Fates Entwined (A TodoBaku ff) ✔

XXXVIII

It was quiet when he arrived. There were only a few flickering lights visible from the rectangular windows above him, well enough as it was still the middle of the night. He dismounted Kita, showing the horse to the small gardens and green paddock before heading inside. Still, as he took a final look at the horizon line, the sun had not yet begun to rise. There were amber streaks beginning to appear in the mass of deep purple, and Shoto knew that had he taken a cart like during his previous trip with Midoriya then he would not have arrived so quickly. Once again he was grateful for the strength and trust of his steed. 

Upon entering, his boots echoed on the stone floors of the entrance hall, the marble veins flickering in the weak torchlight. There was nobody here to greet him, no Midoriya to guide him around, but right now if he tried to explain to anybody why he was here and the vision he saw then he was sure they would deem him a mad man. In Endeavour he would have most likely been determined insane and locked up just like his mother, isolated in the smallest turret of the highest tower.

He tried to recall the route Midoriya had taken whilst showing Shoto all of the treasures and archives stored in the many, many rooms here. He knew they passed a whole collection of books and scrolls, and Shoto was looking for the oldest and most worn of them all as they would provide him the answers he sought. He almost felt like he was going in circles, and was surprised nobody had awoken at his constant going up and down staircases, but at last he pushed open a heavy wooden door and found himself in the archive room. Midoriya told him many census and political documents were held here, the Monastery believed to be a safer place than the castle should an attack fall upon them, but the green-haired man also told him that many documents and recounts of the war time were here too. Surely, amongst the hundreds of bound books and scattered papers, there was something to give him guidance...

His hands had several paper cuts by the time he took a break. The room was small, the window smaller and only letting in the faintest breeze, and Shoto was beginning to tire. It was one thing to search through all of these archives, another to look for something when you didn't know what it was you were looking for. He had started with the oldest and withering documents, only finding census and brief sketches of the borders of the Tribes. Then he went through a whole collection of diaries from the war time, hoping there was something useful in at least one of them, but they were only recounts of battles and letters to loved ones. 

The sun was rising, and Shoto knew that soon someone would figure out that he was not in his room nor anywhere in or around the castle, and he would cause alarm. In his haste he had forgotten to write a note explaining his whereabouts, and he hoped the consequences wouldn't be too severe when he returned. He was also starting to get hungry, looking through pages and pages and pulling book after book off tall shelves was quite energy-consuming. Still, he could not give up, not when he felt that same presence was still with him, some shred of hope to hold onto that what he needed was somewhere in this room...

It was surely past breakfast time now, and he was surprised not a single elder had found him here looking through their archives. If they did and chose not to bother him, presumably by the look of urgency on his usually blank face, he was grateful: he didn't have time to exchange pleasantries at the present moment. He must have gone through a third of the shelves, not even having touched the boxes nor drawers. Dust was floating in the air making him sneeze from time to time, and his cloak and outer tunic had been discarded by the door, his shirt helping to cool him down. 

He picked up another book, this one small and made of brown leather, the writing in simple black ink. It looked like there was a drawing on the front page, of a young girl looking up at some sort of angel, hands held out as if to receive something from her. There were clouds around them, small drops of snow scattering the page. Flicking further into the book he found recounts of events during the war, but not of battle or daunting nights in the battalions, but of walks through forests and visits through towns. It was almost like a story, recounting various travels and adventures, the people they met and what they discovered. Finding one recount of particular interest, he began to read: