Inside the cathedral’s upper levels, Aramant’s footsteps echoed through the building as he headed toward his father’s office. Its location lay at the top level of the cathedral’s tower, representing his rank and strong connection with The Light. A circular staircase, that ended at a sturdy door awaited his arrival. It was one of the few times in his life that Aramant saw the door closed. It had been locked up as a sign of respect for the former Highlord and to prevent documents from being stolen. Baav’s betrayal had left a deep wound in the hearts of everyone at the cathedral, as well as a layer of paranoia. Fortunately for Aramant, he was one of the few people who held one of the four keys that would open the Highlord’s office. After unlocking the door and entering the room, a brief sense of nostalgia embraced him. The office was untouched, exactly as Attern had left it: impeccably clean, organized, and with a sense of welcoming warmth. The young paladin looked all around the office as if he had just entered for the first time. His mind flew to distant memories of his early childhood when he would come here to spend time with his father. Attern would often hold him in his lap and flood his son’s mind with stories from either his past or stories from other renowned paladins. Often ending them by stating that this desk and office would one day be his.
From time to time, he would even express his happiness at the thought of Aramant taking his place one day, sharing stories with his future children. Those were better times. It was simpler when he was young. When they were young. If he were in his prime when this assault happened, Baav and his undead army would’ve been quickly dusted away. No, he knew that was untrue. It may have been better, and it may have ended up with fewer casualties, but in the end, the result would’ve been the same. He would’ve sacrificed himself anyway. The thought stirred Aramant to clench his fist. Yet, it was not entirely out of anger. It was hard to make peace with such an internal dilemma. He shook his head briefly and focused on the reason he came here.
The desk that Attern used to sign different documents regarding the cathedral’s administrative issues had not had time to gather dust. The young paladin inspected it from both sides without taking a seat in the chair. It still felt wrong for him to do so. Like it did not belong to him. However, he finally dismissed the sentiment and sat down. He did not bother to check the first drawer nor the second. Those were never locked, and he had peeked inside them in the past. They were mostly filled with older, less significant documents. He reached for the bottom drawer and unlocked it. Apart from the drawer itself, which seemed older and less used than the other two, its contents seemed rather disappointing at first. It had an envelope with the Highlord’s stamp on it and what seemed like an old, medium-sized book.
Aramant picked up the envelope, ignoring the book for the time being. At that moment, even the simple act of opening it made his thoughts spiral uncontrollably. Nevertheless, he forced away the storm raging in his mind and focused on reading the letter inside. It was addressed directly to him.
My son, since the days you were but a child, I felt in you the same void that resided within me — one birthed by the parting of your mother. I know that over the years, I have been reluctant to tell you more about this extraordinary woman, that without the slightest of efforts, managed to steal my heart. I want you to understand that because of the love I had and still have for her, it was excruciating to even mention her name. I realize it may be unfair, and I hope that by the time you’ll read this, I’ll have overcome enough of the grief I carry to be able to tell you about her. Alas, in the event that it won’t happen, I want to apologize to you.
Right now, for you to read this letter means one of two things: either you somehow managed to take it from the drawer before its time, a case in which I’ll demand both an explanation and you put the letter straight back where you found it, without reading it any further; or that I am no longer among the living. If the latter is correct, then there are some things that I wish to pass on through these words.
I think about my death often. This letter itself is a result of those thoughts. One of the most important things that I need to tell you is about Viz’Hock, my hammer. It is a well-guarded secret that this artifact has a rather darker origin than the Congregation of Paladins would allow the world to find out. Nevertheless, the least I can tell you is that its origins are demonic in nature. From what I understood, it has been turned into a holy weapon through some historically lost means. But be warned, my son, for its original form will never be cleansed entirely, and it may try in time to corrupt you. It has tried to do so with me as well. Always be careful about this weapon, yet trust that it can be used as a beacon of hope in the hands of the worthy. I have no doubt that you will always hold back its darkness and that your heart will never be swallowed by it.
As for the book that I pass on with this letter, it is a prized heirloom passed down from one generation to another. It is a half bestiary, half journal, containing the tales and discoveries of all those who possessed it. I only ask that you take it and add to it your own story, and when the time comes, pass it on to your children.
Aramant paused briefly. He turned to look at the book, then back at the letter. A part of him did not want to continue reading. It saddened him to be reading the last message from his father. Still, he drew a deep breath and continued reading what remained of it.
I cannot imagine what you might be feeling while reading this, but I am asking you to stay strong. The Light has guided me in life, and it is The Light that will offer me comfort in death. With that being said, there is another secret that I should have told you a long time ago. Yet, I think that the best way to do so is to have you hear it through someone else’s words. Seek out the Silver Sorceress, Thaidren’s mother, Wizera. She can be trusted, as can he. I pray that one day, you two will get past your differences and realize you have more in common than you think.
I will forever be in your heart, Aramant. And I will always stand by your side. I should’ve said it more often, but you have no idea how proud I am of you. I always was. Just as much as I was happy when your mother blessed me with you. Be good, my son. May The Light guide your path, always.
Attern Igtruth
Aramant dropped the letter on the floor and covered his eyes with one hand. He clenched his teeth briefly and wiped away a tear of loss and regret. I don’t know what to do.
His moment of sorrow was interrupted by the sound of the cathedral’s beckoning bell. The ceremonies were about to commence. He thought about taking the book and letter with him but chose to let them stay in the drawer a while longer instead. Before he left, he took one last glance at the book. Curiosity compelled him to turn it over and read the title: The Index of Existence.