the realm of men to the east. Mori did not read that ancient language well, but she knew enough to read these words. It was the book she sought: Mythical Creatures of the Gray Age.
Perhaps it was the fear inside her, or perhaps the solace of this place after the storm of battle, but Mori felt like the book's wisdom crept into her fingers, pulsed through her, whispered comfort into her soul. Smiling softly, she pulled the book off the shelf, and dust rained.
She blinked, coughed, and clung to the ladder. She struggled for long moments to pull the book free, stuff it under her arm, and hold it tight. The tome was large, over a foot long, and its spine was wider than her palm. Clinging to the ladder with one hand, Mori descended to the floor, placed the book down, and sat crossed-legged before it.
A digging pain thrust through her, and she closed her eyes. Her pulse quickened. His eyes blazed, and his lip curled, baring yellow teeth. His breath blasted her, scented of rot, and she screamed as he invaded her, hand around her throat, and she shook and wept and—
No. She forced her eyes open, forced herself to take slow breaths. Cold sweat drenched her, and slowly as she breathed, the flaring pain faded to a dull throb. She wiped tears from her eyes. Don't think of him, Mori, she told herself. Think of saving Elethor. He is the only family you have left. You must save him from Solina… and you must save yourself.
She leaned forward and blew dust off the book. It flew in a cloud, covering the tiles, and Mori sneezed. She opened the book, revealing crinkly pages of parchment. The first page sported an illustration of a griffin, and Mori shuddered, remembering the stories she'd heard of griffins attacking Requiem long ago. Small letters covered the page, written in the tongue of Osanna, speaking of the beasts. Mori began to leaf through the pages. The parchment was so old, she worried it would crumble in her hands. As the pages flipped, they revealed and hid creatures great and small: the mythical salvanae, true dragons of the west, who had no human forms; the nightshades, demons of smoke and shadow; the cruel mimics, undead warriors sewn from dismembered corpses; and even a page about the Vir Requis themselves, warriors of Requiem who could become dragons.
Mori laughed, eyes still stinging with tears. She didn't feel like a mythical creature, only a girl—scared, alone in darkness, seeking answers. She sniffed, knuckled her eyes, and flipped the page. Her eyes widened and her breath died.
"The phoenixes."
The page seemed to stare back at her, screaming from years beyond counting, and Mori hugged herself. The scribe had drawn an eagle woven of fire in red and orange, its claws outstretched, its beak wide, its eyes of fire incensed. Mori could imagine that she heard its shriek, and she shivered. The phoenix seemed to move upon the page; Mori almost saw its flames crackle, almost felt its heat. Suddenly she feared that the drawing could burn the book, that the phoenix could rise from the page and turn into Acribus, grab her and toss her over a table, and she would scream and her pain would never leave her. The fire and the screams engulfed her, and her head spun.
She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and closed her eyes. She forced herself to breathe deeply, like Mother Adia had taught her. She inhaled through her nose, slowly, counting to five, until she filled her lungs from top to bottom. She held her breath, counted to five again, and exhaled slowly. Hugging herself, Mori forced herself to keep breathing, again and again—into her lungs, into her limbs, into every part of her that trembled, until the fear passed. When she was ready, she opened her eyes again, and found that the book was silent and cold, the library only a place of shadows and solitude.
It's only a book, Mori, she told herself. It's only a drawing. It can't hurt you.
She leaned down so that her nose almost touched the parchment and squinted. The letters were old and small, faded in places, and Mori had never found it easy to read the tongue of Osanna. She mumbled to herself, reading aloud:
"In the days of Chaos, the lights of the heavens fought a great war, casting light and fire upon the earth. The Sun God, lord of heat and flame, birthed