An Honest Man

[Fitermon 668]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The library was silent and vacant, save for the two in the South wing on the second floor. The skeleton of the great dragon glared down upon the two with vacant yet judgemental eyes, not a single motion nor a word hidden from the dragon’s gaze. At the table sat the Boy, and standing just opposite of him Velitel. The Boy’s brow crinkled, and he stared on at the array of books donning the shelves. There was nothing special about them really, after all they were just books. However it perturbed him that Shamanism Volume II was preceded by Immortal Spirits, and not Shamanism Volume I. It’d not bother most, however it nagged at the Boy’s mind that the books were out of order.

 

“E-Excuse me, sir? They’re out of order, you said you’d keep them-”

 

“Silence!”  Velitel snapped, a stern frown aimed at the Boy. “Keep your mind  focused. Weigh the vicissitudes wrought upon you by those claiming to act in your interest, then weigh the blessings I’ve granted you, Boy!”

 

“I- I know you’ve been kind to me, b-but I just want to organ-”

 

Velitel scoffed, shaking his head in pity. He brought the aged, inky hand to his nose, gently pinching the bridge. The man made his way to the shelves, plucking a book from the hundreds present.

“This, you’ve read it many a time, yes? What of it has been presented to you as truth, and what as a convenient lie?”

 

The Boy sunk further into his seat, his thumbs idly coming to the loops of his necklaces around. They’d roll and twist the chains, gems softly clinking and tapping against one another. His head turned right to face the hollow, judging eyes, then back to the expectant man.

 

“I- I suppose a lot of it… You told me all of this already, sir…” the Boy replied meekly, glancing down to his brother’s necklace. His reflection stared back at him with the same tired eyes.

 

“You cannot rely on those until the ends of time, Boy. You know it just as I know; nay, just as he expects you to. Cast them aside, or at the very least begin to adjust. I’ll be here to guide you,”  Velitel reassured the Boy, a familiar smile etched into his visage. The same smile bore a hole into Rilath’s very essence, always there when Velitel wanted him to listen to him. “What will they do for you later on in life anyways? Petty trinkets they are, what you need is might and passion. Accept my blessings, accept the gift my father bestowed ‘pon thee. I’ve already granted you what you’ve lacked: A true friend. When have I lied, deceived? When have I tricked, destroyed, connived? Remind yourself of that, and see. Open your eyes, Boy, let in the light!”

 

“I- I know, I know! B-But he’s my brother! I can’t just do that to family, they’re not objects that you just get rid of if you don’t like it!”  he cried out, bringing a hand to clasp at the necklaces around his neck, only to find the two ornate necklaces absent. “W-Where’d you… How’d you…” he stammered, nervously darting his eyes about in search of the jewelry.

 

“You accuse me of what you’ve done yourself? Look in your pocket you damned fool, and do not be so quick to anger.”

 

The Boy frowned, his brow knitting once more. His gaze switched from the man back to the book in front of him on the table, then back to the shelves.

 

“Take a deep breath in, Boy. Do as I say, you know I'm always right…”

 

He obeyed, shutting his eyes as he breathed in and out. The darkness about him comforted him and held him, right by his side. He felt Velitel’s hands fall upon his shoulders, the weight soothing to the touch. One… Two… Three… Up to ten the Boy counted, letting his eyes drift open. He looked to the shelves once more, shoving his seat out and rising to his feet. His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he approached the misaligned books, setting them back into their proper order. The Boy looked around for Velitel, the aged one nowhere to be found. With nobody to preoccupy his time now, he began making his way to the exit of the library, all the while a hand clasped around the necklace’s laces within his pocket.

 

His stormy gray eyes rose to the skeleton’s void ones, a disappointed expression forged into the skull. What was his right to judge the Boy, though? What leverage did the dead hold over him? Velitel would assure him there was none, of course, and he ought to remember that. He ought to remember who his true friends are, and remember who seeked to ruin him. After all, who wouldn’t?

 

[mitto 2312]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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