Laphisto
High Commander of the Lilaste Order
The librarian gave a low, rasping chuckle as he shut the tome in his hands, its cover whispering shut with a sound like dry leaves. With measured care, he set it upon an empty shelf above his desk. The spine glimmered faintly in the golden lamplight her name etched upon it, alongside the dates of her birth and the present day. "That answer is simple, child," he said, voice precise yet weighted with something deeper, as though every word were pressed from the marrow of ages. "I know your tongue because I know all tongues. Every scrap of knowledge within these walls I have made my own. Language, history, prophecy all are written here, and thus all are written in me."
He adjusted the hexagonal spectacles upon his nose, the faint light catching the crystalline facets of his gaze. His clawed hand drifted across a row of bindings until he plucked another tome from the shelf. He flipped it open with deliberate ease, the pages shimmering with faint motes that seemed half-ink, half-starlight.
"Your master, as you call him the one who bears the name of House Gix," the librarian continued, tone sharpening as his eyes did not leave the book. "He is not of Kiev'ara. He shares our flesh, yes, but not our soil. He did not grow beneath our sky, nor did he breathe the currents of the Force as it once flowed through this world. He knows only fragments of what we were. Fragments… and echoes."The book snapped shut with quiet finality, dustless and weightless in his hand. His gaze finally lifted to her, steady and searching, as though weighing her against centuries of memory.
The librarian slid the volume back into its place with almost reverent precision before withdrawing another from the shelf. His long claws parted the pages, flipping through them with the ease of one who had done so countless times. Each sheet shimmered faintly, letters crawling across the parchment like living script before stilling under his gaze.
"This Codex," he murmured, voice low but resonant, "is my grand design my soul woven into crystal and bound with memory. It is not merely a record of what was. It is a vessel. A conduit. Anything you learn, everything you know, can be written into it… and just as easily, drawn back out."He closed the tome with a deliberate motion, then stepped closer until the lamplight cast his pale features in stark relief. Holding the book flat in his palm, he raised it to her brow. The instant its cover touched her helmet, a tremor like thunder rippled through the air.
A torrent of sensation burst through her mind shapes, sounds, meanings crashing together in a flood. Letters and sigils blazed like firebrands behind her eyes. Words twisted and reformed, syllables threading together into fluent cadence. In the span of a single breath, the once-alien tongue of Kiev'ara became familiar, its meanings as natural as thought itself.
The librarian's voice carried through the storm, calm and steady. "Downloaded," he said, lingering on the foreign word as though tasting it. "Yes… like one of your machines, your computers, as you call them. But no machine is needed here. The Codex is both archive and architect. With it, knowledge may be given or taken in an instant."
The torrent ceased as suddenly as it began, leaving silence heavy in its wake. He withdrew the book from her brow and, with the same slow care as before, slid it back into its slot upon the shelf. His pale eyes lingered on her, studying her as though waiting to see whether she would break beneath the weight of what had just been forced into her.
Iandre Athlea
He adjusted the hexagonal spectacles upon his nose, the faint light catching the crystalline facets of his gaze. His clawed hand drifted across a row of bindings until he plucked another tome from the shelf. He flipped it open with deliberate ease, the pages shimmering with faint motes that seemed half-ink, half-starlight.
"Your master, as you call him the one who bears the name of House Gix," the librarian continued, tone sharpening as his eyes did not leave the book. "He is not of Kiev'ara. He shares our flesh, yes, but not our soil. He did not grow beneath our sky, nor did he breathe the currents of the Force as it once flowed through this world. He knows only fragments of what we were. Fragments… and echoes."The book snapped shut with quiet finality, dustless and weightless in his hand. His gaze finally lifted to her, steady and searching, as though weighing her against centuries of memory.
The librarian slid the volume back into its place with almost reverent precision before withdrawing another from the shelf. His long claws parted the pages, flipping through them with the ease of one who had done so countless times. Each sheet shimmered faintly, letters crawling across the parchment like living script before stilling under his gaze.
"This Codex," he murmured, voice low but resonant, "is my grand design my soul woven into crystal and bound with memory. It is not merely a record of what was. It is a vessel. A conduit. Anything you learn, everything you know, can be written into it… and just as easily, drawn back out."He closed the tome with a deliberate motion, then stepped closer until the lamplight cast his pale features in stark relief. Holding the book flat in his palm, he raised it to her brow. The instant its cover touched her helmet, a tremor like thunder rippled through the air.
A torrent of sensation burst through her mind shapes, sounds, meanings crashing together in a flood. Letters and sigils blazed like firebrands behind her eyes. Words twisted and reformed, syllables threading together into fluent cadence. In the span of a single breath, the once-alien tongue of Kiev'ara became familiar, its meanings as natural as thought itself.
The librarian's voice carried through the storm, calm and steady. "Downloaded," he said, lingering on the foreign word as though tasting it. "Yes… like one of your machines, your computers, as you call them. But no machine is needed here. The Codex is both archive and architect. With it, knowledge may be given or taken in an instant."
The torrent ceased as suddenly as it began, leaving silence heavy in its wake. He withdrew the book from her brow and, with the same slow care as before, slid it back into its slot upon the shelf. His pale eyes lingered on her, studying her as though waiting to see whether she would break beneath the weight of what had just been forced into her.
Iandre Athlea