Chapter 1246: Every Spell has a Story

"Oh, just look how far you’ve come," Thron said, patting my cheek fondly. "You’ve gone and become a ninth-level mage, I see. And your hair! It’s grown so long and beautiful."

He ran a hand through my hair, letting it rest on my back. I squeezed him tighter, sniffling and shivering, hardly daring to breathe. If I did, I might just wake up and find that none of this was real.

"You must be, what, fifteen? Sixteen years old now?" he asked, drawing back to give me a good, scrutinizing look.

I shifted, clasping my hands in my skirt. "S-something like that, I think."

"You’ve developed into a fine young woman. Still with your manners, I see." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "I can’t remember the last time I heard of a ninth-level mage greeting an old man like me with such affection. Most would expect me to bow before them."

I ducked my head, smiling faintly. The thought of actually asking Thron to bow before me was almost enough to make me laugh, although the tears still hadn’t quite stopped.

He took my hand and led me to a small alcove on the side of the library, nestled beside a soot-stained window. Beyond the glass, there was nothing but destruction, with fires burning through the gardens and thick columns of smoke rising toward the heavens. I spared it a glance, but my attention quickly returned to the elderly librarian. I didn’t let go of his hand, even as we sat across from each other.

Verity glided over, and Thron glanced at her, his brow rising in surprise.

"Why, Verity! Dear, dear," he said with a small chuckle. "Both of you at once. What a pleasant surprise. I’d hold your hand, but..." He shrugged helplessly, and she smiled, reaching out to take his hand. He blinked in surprise, but he looked delighted.

"Oh, don’t worry. I’m not a ghost yet," she said with a chuckle.

"I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered someone in your condition. A living soul, is it?" He nodded to himself and glanced at me. "And carried by the Oracle, no less. Two heroes bound together. I’d call it fate, but that seems a little on the nose."

Verity laughed softly and, with a glance at me, let go of his hand.

"I think I’ll give you two some space. I’ll make sure things are ready with Nithalee. Wouldn’t put it past her to forget about the mission. She’s grabbing like a crone."

"Ah, yes, the mission." Thron made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on then, girl. We’ll have time to catch up later, I hope."

As Verity left, I held Thron’s hand a little tighter, conscious of how thin and fragile his fingers felt in mine. His skin was loose around his knuckles, marked by countless little wrinkles I didn’t remember seeing before.

"Thron, you seem... different?"

"You mean older?" he asked, smiling at my hesitation. "Don’t worry, child. I’ve made my peace with that. The truth is, I am an old man. I was old when we met, and the years haven’t been particularly generous since."

He glanced down at our joined hands and ran his thumb across my knuckle.

"I never thought I’d lay eyes on you in the flesh again," he mused. "Not after everything that happened. I suppose I ought to count myself fortunate that I lived long enough to hold your hand once more."

My stomach tightened. He sounded so accepting, almost as though he were saying goodbye, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again so soon.

"T-Thron, you’re not..."

"Dying?" He shook his head. "Not today, I should hope. I’ve still got a great many books that need sorting, and I don’t trust those young librarians to put them back in the proper order."

I let out a small, shaky laugh, and he smiled.

"But I won’t live forever, child. No one does. That’s the wonderful thing about books, you know. They can live on long after the people who wrote them are gone."

He glanced around the library, his expression growing thoughtful.

"I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by spells. Thousands upon thousands of them, each written by someone who wished to leave a little knowledge behind. Each one is a story in itself, written in runes. Some were written by great mages; others, little more than apprentices. You’d be surprised how often the latter had something worth teaching the former."

He paused, giving me a meaningful look.

"And then there are the spells that were written too late. The ones created because someone lost something precious and couldn’t bear for it to happen again." His expression dimmed. "I’ve written a few of those myself. I only wish I’d known what I know now, back when it might have made a difference."

I stared at him, remembering all the hours I’d spent poring over those same books, desperately searching for a way to overcome my curse and escape the pain. Back then, I’d thought magic held an answer to everything, if only I could learn enough of it.

Thron sighed, then looked back at me. "But here I am, rambling about books again. You must be tired of listening to this old man. You’ve come for war, not conversation"

I shook my head fiercely. "N-no. Never."

His expression softened, and the tears I’d been fighting welled up again. I blinked, but it was futile, and they trickled down my cheeks.

"I’m sorry," I whispered. "And thank you. You were one of the first people who treated me kindly when I had nowhere else to turn. Even after I left, you..."

My voice faltered, and I swallowed hard.

"When I got your letter..."

I reluctantly released his hand, fumbled for my ring, and withdrew the old, tattered parchment. It was weathered and stained from the countless tears I’d shed while reading it. The folds were so deeply creased that I feared it might disintegrate if I opened it one more time.

"I kept it with me," I whispered, placing it carefully between us. "All this time. Whenever things got too difficult, I’d read it again. Sometimes I didn’t even need to open it. Just knowing I had it was enough."

Thron stared at the parchment for a long moment, his eyes glinting in recognition.

"You still have that, do you?" he murmured, reaching out to touch the worn paper. "Goodness. I’d almost forgotten what I wrote."

"I haven’t."

He raised his gaze to mine, and I managed a small, trembling smile.

"I don’t think I would have made it without you."

For once, Thron seemed at a loss for words. He looked down at the letter again, carefully tracing one of the creases with his finger.

"I’m rather surprised that never came back to bite me," he said eventually. "The inquisitors were quite thorough in their investigation. Even drove out Lady Selena. If she hadn’t come to me when she did...she’s quite impulsive herself." He clicked his tongue.

"But not you?" I asked.

He shook his head, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

"I told you before, didn’t I? I know all the spells. Did you think I’d be caught so easily?"

I nodded, smiling through my tears. I’d almost forgotten that, but he wasn’t the chief librarian of the Library of Light for nothing.

"I’m just glad it made it to you," he said, his smile fading. "I didn’t know where you were, or whether you’d ever read it. There wasn’t much I could do for you from here, but I had to try."

He folded the letter carefully and pushed it back toward me.

"And I’d do it again, child. Even if I’d known the inquisitors would come birding through the doors and arrest me in this hallowed space."

I looked down at the parchment, unable to find the words to answer him.

"You know, I’ve lived long enough to make a great many mistakes," Thron continued. "Lost friends, missed opportunities, and stood by when I ought to have done something. I can’t change any of that, no matter how many spells I learn." His voice dropped, breaking slightly. "There is no magic that can bring them back."

He took my hand again, enclosing it in both of his hands.

"But I could help you. Just a little. And seeing you here now, knowing that you’re alive and well..." His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I think that makes an old man’s life a little easier to look back upon."

I lowered my head, squeezing his hands as another tear fell onto the letter. For all the magic I’d learned and everything I’d accomplished since leaving the Divine Throne, I couldn’t think of anything to say that expressed how much his kindness had meant to me.

But I had to try, and so, lowering my head, I whispered, "Thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. I smiled shyly

"Sorry, there’s nothing else I can say more than that. But I did learn how to smile," I said, looking up hopefully.

He chuckled at that, reaching across the table and ruffling my hair. "So you did. If there was anything that made it so I didn’t recognize you, that was it. But it looks right on you. Like it belongs. You have a very pretty smile. I envy the man that eventually catches your fancy.

I mumbled, bunching my hands in my skirt. Just then, a shockwave struck the library, rippling through the stone. I flinched, and Thron looked up, alarmed. "What the? There are eighth-level wards shielding this place."

I started to rise, reaching for my staff, but then paused as a familiar aura settled across the library. I settled again, looking at Thron, my lips twitching. "So, um, about that man...um, there’s someone I’d like you to meet."