A Chronicle of Lies-Book 1- The Dark Sculptor (High Fantasy/Isekai)

"Well?" Vincent said.

"Uh...yes…” Arlock quickly recovered himself. “We should perhaps have this discussion in the auditorium we have prepared for this purpose.”

Vincent nodded and handed the listener back to Arlock.

Salish was so dumbstruck that his feet seemed to be stuck to the ground. It wasn’t until Locas tugged at him that he broke free from his stupor and he followed behind the group of whispering masters.

“I do not believe it...” Locas breathed, “could you have been right? A thousand mountains...”

No, Salish thought, shaking his head and gathering his wits, those constellations could have been created by some other lore.

However, Thal'rin said he already tested Vincent for any wards, conduits, or traces of other lore. The man was competent in such matters, so it was highly unlikely that any duplicity would escape his inspection. Salish was about to consider how such an inspection could have been evaded when noticed Master Arlock lagging behind.

“Well Salish,” he said, “are you ready to answer his questions, since you are our freshest expert on the Lore of Contradictions?”

“I-I am not an expert. It's just a hobby of mine. A passionate hobby,” Salish said softly as they walked into the oval auditorium. He and Locas were among the last ones in by the time the table had filled. Vincent seemed to have some trouble getting into his chair. He kept knocking it over with both his wings and tail.

“Can somebody tell me what I'm doing wrong?” he whispered.

“You enter from the left,” Thal'rin said, holding the chair for him. “Slide the tail under the backboard, and you tuck the backboard between your wings.”

Nothing about Vincent's clumsiness seemed rehearsed or practiced. The way he moved, the mixture of embarrassment and frustration on his face, the awkward way he manipulated his limbs all seemed authentic. Salish began to feel something cold settle in his stomach the more he observed the strange individual, what if he really had been right? What if he actually had been correct about Ayrlon's tear? His guess was more a joke than a serious suggestion, but what if it was true? Vincent's arrival, the strange storms and the horrors that seem to be rising from them, they could be coincidences...His train of thought was interrupted when Thal'rin cleared his throat.

“Unfortunately, I must leave for a short while. I will return later,” he said, “in the meantime, I entrust you all to answer any questions Vincent may have.”

Master Arlock waited for the High Channeler to leave the room, then he opened up the discussion for Vincent to begin.

“Uh...” Vincent was obviously both surprised and flustered by the gesture, “yeah...I don't even know where to begin.” He looked around at them and then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why does he, Thal'rin I mean, think I'm this 'guy'? This 'Saedharu' guy? Actually, no. That's not what I wanted to ask.” He lowered his hand but kept his eyes closed. “What is this...who and what the hell is this Saedharu and what is he supposed to do?” A few exchanged looks.

“Well...to be honest, Vincent Cordell,” Master Ehelu said, “some of us doubt you are the Paradox Incarnate, despite that display back there with the liacyte.”

“Ehelu,” said Master Delen, “what lore could fake those illuminations? And you heard Thal'rin's testimony, he suffered the Bane and survived.”

“He had Triasat,” Ehelu said.

“Even so, that alone is proof of his significance!” Master Gul chimed in, “the Triasat chose him.”

“A weather gleaner gave it to him!” Ehelu scoffed, “it 'chose' nobody.”

“But it made it into his hands–”

“–Tuhli...” Master Arlock raised his voice and the bickering stopped, “he asked us what the Saedharu is supposed to do, not to argue about whether or not he is the Saedharu.” He shifted his gaze toward Salish.

“Well, we don’t really know,” Salish began, Vincent was gazing straight across at him over his caged fingers, his skeptical countenance partially hidden by the shade of his hood. “I mean...we call you, I mean the Saedharu, The Paradox Incarnate, The Walking Contradiction because he, or it, is described that way in all the stories.”

“Okay?” Vincent parted his hands. “What does that mean, exactly? I guess what I'm asking for is...what prophecies did you use to guess my arrival? What am I expected to do?”

