook her head, her expression mild. "Anyone who believes such things without question is not merely unwise. Foolishness lives in them."
Gryan snorted. "Harsh."
"Practical," Joy said, though her smile softened the word.
Raya was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "But you're not saying it's impossible?"
Joy looked at her, and something in her expression shifted. The smile remained, but it grew thoughtful. "I am saying that the knowledge I possess is limited. I do not know if the Myrics truly existed as the records describe. I do not even know if we are truly in the Seventh Myric, or if that is simply a label we have given our current age to make sense of the past."
She looked out at Tiamont Lake, which was beginning to recede behind them as the cart continued along the road.
"The Seventh Myric has already lasted seven hundred years," Joy said. "Seven hundred years is long enough for records to be lost, rewritten, or invented. Imagine what could happen over one hundred and eighty thousand."
Raya was quiet.
Gryan rubbed his jaw and said nothing.
Alucent watched Joy's profile as she gazed at the lake, and he thought about the Journal. About what it had told him regarding the Sixth Myric. The Mirror Schism. The Scribe who had tried to rewrite the "Author".
The Journal had been there. It had seen it happen. And it had told him his mind was too fragile to hold that knowledge.
Perhaps Joy is wiser than she realizes, he thought. Or perhaps she simply doesn't know what she doesn't know.
After a long moment, Joy turned back to face them. "But if the records at Runespeak say that the Sixth Myric existed, then perhaps it did," she said. "The archivists there do not fabricate. They do not embellish." She smiled faintly. "If anyone has the truth of it, it is them."
Raya nodded slowly. Then her brow furrowed, and she looked at Joy with an expression that was part curiosity, part something deeper.
"But then," Raya said, her voice quieter now, "does that mean the goddess Anima could have existed before this Myric?"
The question hung in the air.
Joy's smile faded, and she did not answer immediately.
Alucent felt something tighten in his chest. Anima. The First Weaver. The Law of Origin. The name the Journal had warned him not to speak lightly.
He looked at Joy and waited for her response.
But before she could speak, the cart passed the final edge of Tiamont Lake, and the water disappeared behind the trees.