Wild Things lack guile. We seek dominance because that is who we are. There is no simpler truth to our motives. We kill to eat; we kill to claim; we kill to sate our fury. It is you humans who try to make something simple so complicated. If you are a hunter, we welcome the challenge, and if you are prey… we most assuredly welcome you, ha!

~Cernunnos, Lord of the Wild Things

“Well, kid, you certainly know how to make a statement.” Gavin laughed from his spot on a heavily padded chair near a fireplace Crow hadn’t realized existed in the library.

“Has this always been here?”

“Yes, but the fireplace doesn’t light up unless someone activates it. Sit, let’s talk about the books and scrolls you’ve read. By this time, I assume you’ve read through all the required ones?”

Crow nodded, and other than the books he couldn’t translate and the various journals that may or may not be relevant, he’d completed all the books on the shelf. He still wanted to read through the journals, but he needed a better way to organize the data he could extrapolate from them.

Once the conversation started, they talked for hours about anything and everything. Crow had some questions related to all three sections but saved the history ones for last.

“I can see something is eating at you, and I’ve waited for some time now for you to discuss Druid history. What is it?”

“Why was it tampered with?” He’d spent most of the last four weeks in this silent sanctuary, but that was the question that had gnawed at him after a few days. Most histories were as the Bards had told it, but not even they could put a date to the older stories.

Gavin paused, a hot cup of tea half-way to his mouth. A moment later, he set the cup down with a grin on his face. “Explain.”

Crow stared vacantly at the fire, organizing his thoughts before launching into an explanation. “All the oldest histories appear to have the same start date, or near enough. Events collated seem accurate enough, but they all start at the same point in history as if nothing existed before it. Compared to the newer stuff, each author publishes at different times, and the starting point they’ve chosen in our history of events are almost all different. The pattern from old to new is all wrong. It’d be like saying the roots of a tree are all ten meters long, no more, no less, when the reality is they lack that uniformity, whether because of age, environment, or something else.”

“Nicely reasoned. Even your analogy is sound. Do you know why? Or can you speculate?”

The book in Crow’s hand clapped shut, and he placed it in his lap, finger tapping the cover. It was a habit he’d formed down here. Like a metronome, it helped him focus while pondering on more profound thoughts and questions. The entire time he felt Gavin’s eyes on him, but his teacher remained silent. It was a silence that lasted long enough for the candle clock to release a metal tack into the pan below it, creating a small tink sound.

Candle clocks were used to tell the passage of time, not time itself. They made the candles to a specific standard, which allowed them to burn for eight hours with minor variations. Along its length were markings that showed hours and half-hours. They inserted a tack into the wax at each of those markings, so it fell out, hitting the metal pan below it when it burned to that point. It was what created the tink sound, which was not loud enough to disturb anyone but loud enough to be heard.

It meant that Crow had been in thought for a half-mark, which was equivalent to thirty minutes.

The Clockwork Sect created highly accurate timekeeping devices. It used precise mathematics that corresponded to the revolution of heavenly bodies. Experts speculated it tapped into fate itself. Either way, the machines were too costly. The northern continent had one, but a statue held it in the Plaza of the Gods.

“Fear,” Crow said straightforwardly and looked towards his teacher expectantly.

Gavin’s mouth opened to correct the boy, but then his eyes widened, and his mouth closed once more. It wasn’t the first time Crow’s scary intuition had surprised the old man, but it was the first time that Gavin felt at a loss. It was not the insight a child should have.

“Interesting. How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You once told me that secrets exist to prevent calamity. Earning knowledge helps foster the correct mindset when discovering these secrets. The north continent’s worst kept secret might be that our people descended from Druids, but we seldom talk about it. Even now, other than the council, I have no idea who else has awakened their Druid bloodline. Here, even the library shields us—the secrets are to protect the order.”