“Well...” Salish hesitated, “there is no official prophecy or premonition regarding the Saedharu. Instead, what we have is a collec–”

“–I know,” Vincent interrupted, “you have a collection of stories that contradict each other. Give me something with some 'substance.' You guys must have some reason to believe that I'm this guy and there must be something I am expected to do.”

Master Welkin scoffed, “do you always interrupt people who are trying to answer you?”

Vincent spared him a brief sideways glance before turning back to Salish. “Sorry.”

“I...” Salish glanced at his peers and mentors, hoping somebody would help. “I may be the one who...guessed your arrival–I mean...assuming you actually him, but my guess? It just that: a guess. Even I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Oh don't be so modest Salish,” Ehelu scorned, “you spent days surrounding yourself with those stories.” Welkin crossed his hands in agreement, as did a few others.

“Yes...” Salish wanted at that moment, to sink into the floor and disappear. “I did. The thing is–” He took a breath. “–As Master Ehelu has noted, the illuminations don't prove your 'identity.' There are many inconsistencies among the tales and journals contained within the Lore of Contradictions. Some say the Saedharu will arrive in the future. Some speak as if they have already observed its arrival. The tense changes for every fable. As for what you are 'supposed' to do, I don't think we can say for certain.”

Good, Salish thought. I’m calming down.

“Most of these recollections and tellings are vague. They refer to you as a paradox, as both a hero and a monster. Those that attempt to elaborate say you will bring a blight on Falius. Others say you will conquer that same blight, not cause it. Others say you will devour the stars in our sky.”

At this, Vincent cocked a brow.

“Still," Salish continued, "others say you will rescue a princess from the throes of some evil, but in doing so will shatter nations. There are so many tales, you are asking which one I should choose and I'm afraid any answer I give would simply come down to me choosing one at random. Until we can corroborate what is happening now with one of them, we can't give you any definitive answer. As for why...why I thought...why I entertained the thought of the Saedharu? Ayrlon's tear: It's a contradiction. But like I said, it was nothing more than a guess. I proposed it offhandedly to Thal'rin. I never expected him to take it with any amount of seriousness.”

Vincent was fiddling with his hands and tapping his claws on the table as he mulled over Salish’s response. Occasionally, one of his wings would drift, get in his way, then he’d shove it aside.

“Well?” Ehelu said.

“What?” Vincent asked.

“No thoughts?”

“Not really,” Vincent said, “I guess I’m still wondering why Thal’rin thinks I could be this guy.”

“I suppose that you are a walking contradiction, of sorts,” Salish hedged, “you survived the Bane. You are a groundwalker, yet you believe you are not, and you apparently wear the markings of the Paradox, which is actually one of the only consistent descriptions through the entire collective lore. Almost every single fable describes the Saedharu as wearing the sky on its body or some variation thereof.”

“And the Heart of Darkness,” Master Thorn added.

The entire chamber was filled with scratching charcoal and quills at the exchange. Salish knew his words were being transcribed so they could be immortalized throughout history. He wanted to burn all copies. Vincent looked between him and Thorn.

“Heart of Darkness?” he repeated, confusion on his face.

“It is the black void which supposedly covers the Saedharu's heart,” Thorn said.

Vincent stared at them both for a few moments, then he groaned silently, covered his face in his hands and shook his head.

“You're talking about the black hole,” he muttered.

“Black hole?” Arlock repeated.

“A collapsed star,” Vincent said, uncovering his eyes. “Gravitational singularity. Or have you even discovered them yet? Don't answer, doesn't matter. Yeah, I have a black mark that shows up when I 'sparkle'. But it's not over my heart, it's near the middle of my chest.”

“But that is over your heart...” a stunned voice said.

“Right...” Vincent groaned and then muttered something about not being “human” anymore.

“Well, are you going to demonstrate that for us?” Welkin asked, rather amused.

“Demonstrate what?” Vincent asked.

