Samuel
We can leave life for tomorrow
Or grieve all that we thought we’d do
Or grieve all that we thought we’d do
Sam had felt anxious, when he had first entered the Aetheneum - ridiculous, really. He'd been going there his entire life, since he had been a small child; it had long been a sanctuary for him. Now, though...he was keenly aware of the Loreseeker's guild below, of the master of the guild...who he was sure would not approve of what it was he was here to do.
But this was the only place he could find all the books he needed, and besides, he'd gotten tired of hiding. After spending some hours pouring over books and making notes based on past conversations, he began to write on the first page of a cream-papered book, bound in a dark blue leather.
The Voice and Ascension: An explanation and Defense.
He wrote, in neat, thick letters along the top. For a while he watched the ink dry, wet glints soaking away into the paper, wondering if anyone would actually care that he'd written this. That he'd taken the history of the Ascended, the arguments he'd had to face, the things The Voice had told him...and gathered all of it. Truthfully, he wasn't really sure why he had the need to do it. Some kind of vague notion of a future Ascended, if his generation were wiped out, finding it and finding some comfort within the pages.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, he thought a while before putting:
Written in 310PC by Samuel Wordsworth. I am like you.
Carefully, he drew a swirling line around the title, the pattern turning to leaves and vines as it spread out from the words, each leaf baring the name of another one of their Ascended family - Those here now, those that had left them; he left some leaves blank for those he did not yet know, and those he never would.
With the introduction complete, it was time to move to the first chapter, which he intended to be as complete a history as he could make of The Voice and her life. Of course, he'd have to make sure he got the details correct with her later, but he felt between his research and what she'd told him, he could make a decent start. He dipped his pen once more in the pot, then began to write, completely absorbed in his work.
Or make each moment new
