Her fingers brushed over a small tome bound in worn leather. Its beggar’s costume did much to hide its contents from the ignorant, but books were not precious because of their clothes. Only a fool would judge a book by its cover, as the old saying told. Folk were quick to learn that on Loka.
Gods. Mortals. Power. Desire. Destruction.
That was the story the Chronicles told.
He was so brave, thought the elf. So ashamed, yet the Warden did not seek to hide from the rest of us when his history came calling.
More than I’ve done.
It was so long ago. Another lifetime, even. Something left behind when her feet landed on the Accelerator Spire. Yet it defined her, even now. It haunted her. Sometimes, she did not even know what to think of it.
Betrayal. Misdirection. Duty. Courage. Cowardice.
Sometimes even she did not know what to think of herself. Was she lucky? Was she a deserter? Was she proud of all that had happened to her, or did she rage against it? Perhaps the only way to find out would be to put it onto paper. After all, it was a long story, this Saga of hers.
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