“Show us this 'heart of darkness'.”

“Uh...no?” Vincent said, as if his answer were obvious.

“I see.” Welkin almost seemed to take Vincent's refusal as an admission that he was a fraud. “That is a little convenient, don't you think? Doesn't want to show us–”

“–Think what you want,” Vincent said, “I’m not going to strip for you.”

Shock passed over Welkin's countenance, followed quickly by humiliation and outrage. Salish could see a few of his stunned peers cover their snouts. There broke out another argument between several of the masters, including Master Arlock. The tuhli were all tired, none of them have been able to get enough sleep and because of that, they were all cranky. Several of them called Vincent a fraud, though he did not seem to be phased by their accusations.

“You’re all mistaken about why I came here,” he said when the murmuring died down.

“Is that so?” Ehelu crossed his arms, “why did you come here, then?”

Vincent looked at him and slouched back in his chair. “I was bored,” he said, “there’s nothing to do at Thal’rin’s place, so I agreed to meet with you guys. I thought it might be interesting; fun even. Other than that, I really don’t care if you believe I'm this 'Paradox Incarnate’. I don’t want anything to do with that nonsense. So, if you think I’m a fraud, I’m fine with that.”

Ehelu was baffled. Salish didn’t think he ever saw an expression twist one’s snout like it did the old master’s snout.

“If you don’t want anything to do with it, then why are you asking us about it?” he demanded, “why waste our time?”

Vincent considered this for a moment.

“I’m in a coma,” he said, “I got impaled by a deer and now I’m recovering at a hospital. While I’m asleep, I’m having a crazy dream...a dream where I got turned into a dragon.”

“Into a what?” Wilkin interjected.

“Into one of you,” Vincent said, “it’s insane. Not only that, but now I’m in a crazy world whose inhabitants think I’m this prophetic figure. All I want to do is to return to my life when I wake up. The longer I stay here, the harder that’s going to be. Every second I spend here damages my mind. Your ‘Lore of Contradictions’ is a threat to my identity. I want nothing to do with it, but I have to know what it is so I can avoid being trapped by it.”

Ehelu mouthed the phrase “trapped by it” in disbelief.

“It’s a delusion. You get it?” Vincent explained, “I’m an engineering student. Engineers deal with logic and they deal with facts. You have to think critically. You can’t become one if you’re convinced that you’re a god or whatever the hell the Saedharu is supposed to be. It’s a threat to my mind, so I need to know what it is. If I know what the Saedharu is supposed to do, then maybe I can avoid doing it. I am not going to play along with your prophecies.”

“Arlock,” Ehelu said, “what fool did you bring us? What is this madness? Is Thal’rin bending our wings?!”

“That is enough,” Arlock growled, “we are all tired, but you will show respect.”

“Respect!” Wilkin spat, “we are being mocked! This is a joke! There are substantial threats to our people, and we have been taken from our research to entertain this… whatever this is!”

“But the witness accounts, he survived the Bane–” Master Gali began but Ehelu cut her off.

“They know nothing!” he barked, slamming the table with his hand. “I don't care who bore witness to this boy's 'miracles'. The uneducated mind is prone to fantasy! I respect our Diac, but even he has been swayed by conspiracy! And this–this talk of dreams...his mind is addled!”

“Then what do you propose Ayrlon's light means?” Master Roan barked, “have you had an epiphany? Why not share it with us?!”

“They obviously refer to the storms!” Wilkin snapped.

Now it was Ehelu’s turn to argue with him. “Wilkin, we’ve been over this! The storms–”

“Storms?” Vincent repeated. He was no longer slouching. Instead, he sat just a little bit more upright.

“–no precedent for the storms!” Wilkin shouted. “What else could it possibly refer to?”

“Black and white!” Gali said, “It’s a contradicti–”

Salish gripped the table. He had never before witnessed such blatant disrespect from one master to another. Arlock glared at them both while he chewed on his words. There were clear divisions among the masters regarding their guest. Salish did not know where he stood. For a moment, it looked like another fight was set to break out. But Master Arlock stood up and hushed the room.

