Standing in the entrance way of the den you could see a center table, windows lining the exterior walls, and an assortment of rustic shelves and dressers that showed signs of excessive use. The floorboards were made of thick wooden beams and were worn down from continuous pacing.

Half-melted candle sticks were scattered around the room for when the sun set, and work had to be done into the night. Each one had wax melted all down the candle base, and oddities of random formations of wax had been formed on the table. The room was not excessively big and was a tight fit at times, but it had a remarkably familiar and subtle way of making anyone there feel honored. It appeared that nothing was organized that well but, looking closer, you could see everything had a specific place.

Stacks of pages were thrown about tables, shelves, and all over the floor. The room needed to be cleaned, but you could tell that was the way the creative process unfolded. It was not that the room was not clean, but that the process of creation was organized chaos.

Old leather bindings and covers were organized by their sizes; tanned rich dark colors along the bookshelves, and each one crafted and molded by hand. Over by the far window was a small desk that had seen better days but looked as if it had some good use still. The markings and scratches on the workbench blended, and various kinds of inks lined the top of the workstation.

The desk was the spot that had the most candle sticks on it and a large rusty lantern. Melted wax covered the edges of the table and looked as if there was more wax than table left. You could tell countless hours were spent at that desk working past sunset, to create perfect works of art.

That little desk was Oren’s favorite part of the entire room. He loved to gaze at and organize all the various inks and flaking materials. Each ink was special and had the most vibrant colors. The ink used was of the deepest blue, red like the embers in a fire, green like it had been ground down from evergreen leaves, yellow, orange, and violet from the most exotic flowers, white that looked like it had been captured from a fresh snow fall, and black that looked like it was from the deepest darkest pit you could find. Each ink was in a specially made glass bottle and labeled with precise calligraphy.

For as long as Oren could remember his grandfather’s workshop had never been reorganized, and there was no reason for it to be changed.

Oren was above average height, had short chocolate brown hair that was shaved on the sides, and grayish blue eyes that were outlined with long eyelashes. His joints were small, but his muscle heads were large; that made him look more muscular than he was. His complexion was tanned from spending his days outdoors and his thighs were wider than his waist, forcing him to wear tailored pants.

His grandfather would work in his den and create the most sought-after books and scrolls in all of Raskadia. Oren would always watch and help in any way his grandfather instructed. After watching his grandfather for so long, and becoming more of an annoyance than an observer, Oren eventually became his apprentice.

He slowly gravitated from playing outside and being a kid to becoming fascinated with his grandfather’s craft. Oren started to help clean the workshop after his grandfather was done, and gradually began helping earlier and earlier throughout the day.

Oren would ask, “Grandfather, what can I do?”

“You can clean the tools and brushes on the desk,” he would exclaim.

Then after a short while, Oren would say, “Grandfather, what now?”

Oren was always eager to help, and he would accomplish everything quickly until he got the answer he was looking for.

“Grandfather, what should I do now?”

“I believe it is time for you to help me pick out the ink for this book cover,” his grandfather would say.

That was always Oren’s favorite part of the book-making process because it made his grandfather’s creations unique. Tooling was the part where his grandfather would decorate the covers of the books with metal hand tools and stamps and impress the designs into the leather. His attention to detail was impeccable, and everyone wanted one of his books for their unique and unmatched quality. No part of the book was left untouched, and the design would flow over the spine of the book and onto the back.

Some craftsmen were great at what they did, but anytime you saw one of his books you could tell it was crafted by Frederick Bodhi. Anyone who ever came by his house to request a book be crafted was always respectful and knew that the wait would be long but worth it.

Frederick was an old man in his sixties with thinning grey hair. His arms and face were weathered with sunspots, and his hands were callused and wrinkled. His back was slightly hunched, and he was bow-legged. He was a lean man but had a bit of a gut from old age and a slowed metabolism. His mouth was small with thin lips and he had a large nose and ears, and long eyebrows that went off in all directions.