“You little brat,” Gavin smiled and could only shake his head. The lesson he’d planned to give this child was all for naught. Who the hell was this kid’s mother? He practically raised Conall and knew the man was simple. Yes, he had an extreme talent for combat and an unprecedented ability for tactics, but he never did well with abstract concepts or understanding anything he couldn’t beat to death. Crow’s knack for fighting wasn’t less than Conall’s, but what gave Gavin the chills was the depth of this boy’s intelligence and wisdom. It was wisdom and intuition that cultivators needed to push past the limits of mortality—that and a hell of a lot of luck. “I’ll concede its fear, but it isn’t because we suspect a calamity. It already happened. Once our bloodline was strong, and others feared us. Therefore, we keep our bloodline hidden—why we assume a position of weakness. It was long enough that most cultivators from that time should have died, but not long enough that the immortals of old don’t remember. Just one of them is enough to kill everyone on this planet.”

“Then I have one question. Why were the Druids feared so much?”

Gavin paused, expecting the question but not fully able to answer it. And until that moment, he had remained undecided on how he would respond. It was a question that touched on forbidden knowledge, knowledge prohibited from physical form—not even a vestige of it existed. Considering Crow’s awakening bloodline, it allowed him to know some Druid history. It was the boy’s own answer about fear that opened Gavin’s eyes. It put him at ease about answering the question.

“What I’m about to tell you remains down here. Understood? I’m invoking your vow right now. Our bloodline is ancient, with its roots dating back to the Primordial Era when the Primordial Goddess, Mother Danu, emerged from Chaos—these days, it’s called the Void. Shortly after, she extracted the Tuatha De Danann out of the Void as well. When those gods arrived and created a world of order from all the chaos, they found their powers had weakened. It took them many years to realize the thing they wrought, the order out of chaos, created new laws or truths, and their sapped power went into ensuring those laws persisted throughout time, distance, and planes of existence. We are currently in a mortal plane, on a lesser planet.”

“Does that mean we descended from the gods?”

“Yes, in a way. Once their powers weakened, they found that they could have children once more. It was decades later that they realized most of their children were mortals. So the gods had to watch as their children aged and died. Those who had power didn’t fully know how to use it, and while they lived longer, they too died in the end. Hundreds of generations passed, and mortals spread across hundreds or even thousands of planets. Some gods worked with mortals to help them understand their power—”

“The Draoidh?”

“Exactly. Other sects didn’t fear our bloodline’s memory—most cultivators will have that kind of memory by the time they gain a Ruby Shield. It was because they believed we had a seed inside us, left by the original gods.”

“Then what is it? Why did they fear a rumor? What is our real power?”

“Ha. Slow down, kid. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘more harm than good’?”

Crow shook his head, mockingly. “You can just say you don’t know, old man.”

“You brat,” Gavin snorted. “Stop trying to trick me—it won’t work. This kind of knowledge is something you have to earn. I just wanted you to understand that Druids are always more. If you ever think you know what our power is, then you weren’t listening to what I just said. We are always more.”

“That’s all you can say? You led me on with that fantastic tale of gods and the Void and then left me dangling out in that same Void. Not even a hint?”

“A Druid’s path is knowledge. That is the only hint you need. Study everything—including martial related abilities. You’ll understand in time. One more thing, this might be the only time I invoke my right as your teacher to forbid you from doing anything—don’t ask anyone what a Druid’s actual power is.”

“How is that called teaching?” The right side of Crow’s face scrunched up.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t ask questions, just not that one. You are a smart kid. You’ll figure it out. I want to tell you, but believe me, this is one time you should discover that answer on your own. Anything anyone tells you is going to be wrong for you. People are different. Just as Luthais teaches you a different way to fight than your father, he realized your father’s way wasn’t your way. Opportunity, knowledge, and luck are all Druids need, and I believe you have all three in abundance.”

“This one understands, teacher—and thank you,” Crow said and meant it sincerely. He didn’t know why, but he felt shaky, like he’d just avoided a disaster.