“I believe you have a question?” Arlock did not need to raise his voice much to silence them, though it took a few moments for their arguments to fall off.

“You said something about storms?” Vincent asked, “like the one Slade and I encountered?”

“Who is Slade?” Gali asked.

“Yes.” It was Arlock who answered. “There have been several storms like the one that ambushed you and Kiolai Reashos. They are another enigma we are trying to solve.”

Though Vincent was trying to hide it, it was clear this bit of information caught his interest.

“You don’t know anything about them?” Vincent asked.

“Why? You want to save us from them?” Ehelu mocked.

Vincent opened his mouth, looking like he was going to say something, then he shut it. But then he opened it again, chewing on his words. Finally, he said, “No, not really. I don’t want to be dragged into your affairs. I just want to be left alone.”

He leaned back into his chair and said nothing more. A murmuring rose from the other masters and soon, it turned into more bickering. But before it could escalate, Master Thorn leaned forward and addressed Vincent.

“We have been told you are able to speak multiple languages without any conscious effort,” he said.

Wilkin and Ehelu, still fuming, went silent. Seeing that one of his specialties was the study of ancient languages, it made sense Thorn would want to know more about Vincent's alleged talent.

Vincent raised a brow, “That's...what I have been told too.”

“How many languages have you spoken so far?” Thorn asked.

“Two, I guess. But to me, you’re all speaking English.”

“‘English’? I never heard of it. Is that your native dialect?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting...” Thorn said, “do you mind if I test this ability of yours?”

Vincent considered it a moment before he gave his answer. “I would rather you didn't.”

“Figures,” Ehelu said, “at least such a talent would have been useful to us.”

“Exactly why I don't want anything to do with it.” Vincent retorted. At this, Ehelu scoffed.

Master Thorn was scratching his snout, pondering Vincent’s response. Then he asked Vincent a question in the Trates dialect. It was a dead language and very difficult one to learn due to the fact that it used a series of throaty clicking noises rather than vowels and consonants to form words. Only a handful of people on Admoran could speak it, all of them historians like Thorn. To utter even a single word required weeks of practice. Vincent listened, thought about his answer and then responded in kind: flawlessly producing the deep rattling the Tratians used to speak with. Thorn tried and failed to hide his amazement. Even Ehelu and Wilkin were stunned. Vincent looked around at the room and a glower descended on his snout.

“You just tested it, didn't you?” he asked, “you made me speak another language?”

“I had to.” Thorn had disbelief in his voice. “I was curious. And you did not realize you were speaking Tratian?”

At first, it seemed like Vincent was going to be angry, but then he gave a sigh of partial resignation. “Like I said, you’re all speaking my language,” he said.

Thorn asked Vincent some questions in several more dead languages. Vincent switched flawlessly between them, answering in kind. The chamber was filled with the sounds of frantic scribing. Incredible, Salish thought.

“Please stop,” Vincent said.

“What do you mean ‘stop’?” Ehelu scoffed, his arms crossed, “I was finally getting interested!”

“So was I...” Salish didn’t see who spoke.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you, Vincent Cordell,” Thorn said, “but what you just did is remarkable! I know only two other people who can speak Tratian. If this talent of yours extends to other languages, even dead ones, then it could upend years of knowledge. We could uncover revelations!”

Wilkin massaged his temples. “We have zerok to translate for us already.”

“Not dead languages!” Thorn said, “they can’t speak to the dead!”

“I mean, I understand why it’s amazing,” Vincent said, “And I can see why it’d be invaluable. But I already told you I don’t want to be dragged into this. I just want to be left alone. So stop.”

Master Thorn looked crestfallen, but he acquiesced. Master Gul, seeing an opening, cleared his throat.

