Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 44: 43. The Price Of One Life.

Read chapter 44 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

I am Lavender of the Fae, a pixie currently bound to the service of Lord Lucian Keal. In my 431 years drifting through this world, this is the first time I’ve ever been contracted to a human. And while things are going well enough for me now, I can't help but worry about what fragile and temporary things human lives are. It is common knowledge that there is a temple to a dead god in the city of Cairndorn. Built into the side of the mountain beneath the royal castle at the heart of the capital, it is a grand structure of marble and gold, adorned with ornate decorations and lavish tapestries paying homage to the departed deity. Humans are rather silly, really. Many of them visit this cathedral every eighth day to hear another human—in silly robes and an even sillier hat—preach the wisdom of a winged lizard prophet, who is most notable in history for not preventing his own death. Yet somehow, a majority of the kingdom’s nobility live by his supposedly sage teachings. Truly, silly creatures—so desperate to inject meaning into their short, flickering lives. The silliest among them are a particular group of believers who actually plot to bring about the dragon god’s reincarnation. This foolish sect constructed a secret temple beneath the main one, known as the Sanctuary, where they keep the dragon god’s so-called crystal heart and gather in secret to scheme about his return. This Sanctuary is precisely where my master, Lucian Keal, has asked me to sneak into. He had grown suspicious of some loudmouth named Cromwell and asked me to follow him. In doing so, I reported that Cromwell and a rather portly nobleman named Fobos were meeting often in the Sanctuary—and that an unsettling number of slaves were being quietly moved into that part of the temple under cover of night and cloaked in illusion magic. Master Keal found that behavior... concerning. I tried to explain to him that covertly relocating slaves into a hidden temple in the dead of night is not strange at all. In fact, it’s entirely normal behavior for someone planning a sacrificial summoning. He and I disagreed on whether or not that counted as ‘suspicious’. Humans are silly creatures indeed. My master is no exception. He’s just more of the adorable pet kind of silly where most others are the sell their souls for gold kind of silly. SLAM! The heavy metal door to the Sanctuary slams shut behind me, followed by a rapid series of clacks as thick metal rods slide into place along the reinforced frame, locking it tight. I had been hovering invisibly just outside, waiting patiently for my chance. As the portly Fobos waddled through, I swooped in over his shoulder before the door could close. The door—made of steel and fortified with heavy enchantments—might have posed a challenge, if not for the simple fact that all I needed was one clueless cultist to open it for me. It’s amusing, really. No doubt hundreds of hours went into constructing and enchanting that door, and it was ultimately defeated by thirty minutes of patience. I trail behind Fobos, the overfed nobleman draped in overly ornate robes, as he waddles down a broad staircase into the cavernous temple below. The chamber is octagonal, each corner marked by towering white marble pillars. The entrance stair leads straight to the center of the space, opposite a massive, forty-foot-tall statue of the dragon god looming on a raised dais. Its head tilts downward, carved to appear as though it's watching all who enter. At the heart of the dais, flanked by the statue’s great clawed forelegs—used here to frame the architecture as if they’re holding up the wall itself—rests an ornate pedestal. On that pedestal sits the golden crystal heart of the long-dead dragon god. I see other doors along the six remaining walls, each leading to who-knows-where—and honestly, I don’t care. Probably more rooms built for some other silly human purpose. The whole temple, rather than being impressive—as I’m sure the builders intended —feels like a desper