“Alright, I think you’ve got a pretty good grasp on our history, but please keep at it. You are free to browse through anything here that catches your attention. I do recommend reading through the Scholarly Talents. They are in rows two and three. However, they are just the background and fundamentals of each.

“What are Scholarly Talents?”

“They are Crafting, Trades, and things like that, only they require a Source—blacksmithing, Formations, Runes, Sigils, Scarification, Carving, Alchemy, and hundreds of others. Besides Talents, you have Techniques and Spells, all of which use your Source. Techniques are usually martial abilities, but know that not all Techniques require a Source. Spells always require a Source, or at the very least, a source of energy, and most are augmented by innate elemental aptitudes. Do you know why I’m telling you all this?”

“No…” Crow said, and he knew some of this, but no one had broken it down for him.

“Give me your hand,” Gavin said.

Not sure what was happening, Crow reached out, and Gavin jabbed his finger with that needle again, taking more blood than last time and mixing it with a powdery substance until it turned black. Using his thin-tipped paintbrush, he painted another totem on Crow’s hand. The same burning sensation appeared once more, and Crow felt the raw energy tear through his system and settle in his navel area. That black line grew another few centimeters upward. The base thickened, and a branch sprouted.

Looking at it, Crow felt a stronger connection with it than he did before. Another leaf formed, but this one was on that small twig of a branch. Shortly after it developed, the new totem appeared on it in gold filigree.

“It really is a tree,” Gavin muttered, his voice carried in the silent library. It wasn’t that he doubted the boy, but that the truth worried him. “That upgrade unlocked more of the library and now is your one chance to browse through some locked sections on the second level.”

“Second level…?” Crow’s voice trailed off. A spiral wooden staircase appeared in the middle of the room. He never noticed that he always went around that area in all the time spent down here, and now he knew why.

“Soul Aversion Formation,” Gavin said upon seeing Crow’s confused look. “It’s a fairly simple one, meaning ambient Origin energy can power it. Its only purpose is to make you forget it exists. On a subconscious level, you see the stairs, which is why you avoid them, but then you forget they exist, forget you went around, forget that you even made a choice to go around—don’t think too hard about it. You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

They descended the stairs to another large chamber below. Crow found himself in another library, but this one radiated with power and restrictions. There were areas that Crow could feel an oppressive aura emanating off of them, which he actively avoided.

The second level was nothing like the first because it felt more utilitarian, but it kept its teardrop shape. Behind Crow, along the wall of the rounded fat section of the level, were a dozen large rooms that were large, squat, and made with some material he couldn’t recognize. He recognized the signature crystal that allowed him to lock the door. In the narrowing part were another seven rooms, three to each side and one straight ahead. Five of the seven were the ones giving off that oppressive feeling, and Crow couldn’t even see past the shimmering red barriers.

However, the room at the very end of the teardrop, the point, the barrier shifted colors endlessly, like the rainbow colors on a soap bubble. The more Crow stared at it, the more he felt drawn towards it.

“Disconcerting, right?” Gavin asked, seeing where Crow’s eyes were drawn. “That is the least dangerous barrier in this place, but it is also the most profound.”

“What is behind it?”

“A technique that can change your sex—although I think you’d make an ugly woman,” Gavin told him.

“Pfft,” Crow involuntarily made a sound of disbelief and stopped from laughing when he saw Gavin’s serious face. “Seriously?”

“No, it’s a lie,” Gavin said and then burst out laughing. Crow just shook his head and chuckled along with him. “Truth is, we don’t know what’s behind that barrier. The Librarian only projects that we aren’t worthy of entry. Or something like that.”

“What about the rest?”

“You’ll know when you need to know. Rules and guidelines when you come down here, and you can come down whenever you like now. First, cross none of those colored barriers without one of these.” Gavin tossed him a wooden token, and on one side was the carving of an oak tree, and on the other was a symbol Crow didn’t recognize. “That symbol is a sort of randomized code, and it’ll allow you to pass the transparent barriers only. But that token will crumble if your time is up, or if you’ve selected a Technique.”