When Frederick would allow Oren to help, he would tell him to get the workbench ready by getting out all his tools and lighting extra candles around the workstation when the sun started to set. Ever since he was a child, Oren had watched his grandfather work and absorbed any amount of information he told him about his process for creating, binding, and tooling books. It was only recently that Oren started to help design and customize books with his grandfather.

Oren had always been too young to take on a lot of responsibility, but now that he was almost sixteen, he received extra duties around the workshop. Oren took to gilding very naturally and became quite the prodigy. Gilding cost extra but was highly sought after because the colors impressed onto the covers were gold and silver. Oren preferred gilding the impressions in his grandfather’s designs with gold and silver because it made his work unique; nobody else did it.

The amount of time it took to smelt the ore of the elements was exhausting but made his creations priceless once introduced to the book binding. Various colors were also used if someone requested to have their family crest or a picturesque scene impressed onto the cover.

For quite some time Oren and his grandfather had had their routine for working and relaxing, and all was well. They would wake in the morning to have a hearty breakfast from the cast iron stove and go over their agenda. They would work periodically throughout the day, stopping for lunch, and continue to work into the night. After they finished, they would clean the workshop and have a simple dinner and read books, or Oren would listen to stories told by his grandfather. When supplies ran low, they would go to Persomarin, the nearby village, to resupply, and when visitors stopped by for books they would often catch up on local gossip and stories.

Autumn had come early this year and the leaves had begun to change to reds, oranges, and yellows and start falling from the trees. Oren and Frederick returned home from a resupply trip later than usual and had arrived home late at night. The night air had become crisp with a slight cool breeze and their breath could faintly be seen in the air. They had unpacked all the supplies from the wagon into the house and were getting ready to put everything away.

It was late, but everything was to be placed in its proper spot so work could begin in the morning. Each crate of supplies, from perishables to crafting gear, was dropped into the hallway of the cottage to be put into its respective location after a fire had been kindled. It was completely dark outside, except for the faint glow of the moon and stars, when Oren and his grandfather heard a knock on the door.

Oren and Frederick exchanged looks of bewilderment to hear a knock so late in the night. They were not expecting visitors of any kind, and the house was secluded, away from the neighboring towns. Unless you had been told about their house you would never be able to find it.

After leaving the village of Persomarin, which was south, or The Bard Inn, due east, you would run into thick forests and streams that led towards the mountains, and no one ever stopped to explore the area. As far as anyone was concerned, the Obsidian Forest did not offer much of anything besides some lumber, odd plants, and exceptional darkness that seemed to absorb the starlit sky. The lumber was unbelievably valuable and sought after by merchants and vendors, but the trees were as hard as diamond and nearly impossible to cut down.

The Obsidian Forest got its name because the trees were sprouted from the remains of a dormant volcano that turned the trees black. They reached hundreds of feet into the sky and carried their branches with them into the canopies. Everything, from the trunk and roots to the leaves, was solid black and had unique fractal patterns within the grain. The crafting of the lumber took valuable time and was only ever obtained after a tree had fallen from being crippled by the elements over centuries. Since the lumber was so valuable and scavenged it rarely littered the forest floor.

To get to their cottage you had to head north towards the Frizerian Peaks until right before you would start an ascent, and then head along the base of the mountains, going west. The Frizerian Peaks were the highest mountains in the entire realm, and they reached so high into the sky that to catch a glimpse of the top of the peaks was said to be good luck.

The journey over the mountains was not intended for the faint-hearted, and many travelers would often lose their way when trying to navigate the treacherous paths. The most dangerous part of the peaks was the striking cold that rushed over them. Any traveler caught in an open gust of wind on the peaks during the harsh winter would instantly freeze if not under cover. Anyone who could handle that obstacle still had to watch out for avalanches and the occasional yeti, but they stayed on the Never-Ending Tundra.

