The faint sound of Lucien's sandals echoed within the thick monastery walls. Brother Rowan had asked him to fetch a tome; an ancient reading kept in the oldest part of the monastery, deep within its cold stone depths.
Brother Rowan was old, and the stairs leading to that forgotten library were narrow and treacherous. Lucien had offered to retrieve the book without hesitation. He was young, curious, and that buried part of the monastery had always held a certain fascination for him.
The thought of all that knowledge, locked away from careless eyes, waiting to be uncovered with the approval of an elder monk, sent a quiet shiver down his spine. Philosophical treatises, tales of the deeds of the Gods; perhaps written by their own hands, back when deities still walked among mortals.
Lucien quickened his pace, raising the lantern before him. It creaked softly with every step, its flame stretching the shadows along the stone walls as he descended, one step at a time.
When he finally reached the great gate, Lucien could not suppress a small sigh of excitement. This was the last obstacle separating him from those ancient voices.
His wide green eyes lingered on the massive wood, and his tousled red hair caught the same warm hue as the lone flame guiding him.
With his free hand, he retrieved the key Brother Rowan had given him from the pocket of his heavy woolen robe. He inserted it into the lock and turned it slowly, the gate opening with a deep, resonant sound.
He found himself in a room whose exact dimensions he couldn't quite make out, swallowed by oppressive darkness. Lucien set the lantern down on a small wooden table and breathed in the heavy air; a mixture of dust and dampness, with a faint coolness seeping from the stone walls.
Without hesitation, he moved toward the large bookcase lining the nearest visible wall, his footsteps the only sound in that place forgotten by time.
Lucien paused to read the spines of the volumes resting on the shelves, only to frown when he found nothing written on them. Not a single title. It was going to be a long search.
With a quiet sigh, he pulled a book at random and brought it closer to the lantern, half-hoping he might be lucky enough to have chosen the right one so quickly. Instead, he frowned again. The text was written in a language he didn't recognize; the pages dotted with small symbols he couldn't interpret. He closed the book and slid it back into place.
Damn. He would be down here all day at this rate.
As he reached for another tome, his pale hand slipping from the heavy sleeve of his tunic and revealing a dusting of freckles along his wrist, Lucien noticed something else.
Carved into the wood of the shelf, just beneath the row of books, there was a symbol.