“I-I can choose a Technique?”

“Yes, and a spell—its time. Especially since you could create your own in the middle of combat. That was impressive. Some kind of water bullet, right? It the whole reason I’m letting you down here now. And because everyone knows, so you won’t be able to escape some…obligations.”

“What? What obligations?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, it’s imperative you choose a good Technique, and your grandpa made an exception to allow you to choose one Spell too.”

“What is my time limit, and how do I do this?” Crow felt the urgency in Gavin’s voice and didn’t want to mess around anymore.

“Once you put a drop of blood on that token, the barriers it allows you to cross will go transparent, allowing you access. That tome in the middle of the room lists all techniques and spells you have access to with your current permission level and is always available for you to browse. You have until dawn to choose. The rooms behind us are technique and spell training rooms. You can train without worrying about damaging anything—even your father couldn’t scratch those walls.”

“Can I bypass the tome and just browse?”

“You could, but your time to choose isn’t long, especially since you are choosing one of each. Speaking of, spells on the left side, techniques on the right.”

“I understand. It’s just that I don’t know what I want and the tome will distract me.”

Gavin chuckled while clapping a hand onto Crow’s shoulder.

“Not a bad idea, but move quickly and trust your instinct. Each one of those vestiges has a small demonstration that recaps the ability and shows it in action. Do not carry the vestige past the barrier’s door because if you do, the barrier will rise, and you’re stuck with whatever is in your hands. Also, don’t carry two across either, because it’ll give you the lowest-ranked of the two and zap you for being a dunce. The techniques and spells you are getting permission to access are Mortal or Earth grade abilities only.”

“Why not give me something higher?”

“You don’t have a Shield and lack the amount of power necessary. That middle section carries Earth, Sky, and Heaven grade skills, the third section is Sky, Heaven, and God grade, and that rainbow-hued section…” Gavin grinned.

“So, is Mortal, Earth, Sky, Heaven, and God the only ability grades there are?”

“Not sure, but we split each grade into low, mid, and high. There have always been rumors that what we consider God grade might only be Earth grade in the upper realms. Those grades work for this planet and the tower, and anything beyond that is speculation.”

“Do you agree with that?”

“I think the Truths or Laws differ in each realm, and anyone entering other realms is going to suffer suppression. After all, you aren’t from that realm, and the heavens of those places know that. Between the realm suppression and change in Truths, the ability just needs to be…transformed.”

Crow nodded. Although he didn’t really understand what all that meant, something about it had the ring of truth to it. At the very least, it meant he shouldn’t discount any skill he’d picked up.

“Wait!” Gavin slapped his forehead. “Before I forget, the other reason we are pushing this forward. The Alban Hefin is in two months during the summer solstice when the sun is at the peak of its light. During that festival is the annual Hunt, which we use as a ‘coming of age’ hunting ground for the younger generation—at least, those who have opened their Source. If you get a chance, in the library above, research the Darach Henge, there is a map of the ancient hunting grounds—I recommend you memorize everything. Including the bestiary.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because tradition states that those of the younger generation who have awakened their Source must attend the Hunt. Your grandfather fought hard to have you exempt until you turn fifteen, but some clans felt that no matter how young you are, this was tradition, and—”

“It was the Rulaney clan.”

“Ah, ahem, that is… Yes. How did you know that?”

“Did my father not kill enough of them for them to understand their position? Or does the council really not know that it was them that did this to me?”

“What!? How is that possible?” Gavin was genuinely shocked, which Crow felt to be odd. If Gavin didn’t know, then did anyone?

After a small hesitation, Crow told Gavin the entire story.

“Mica Rulaney? It is good she exists no more—what a horrible thing to research. Alright, go. Time is short. Remember what I said.” Gavin admonished one more time before leaving.

Crow took a breath, recalling everything he knew about the Hunt. Ultimately, the information influenced his thought process as he walked down the first row of shelves.