“Vincent Cordell,” he said, “High Channeler Thal’rin has told us all about your story. But would you be willing to tell us more about the entity that...uh, brought you into our world?”

At this, Vincent became visibly tense. His expression didn’t change much, but his posture became stiff, and he began to fidget, rubbing his claws against each other.

“I don’t know,” he said. There was a hesitance to his words. “Why?”

“Why?” Master Gul repeated. “Boy, if you are from a different realm as you claim to be, then this knowledge is not insignificant. I would just like to know if you could tell us anything about it.”

“I already told Thal’rin what happened,” Vincent said.

“Yes, you did. But you didn’t give him much to work with. You didn’t tell him what it looked like.”

Vincent’s gaze fell. Now he was focused on his own fidgeting. “It was dark,” he said, “I didn’t see anything. Some arms maybe...”

“Did it say anything to you? When you underwent your metamorphosis, was there–”

“–No,” Vincent interrupted.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Gul said.

“It didn’t say anything to me. It just took me and turned me into this.” Vincent gestured his face.

“Yes, but what did that entail? Was there any–”

“–I don’t want to talk about it.” Vincent said.

“But this creature, if it can travel across realms and demonstrate that lore, then we need to–”

“–Are you deaf

?” Vincent glared at a stunned Gul. “I said to back the fuck off!”

The masters went silent for a heartbeat or two.

“The disrespect!” Wilkin spat. At this, Vincent turned to Arlock.

“I’m done,” he said.

“Vincent?” Arlock said.

“I'm done here. When's Thal'rin getting back?”

Vincent needed to calm down. It had all been going relatively well until that creature brought up the Stalker. He was surrounded by living Jim Henson creations. Though he was nervous about meeting these people, he secretly found the experience charming up until that moment. They spent most of the time pecking away at him and arguing over whether or not he was the Saedharu. Half of them seemed to think he could be. The other half seemed to think he was a fraud. The creatures were also sleep-deprived and ready to throttle something. There were a few moments where it looked like it’d come to blows, an image Vincent secretly found to be very amusing.

But then that damn creature brought up the transformation. Suddenly, the archives felt cramped, and the air was stifling. He’d told nobody the details about his kidnapping and metamorphosis. He didn’t remember all the details, nor did he want to. At that moment, he wanted to throttle the creature for bringing it up. He was done with these people.

Arlock, surprised by the outburst, apologized for any “discomfort” the masters caused. Then he told Vincent that he could wander around archives if he wished while he waited for Thal'rin's return. Vincent waited until most of the tuhli left the room before he tried to get up. He ended up carrying the chair on his tail for several feet before he managed to shake it off. Damn thing. The backboard was thin, and it was supported on one side only so it could accommodate tails, but at least it was an actual chair instead of a stool.

He needed to take his mind off of the meeting, but he couldn’t. He thought about the storms one of the tuhli mentioned. Vincent should have asked about them. Why did he hesitate? So there were more of those. That was the information he needed. Perhaps it was silly to assume that the storms held his memories. He only encountered one once and the fact that he suddenly remembered Deonte could have been a coincidence. But it was a thread worth pursuing. It could have–

Vincent’s train-of-thought was interrupted when he noticed Salish standing near the entrance. The so-called prodigy resembled a bird: coal-black hair flamed like wild feathers at the top of the creature's thin, olive-green skull. He sounded like he was in his late teens, which made him seem out-of-place in the archives, where most of the creatures were either middle-aged or elderly.

Vincent wished he had something he could use to make himself look busy, like his cell phone or laptop, or a good book. It was obvious that Salish wanted to talk to him; the creature was doing a shit job of pretending to be interested in the scroll he was holding in his hands. Unfortunately, Vincent was trapped; there were no other doors to get out except the one near Salish. So, with a sigh, he headed toward the entrance. Sure enough, Salish stopped what he was doing and followed behind him.

“Your idea regarding condensation...” he began. There was a hesitance to his words. “Is this something you've tried?”

