Library of Rain

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

 

Rain knew there was little she could do, but the look on Lucus’s face as he waited in the entry hall of the Estom manor made her feel uneasy. It certainly wasn’t helping her fight off the sadness that had decided today was another good day for an attack; at least it was less potent than the last few times.

 

“I’ll be fine; this is just a feast to open the Gathering. No one will pay any attention to me.”

 

Rain knew that wasn’t true. Lord and Lady Estom had been more dismissive than ever since the play, and Lucus was the one suffering for it. Rain wouldn’t be surprised if they were already planning to use Lucus to pay off favors tonight. 

 

Rain couldn’t bring herself to look Lucus in the eyes. She had set up that whole play to help him spend more time with his parents and give him an opportunity to impress them, but it had all backfired, and now Lord and Lady Estom wouldn’t simply ignore him; they would actively hurt him to punish Rain.

 

She was an awful person; everything she did hurt people. She was… she needed to calm down; this wasn’t about her right now.

 

“I’m sorry. If I just gave them money, they wouldn’t be angry at you.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

The murky color of those words hurt Rain. They weren’t black, but they were far from colorful. She could tell he didn’t want to, but a part of him blamed Rain. 

 

Before she could apologize again, Svend entered the entryway holding an elaborate wooden box the size of two hands put together - normal-sized hands, not Rain-sized hands. 

 

“I have the promise gift you made, Master Lucus.”

 

“Thanks, Svend.”

 

“I live to serve you,” Svend said with a joking smile and a gout of darkness.

 

Rain schooled her expression; this was another chance to try and figure out what Svend really wanted.

 

“And here I thought you said you were here for me,” Rain said, referencing something he’d said to a blushing maidservant. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember who he actually said that to. He talked like that all the time, after all.

 

“Lady Estom, you are the reason I wake up in the morning,” Svend said, dipping into a bow.

 

Rain tried not to smile at that because she had just confirmed something. Svend was, in fact, here for her. Or at least she was a part of the reason. His words had been far more colorful than usual.

 

That satisfaction was dampened because as good as it felt to finally get some information out of the lying valet, now wasn’t the time. Lucus still looked pale and worried, but now he was also a little annoyed at his sister and valet joking around while we worried.

 

“What’s a promise gift?” Rain asked, trying to bring Lucus into the conversation.

 

“I’ll tell you about them later. They're basically just a way to say things without words.”

 

That got Rain curious, but satisfying her curiosity wasn’t the goal right now, either. Helping Lucus was the goal, and she wasn’t doing a very good job. She was an awful sister. Before she could try again, Lord and Lady Estom strolled into the room dressed in their finest clothes and followed by a herd of servants. 

 

Lucus’s dejected posture died as his back jolted straight, and he tried to look like the perfect example of a young lord.

 

“Why are you standing there, boy? Let's go.” Lord Estom barked at Lucus before strolling past them and out the front doors, completely ignoring Rain. 

 

Lucus hurriedly followed behind his parents, leaving Rain with Svend for a brief moment. 

 

“Goodbye, my beautiful lady,” he said - his words turning black at beautiful - before following the crowd out the doors and leaving Rain alone. 

 

Shoving her left hand deeper into her pocket Rain started walking back towards her rooms. She was almost done with the soul book, and now that she had confirmed that Svend was probably here because of her, she needed to think about what that meant and how she should react. 

 

The whole way back, Rain focused on keeping her chin from quivering. She had no reason to cry right now; there was nothing wrong. If anything, she was the cause of problems for others. Why wouldn’t these emotions go away? Why was she so… broken?

 

***

 

Rain watched in satisfaction as her black book consumed the last words from ‘Whispers of the Soul,’ leaving the gem on its cover dark and lifeless. She had spent days reading this thing, trying to pry out all of its secrets, yet Mr. Purple never informed her of a skill gain. 

 

Rain hoped that meant this was something anyone could do with the proper knowledge, not that she was incompatible with the method. 

 

The book did seem to have what Rain was looking for, among other things. Rain flipped through her notebook until she found the first passage she had marked.

