Page 16 of The Last Remaining Light

Elowynn blinked and discovered she had absolutely no response prepared for that. Meanwhile, Caelyn had become very interested in the lantern pieces scattered across the table beside him, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Agatha looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Elowynn recovered first. “So... that means normally I am tolerable.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Marginally,” Agatha admitted. “He simply inspires you to become rather… theatrical.”

Caelyn’s shoulders shook slightly with restrained laughter. Fortunately, Agatha didn't see this.

Elowynn glared at both of them before returning her attention toward the resonance diagrams with exaggerated dignity.

Eventually, Agatha closed the text with a tired sigh and reached for her spectacles. “Enough. The two of you are helping me reorganize the lower archives before the evening bell.”

Caelyn groaned, but before he could really protest, Agatha shot him a look. “I do not want to hear it from you, boy.

Elowynn brightened in an instant. “The restricted archives?”

“The restricted archives,” Agatha confirmed. “And before you ask, no, you may not steal anything.”

Elowynn just stared at her, blinking. “That feels accusatory, Sister.”

“That is because you attempted it the last time we were there!” Agatha exclaimed, her voice reaching a higher pitch.

Elowynn looked at her in surprise. Did nothing get past Sister Agatha?

She lifted up a single finger. “In my defense, the astronomy atlas was beautiful.”

“You attempted to hide it inside your robes. An atlas. A very large one, at that,” Agatha scolded.

Elowynn shrugged nonchalantly. “It was cold.” The absurd notion that a book had been cold had Agatha staring at her flatly.

Caelyn laughed outright this time, his restraint vanishing.

The lower archives rested beneath the oldest section of Lumenshire Abbey near the sea cliffs. Unlike the upper library halls, which hummed with activity during sun bells, the archives beneath the abbey felt neglected. Forgotten. The air carried the scent of salt, dust, and incense while the sound of distant waves echoed along the walls. Light from the astrylite lanterns barely reached the furthest shelves, leaving long shadows draped between towering stacks of brittle texts and sealed cabinets no one had opened in many turnings. There were towering shelves that disappeared into shadows overhead while manuscripts and scrolls filled narrow alcoves carved directly into the cliffside foundation.

Elowynn had been awestruck the first time she stepped into the archives, and even now the sight of those endless shelves housing all their secrets still filled her with a sense of wonder.

“It smells dead down here,” Caelyn muttered, breaking the reverence Elowynn had been basking in.

“That is because half these texts are older than most cities in Aetheris,” Agatha replied. “Fortunately, they do not rot like a corpse. So, if this is what death smells like, well… I find it considerably preferable than the alternative.”

Caelyn snorted as he rolled his eyes.

Elowynn had been ignoring them; she drifted between the shelves while her fingers brushed languidly across their worn bindings and faded Astrari script.

“Careful with those,” Agatha warned sternly and without looking up from her catalog records. “Some are older than the Great Vigil.”

Elowynn snapped her hand back quickly to her side, but then her eyes widened to saucers. “That ancient?” she breathed. She looked longingly back toward the texts, her fingers twitching at her side and resisting the urge to touch them again.

She refrained—barely—and with an exaggerated sigh, crossed back toward the center of the archives to join Caelyn in their duties.

Several bells passed quickly while the storms raged outside and the three of them worked among the lantern light and dust. Elowynn had lost count of how many times Caelyn had sneezed.

Agatha reorganized old observatory journals while Caelyn carried heavy archive crates between alcoves under complaints that continued to be increasingly dramatic.

“I think this box contains actual stones,” he muttered while lowering another crate onto the floor.

Agatha barely glanced up. “Then carry them carefully,” she grunted.