“What?” Vincent stopped, caught off-guard by the question. He had expected Salish to harass him about being the Saedharu or his “mastery” of languages, maybe even the transformation. Salish certainly acted it, the way he fidgeted, avoided looking at Vincent’s eyes. Then Vincent remembered what he had said earlier to the creature. “Oh...uh, yeah. That's how dehumidifiers work. We use some sort of compressed gas as a refrigerant in ours. Why?”

“Well, I was intrigued,” Salish said, “if you don't mind me asking about it.”

Vincent found it mind-boggling that these creatures could build a city like Meldohv Syredel, but not figure out how to make a dehumidifier. Salish looked nervous as he waited for his response.

At this, Vincent sighed, “Listen, I don't know who you think is standing before you, but I'm just a guy...a guy in a really screwed up situation. You don't have to be so twitchy.”

“Twitchy?” Salish repeated, pondering the meaning for a moment. “In my defense, you don’t seem happy to be here.”

“Oh...yeah, well,” Vincent said as he headed out the door, “I'm not a happy guy. I'm always flipping out about something. You people just haven't known me long enough to realize that.”

“Flipping...out?”

“It's a figure of speech. It means I get irritated easily.”

Vincent wasn’t sure of where he was going to go. He remembered Arlock had told him that this section of the building was called the Deep Archives. Normally, only Masters of the Archives were allowed to come down here, with the few occasional exceptions.

He had to admit, the Archives were pretty neat. Books, scrolls, tomes, and catalogs overflowed from rickety old shelves, and the absence of even a single speck of dust told him just how valuable the texts here were. He doubted the tuhli would simply allow him to wander around. It was a suspicion confirmed when he found a guard tailing them both.

“You really want to learn about how a dehumidifier works?” Vincent asked.

“Well...yes!” Salish said, “I’ve read many texts. I’ve dived into so many books, you wouldn’t believe it even if I told you. None of them discussed using condensation to dehumidify.”

Vincent gawked at him in disbelief.

“Your condensation idea,” Salish continued, “it wasn’t just brilliant, it was obvious! I’ve devoted my life to uncovering lore, and then you tell me something that no one else seems to have ever considered. I want to know what you know.”

“Um...sure,” Vincent said, “I’ll let you pick my brain about that for a bit. But none of this ‘Saedharu’ crap.”

“I can agree to that,” Salish said.

“Good. But first, can we find a place to sit down?”

They went at a leisurely pace. Vincent wandered the floor and looked at the various shelves, not touching anything. Not that it mattered; he couldn’t read the texts even if he wanted to. His “talent” for languages was limited to the spoken word. The text’s pages were alien gibberish. Still, they looked pretty enough, and, along with Salish’s never-ending inquiries, looking at the fancy manuscripts gave Vincent something to do while he waited for Thal'rin to return and accompany him to the Runite Vault, where he would see this so-called omen of Ayrlon's tear. What the purpose of such a trip would be? He had no clue.

Salish eventually led him to a study where they sat down. The tuhli kept asking questions, and, true to his word, not a single one was about any of the Saedharu bullshit. He asked about Earth, about the dehumidifier, about how to harness electricity. He acted like a geeky, straight-A high school student who had been given a co-op job at a prestigious institution. Though he was not as experienced as Thal'rin at making inquiries, he had at least as much enthusiasm and fascination. The people could build shrykens, but they haven't discovered how to generate or use an electrical current. It was such a strange deficit.

“Wait a moment,” Salish said, “earlier, you said electricity flowed in the manner of a liquid.” 

“I did, yeah,” Vincent said.

“Then what keeps it from leaking out of the wire? How do you keep it contained?”

In spite of his best efforts to remain aloof, Vincent found himself taking a liking to Salish. He spent a moment choosing his words.

“No–I mean yes, it does, but something can move like a fluid without actually being a fluid. Uh...” He struggled to find an example. “Think of sand. You can pour sand, and it flows like a liquid, yet water flows through cloth. Sand doesn’t.” 

