The next day, Enoc returned.
And the day after that, too.
Soon, visits to the archives became a habit. Enoc would arrive as the sun began to decline, just after his protocol obligations ended, and stay until the light from the windows turned orange and then violet.
They didn't talk much at first. Avelia worked, and he helped her.
One afternoon, Enoc arrived and found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by a chaos of tablets and scrolls. She had her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together.
—Trouble? —he asked, sitting down beside her.
—Someone messed up the marriage alliances section —she replied with a sigh—. It'll take me days to fix it.
Enoc looked at the mess and then, without a word, began picking up the nearest records.
—Marriage alliances —he said as he sorted them—. I suppose that explains why my father is always meeting with other clans.
Avelia let out a short laugh, a sound Enoc had not heard before and that he liked.
—Do you think they're looking for a wife for you?
—I hope not —he replied sincerely—. I can't imagine being married to someone I don't know.
—And who do you imagine? —she asked, without looking at him, focused on her work.
Enoc was silent for a moment. The question had caught him off guard.
—I don't know —he admitted—. Someone I can talk to. Someone who doesn't look at me as if I were a title with legs.
Avelia looked up and met his eyes directly.
—That shouldn't be so hard —she said finally, and returned to her work.
But Enoc noticed that her cheeks had flushed slightly.
As the days passed, Enoc found himself making excuses to go to the archives. It wasn't just the temporary escape from obligations, nor the interest in history. It was her, Avelia.
He learned things about her. That her parents had died when she was little, during an invasion by the Dark Feather. That the previous archivist had raised her within these walls, teaching her to read and to organize.
—Have you never wanted to leave here? —Enoc asked her one afternoon—. To see the world outside the city?
Avelia shook her head.
—The world outside the city is dangerous. And besides —she pointed to the shelves around her—, everything I need to know is here. The mountains, the rivers, the other lands… everything is recorded in these archives. Why risk traveling when you can know the world without moving?
—Because it's not the same to read about a place as to see it with your own eyes —Enoc replied.
She looked at him curiously.
—And have you seen many places?
Enoc hesitated. He didn't remember seeing anything outside the city. His illness had kept him confined most of his life. But something inside him, a distant echo, told him that he had known other horizons. Yet the feeling faded as quickly as it came.
—No —he admitted—. But I would like to.
—Then someday you will. —Avelia smiled, and that smile was like light filtering through the clouds—. And when you come back, you'll tell me if it was worth it.
---
In the Dark Feather clan's village, the days following Orkus's escape were tense.
Karg, his wing still bandaged, cursed his name every night. He had sent out search parties, but none had found a trace. The warriors were beginning to murmur: how was it possible that a simple warrior had wounded the great Karg and escaped?
Gromm, for his part, was recovering slowly. His shoulder would heal, but his pride would take longer. Every time someone mentioned Orkus, his face twisted into a grimace of hatred and shame.
And among the others, something was beginning to take root. Some of the younger ones, who had witnessed the fight, remembered Orkus's words.
—They say the moon gods chose him —a young man murmured by the fire.
—Those are just tales —another replied, but without conviction.
---
Orkus returned one day at dusk.
He did not hide. He flew directly over the village, his black wings spread like an eagle's, silhouetted against the setting sun. The children playing in the streets saw him first, and their shouts alerted everyone.
—Orkus! Orkus has returned!
The warriors came out of their huts, weapons in hand. Karg appeared in the doorway of his own hut, the largest one, and upon seeing him, his face contorted in a grimace of fury.
—FOOL! —he bellowed—. You have the nerve to come back!
Orkus descended slowly, landing in the center of the square, right where he had been a few days ago. His wings folded behind his back, and his gaze swept over those present.
There was no fear in his eyes. Only a strange calm.
—I have returned —he said, in a serene voice—. Because the gods have commanded it.
Karg drew his spear and advanced toward him, limping slightly from his still sore wing.
—This time you won't escape, dog!
—I don't intend to escape —Orkus replied—. But I don't intend to fight you, either.
Karg stopped, bewildered.
—What?
Orkus raised his voice, addressing everyone:
—The gods have shown me the future. A future in which our clan ceases to be cornered beasts and becomes the master of these lands. A future in which the Golden Feather kneel before us. A future in which I, Orkus, chosen of the moon, lead you to glory!
The words echoed in the square. Some warriors exchanged glances.
—Lies! —shouted Gromm, appearing behind his brother—. It's all lies!
—Lies? —Orkus extended an arm and pointed to his own side—. Five nights ago, your brother cut me here. A wound that would have killed anyone. Look.
He lifted his clothes, showing his skin. Where there should have been a fresh scar, there was only a pinkish line, almost completely healed.
—The gods healed me —he said—. Can you say the same of your leader? Has Karg healed his wing? Has Gromm recovered his arm?
The murmurs grew louder. It was true. Karg was still limping. Gromm still wore his arm in a sling.
—Don't listen to him! —Karg advanced, spear in hand—. He's a charlatan! A madman!
—I'm not going to fight you, Karg —Orkus repeated—. Because the gods have commanded me to offer you a chance. Kneel before me, acknowledge my authority, and fight by my side.
Karg let out a bitter laugh.
—I kneel before YOU? I would rather die!
—As you wish.
And then something happened that no one expected.
Several young warriors, the same ones who had begun to doubt in recent days, stepped forward and positioned themselves behind Orkus.
—We… we believe in him —said one, with a trembling but firm voice—. We saw what he did. We've heard his words. Perhaps… perhaps it's true.
Karg looked at them, incredulous.
—Traitors? —he roared—. You're going to betray me for this… this fraud?
—It's not betrayal —replied another—. It's… choosing a better future.
Gromm, seeing the turn of events, stood by his brother's side.
—Enough words! —he shouted—. Let the gods decide! A fight! You and me, Orkus! Whoever wins, takes the leadership!
Orkus looked at him with pity.
—I already defeated you once, Gromm. And you're injured. It wouldn't be fair.
—Then me! —Karg stepped forward—. A fight between you and me! No tricks, no running! Let the one who dies, die!
Orkus was silent for a moment. The voices in his head whispered:
"Accept. And show them who's in charge."
—I accept —he said finally.