 

‘Ah, my dear interlocutor, allow me to elucidate upon this arcane and esoteric matter. Verily, one may wield the ethereal fabric of unimprinted soulstuff to forge a mold - an intangible crucible, if you will - wherein the very essence of a skill is captured. Picture, if you dare, the delicate dance of metaphysical filigree as the soul’s filament is severed, preserving the imprint within the mold. This ensouled artifact, when affixed to a suitable vessel, becomes a conduit for power, albeit a diluted and less efficacious iteration of the original skill. Yet, heed this solemn admonition: the soulstuff, once severed, languishes in eternal absence, never to regenerate. A melancholic fate, indeed, for the ephemeral remnants of the spirit.’

 

Written on the same spot in the black book were Rain's notes.

 

‘Why! By the moons, why is it written like this!’

 

After that, there were some angry scribbles before the words continued, ‘Is this saying that I can take a part of my soul to make a copy of a skill and attach that piece of soul to an item? This may be what I’m looking for.’

 

Rain looked at her note, then reread the original paragraph. That was what it was saying. 

 

Probably. 

 

Rain flipped through the book to find the second section describing what she needed for her plan.

 

‘Ah, verily, dost thou seek enlightenment upon the ethereal essence that doth elude mortal gaze? Attend, then, to these lofty precepts, for they shall guide thee through the labyrinthine corridors of the soul:

 

Verily, the ocular orbs of mortals, though keen and piercing, are but feeble instruments in the grand symphony of perception. The soul, that elusive wisp of celestial breath, doth elude their grasp, veiled in shadows deeper than the abyssal depths of Arkit.

 

Yet, fear not, for the senses of the spirit transcend mere sight. To feel the soul, one must first relinquish the corporeal shackles that bind the mind. Descend, then, into the Tenebrous recesses of thy consciousness, where the echoes of forgotten aeons whisper secrets to the receptive heart.

 

There, amidst the obsidian currents of thought, seek the ephemeral warmth—the telltale ember of the soul. It flits like a spectral butterfly, brushing against the sinews of cognition. Attend to its delicate touch, for it is the harbinger of revelation.

 

Practice this arcane communion until thy own soul reveals itself, radiant and unbidden. Know thyself, O seeker, for therein lies the key to unlocking the cosmic tapestry.

 

Yet, heed this counsel: To touch another’s soul is a sacred pact, woven in the threads of consent. Extend thy hand, not as a marauder, but as a pilgrim seeking communion. Seek permission, for the soul recoils from unwelcome intrusion.

 

Thus, with reverence, grasp the hand of thy fellow traveler. Feel the pulse of their essence - the tremor of joy, the ache of sorrow, the symphony of memories. In that fleeting touch, thou shalt glimpse eternity.’

 

As annoying as the passage was, it seemed to be instructions on how to feel souls. Rain reread the first step. She needed to let go of her body and sink her mind into a dark place.

 

Closing her eyes, Rain tried to relax and let her mind sink into itself. It didn’t take long for the sadness she’d been ignoring all day to take hold of her now that she wasn’t keeping herself occupied. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to push past the baseless feelings. 

 

Eventually, she made it; her mind popping into an empty place where she could feel nothing. It reminded her a bit of the void she could see when she looked up in the shaft. 

 

Okay the next step was to feel around for her soul. Rain tried not to feel around too far it didn’t make sense for her soul to be distant from her mind, and sure enough, she found a warm blobby thing that felt right. It was soft but chipped, and almost every surface was covered in intricate grooves. 

 

Were those skills? It didn’t look like there was room for many more. Poking around, Rain felt her soul as it twisted around and back in on itself. She wondered what it would look like if she could see it.

 

Rain managed to identify three different types of grooves on her soul. There were the deep ones, ones that were raised instead of engraved, and constantly pulsing ones that reminded Rain of veins. 

 

Having found her soul, Rain pulled her mind out of the void. The moment she resurfaced, her emotions hit her hard; the muting presence of the void no longer protecting her. But the most powerful emotion wasn’t the sadness that had gripped her since she woke up; it was confusion.

 

Was feeling souls supposed to be that easy? She had expected to spend several nights practicing to accomplish the first step. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would get it on the first try. 

 

She double-checked with Mr. Purple that she didn’t have a skill before sitting back.

 

Maybe she was just good at this? The thought made her smile, but she wouldn’t get too attached to it. Something always went wrong. But for now, she could pretend she was good at something and find Sunrise to practice the next stage with.