“Sand does not pass through cloth because the threads of the fabric are woven too tightly for the sand grains to pass through them,” Salish said.

“It’s not the...” Vincent stopped himself and thought about it for a second. “Actually, that’s a good observation. Some substances are permeable to water, but others aren’t. It’s the same with electricity. Direct current does move like fluid, but, as a fluid, it’s um...very picky about the kinds of materials it will flow through. When we say that a material is conductive, it means electricity can easily flow through it. Metals like copper are very conductive. Water is too…sort of. But air and wood aren’t.”

“Why the difference? What dictates whether a material is more conductive than another?” Salish asked.

“Remember when I mentioned atoms?” Vincent was just telling Thal’rin about this the other night.

Salish looked at his notes. “Yes. Protons, neutrons, and uh...electrons.”

Vincent’s ears twitched. Whenever Falians spoke a word that had no equivalent in their world, the mysterious translator that converted languages would fail. It was jarring to hear Salish refer to the subatomic particles in his harsh accent.

“Right,” he said, “well, the way the atoms are arranged in copper, they share their electrons with their neighboring atoms. When you have a bunch of atoms in a line like you do in a piece of copper wire, when an electron bumps into one of the wire’s copper atoms, it takes the place of an electron in that atom, and kicks out the one that was already there, like an eviction. Then, the electron that got evicted goes and kicks an electron out of the atom next door, and so on. That's what the flow of electricity is, a bunch of electrons kicking each other out. Of course, things get more confusing with alternating current, but–”

“–Wait.” Salish scratched his head, running claws through his mane. “I understand what you just said, but, forgive me.  Earlier, you mentioned that lightning was a form of this 'direct current', yet lightning bolts cut through air, even though you said that air was not conductive.”

Vincent began to feel a headache forming. “That's because there’s a huge charge building up in the thundercloud,” he said, “it's a whole lot more than the voltage supplied by a power line.”

“Charge? Power line?” Salish asked. He looked completely lost.

“Maybe I'm not explaining it right,” Vincent rubbed his temples. “Look, electricity is complicated. All you need to know is that we use it to power a motor, and that motor drives a pump that circulates a refrigerant through some coils to cool them down. Then a fan, driven by a separate motor, blows air over the coils, and the moisture in the air condenses on the coils and drains off into a reservoir. Then, there's a compressor which–” 

At that moment, they both heard footsteps in the corridor. Thal'rin appeared around the corner looking tired. He was accompanied by Arlock. Vincent got up, stretched, and picked up his jacket, which he had taken off because he was getting a little too warm. However, he was having to fight it when he tried putting it back on.

“Hey,” he said to Salish, “I hate to ask this, but do you think you can help me with this?”

“Uhh...” Salish sounded nervous.

“I think there's some magnets in the back that close the notches under the wings. But I haven't gotten the hang of holding them open while I slide it on. It's a pain in the ass.”

“I...can do that.” Salish held the notches open while Vincent slid the garment over his back. Then he pulled up the hood and finessed it over his horns, a maneuver that required him turning nearly it inside out and sliding the ports over the curled keratin until it covered his head.

“Thanks.”

“I see you both have become acquainted,” Thal'rin said, then he turned to Vincent. “Are you well, Vincent? I heard things didn’t go so well. I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent said, “I didn’t find out much about the Saedharu though.”

“They do not refer to it as the Lore of Contradictions because it is clear,” Thal'rin said with a hint of irony, “well...now that I am here, I think it is time for us to visit the vault. I know I have explained to you the strange ambiance of Ayrlon's Tear, but you may wish to behold it yourself. It is a sight to see.”

“Sure.” Vincent said.

“Salish, you may come along as well.” Arlock said.

“Oh, I thought–”

“Hey,” Vincent said, “Remember what I told you about being twitchy?”

Salish nodded resolutely, and then again. “I will come,” he said. He was still a little twitchy, though.