KENNEN JARMEZ IS TRAPPED. A web of forgotten secrets and buried history descends upon him. With a war looming over their heads, he has to crack the mystery surrounding a particular object in his care in search of allies. After triggering a hidden sp...
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2412, Rab 01, Reshpe
The illuminated ice dousing Kennen overhead did little to alleviate the tightening knot at the back of his head. With a groan, he tore his eyes off the parchment he had been forcing into his mind and rolled his head this way and that. The motion relieved some of the pressure, but it returned when he went back to the tome.
What's the use of reading the same paragraphs over and over while retaining none of the information they tried to tell him? He has been in the library for quite some time. Did the morning bell ring already?
Kennen blew a breath, the air turning into brittle crystals by his lips. The cold was welcome—it's not like he could survive without it—but there were points in his day where he thought it to be too much. But everyone reacts to the temperature in the Ice Capital differently, and there have been tribunals about the ideal notch they needed to maintain it to make the largest chunk of the population happy.
That reminded him—he needed to get his rear out of this place and start doing actual work. Learning and searching for ways to remove the Ice Capital from the war forming on the surface would have to wait.
He peeled off the wooden table, ignoring the colony of lozett turning the surface a deep shade of blue. Let the pest people handle that. His staff made a sharp thunk against the bench as he slid off his place and snatched it up. One couldn't traverse the Ice Capital safely without a rod, of course.
His boots thumped against the one hundredth floor's thick panels of ice, noting the almost opaque blue bleeding from their hearts. He tapped the butt of his staff against the walls, some spots on the floor, and did his best to reach the ceiling. No hollow sounds to signal the thinning of the layers. Not a threat of cracks spreading through the weakening surfaces. All good.
A sigh escaped his lips as he continued doing the same thing on his way out of the current floor. With him going to the lower niches, it looked like he's bound for more tapping.
He didn't mind it. Far from it. At this point, it has turned into some sort of a habit or an unconscious response. He could tap and listen to the condition of ice walls in his sleep.
The one hundredth floor was busy, with ice sprites bustling about in their own tasks and personal businesses. Foragers, dressed in various garbs reflecting the fashion of the territory they're going, passed Kennen by. They ducked their heads at the sight of him, and he ensured he smiled at them and gave them a small wave.
Others lumbered about, carrying spiky icicles, buckets of unfrozen ice, or bunches of cloth to be used in other floors. Did someone spill wine on their sheets and requested the housekeeping department's assistance again? That's the fifth incident this season. Those heathens were becoming cheeky. Perhaps, Kennen would have a word with those people. Ice sprites should know how to clean after their messes. That's how they were able to stay hidden for so long.
Within a few hours of tackling stairs and skirting around his people lost in their typical days, he made it to the two-hundredth floor where one thing waited for him.
