Eight-year-old Anna had the kind of black hair that caught shadows and held them, framing her pale face like ink spilled on parchment. When she found the weathered chronicle buried among her father's books, her dark eyes went wide with the particular hunger that children have for forbidden things.
The book was lighter than she expected. She wrestled it outside, stumbling once on the threshold, her simple dress catching around her knees. Roy was already waiting in their usual spot beneath the old oak, his golden hair bright even under the grey sky. At twelve, he had that restless energy of boys who'd rather be climbing trees than sitting still, but he never missed story time.
"What'd you find?" he asked, scooting closer as Anna settled cross-legged in the dirt.
The tome's leather cover was cracked with age. Anna traced the gilt letters with one finger: The Chronicles of Hand Zekiel, Vol. I: The Derons.
"It's from the first Hand of the Kingdom of backlund." she said, then cleared her throat importantly and began to read.
"At the peak of Mount Serto lies the birthplace of creatures called Derons—soulless beings in a world where everything else carries the spark of life within it. Wretched things, most of them, taking the forms of beasts that prowl the earth or winged horrors that darken the sky."
Should you journey to Eui, the great city at Serto's base, and ask about these creatures, you'll find the citizens surprisingly indifferent.
"Those things?" one might say with a shrug. "Harmless idiots, mostly. Toss them some meat and they'll follow you around like dogs."
A merchant in the market square told me: "Curious about Derons, are you? Can't say I understand them myself. Docile as lambs one day, vicious as wolves the next. Though I've had a few come down to trade—can you believe it? Strange business, that. Speaking of business, you buying anything today or just wasting my time?"
Hearing this and knowing you made a mistake you'd make an excuse and leave quickly.
The mountain dwellers proved no more enlightening. An old woman, her face carved deep with years, spoke in whispers:
"Little is known of the Derons, and less is understood. Only one thing is certain—they descend from Lord Abgrund the Void himself. How they breed, how they think... these remain mysteries. Perhaps only Lord Nous could possibly know, and I'm sure even what he knows is more vague "
Her voice dropped lower: "My father warned me of only one type of Deron: those that have learned to reason. If you ever meet such a creature, child, run."
And so ended my fruitless journey, with more questions than answers.
Anna snapped the book shut with a frustrated huff. "Hand Zekiel sound like he was very frustrated. He traveled all that way just to ask a few people some questions and got nothing out of it?"
Her brother Roy laughed. "I'd be cranky too if I hiked up a mountain for nothing. Though..." He frowned thoughtfully. "This doesn't read like his other works I've read"
"Maybe the Derons really stumped him," Anna said, picking at the grass. "Hard to write about something no one understands."
"Still has historical value," Roy pointed out, ever practical.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Their mother's voice drifted from the house: "Children! Inside, now! These clouds are ready to burst, and I won't have you catching cold before the Festival of Aaro Eeu!"
Anna clutched the chronicle to her chest as they raced for the door, rain beginning to speckle the dust around their feet. She returned it to late father's stock pile of books.