The path to the east around the peaks took an extra four weeks but was well accommodating for safety and was the preferred path for traveling. If you traveled too far west around the peaks, then you would run into the Never-Ending Tundra. Guiding through the edge of the Obsidian Forest against the mountains you would find a path that would eventually cut back into the forest and head away from the mountains. Traveling for about an hour you would discover a little meadow hidden inside the forest, and that was where the cottage was.

The clearing seemed to have an extra breath of life from the stream that cut through it. The water descended from the snow that was on the top of the Frizerian Peaks and offered the coldest and clearest water you could envision. The peaks, like the forest, were forged centuries before by the volcano. The soil and ash deep in the ground filtered all the water descending from the mountains.

When peering into the stream you could count every pebble on the creek bed. Fish would effortlessly float in the current and collect small pieces of food that fell from the trees and drifted down from the mountains. All the animals would congregate along the creek bed and graze in the meadow as if it were a safe and tranquil place for all of them, and nestled right along the creek bed was the cottage.

Oren would often get lost in the tranquility and elegance of living by the most spectacular view of the forest, the mountains, and the meadow. If someone had taken the time to explore the area, as Oren’s grandfather had, then they would not have missed out on such a regal location.

Frederick claimed to have found the meadow a long time ago while he was traveling. It was out of place in the expansive forest, as though it did not belong there, but there could not have been any other explanation as to how a massive cluster of Obsidian trees was torn down than natural causes.

Customers would often stop by sporadically throughout the day to pick up their books, but never so late at night. With their location being off the normal path not many people wanted to travel in the dark of night, which made getting a visitor at night peculiar.

Then again, a strong knocking could be heard at the door. A solid THUMP… THUMP… THUMP!

Frederick told Oren, “Finish putting everything away and I will go check the door. I will help you when I’m done, and we can eat some dinner afterward.”

Oren was famished and elated that they were almost done with the day’s work. Frederick casually made his way to the front door to see who could be arriving at such a late hour. He did not have to walk far to get to the door, because the workshop was the first room in the house after entering their home. He shuffled his feet across the wooden floorboards but barely made a sound, as if he were floating towards the door.

When Frederick arrived at the front door, he unlocked the latch and security chain and reached for the antique door handle. He opened the door and saw a man standing in his doorway. He was barely visible by the candlelight and recently lit fire, but you could tell that someone imposing was waiting to be greeted.

The man standing in front of him had a very authoritative presence with broad shoulders. His head was hanging low and staring at the ground, and the only remarkable feature about his head was his crimson hair. His apparel was tailored with impeccable stitching and he wore raven black. His overcoat was also black, with a maroon trim around the sleeves and stitching, as if to match his hair. He ornamented his outfit with a maroon tie and an ornate pocket watch. It garnered all the light from his aura and shimmered from the chain guiding it into his vest pocket, and made his outfit seem even darker than it should be.

Frederick had recognized the uniform instantly because he had had to wear it for many years when he was a part of The Guild. A flood of memories he had repressed from such times came crashing down on him, and the horror of things he had had to witness and do. It was something he thought he had long forgotten, but someone with his innate abilities could not walk away from those memories forever.

The man in the doorway slowly raised his head so his face could meet Frederick’s. He had a square face and jet-black eyebrows. His eyes were wide-set, and his lips were wide and dry from lack of moisture. He had a small nose and ears compared to the size of his head and the irises of his eyes were such a dark brown that you could barely tell where his pupils were.

When he fully raised his head from looking at the floor Frederick was enraged at who he saw. Frederick had thought he would never have to deal with The Guild again, and never even thought about the person in front of him. He was at a loss for words with such anger building inside of him.

Frederick collected his thoughts on why this man would be at his home, and knew that something dire must have happened to warrant a visit. The man and Frederick were never on the best of terms in the past and only tolerated each other when they needed to work together in special situations. The last time he had seen him, the man he had been a young boy; barely a man, who was hot-tempered and had a problem with rules and authority.

Each man stared at the other, seeing who would break the tension and speak the first word. After what seemed like ages Frederick grew impatient. He assertively peered into the man’s eyes and demanded, “Why are you here, Balimore?!”

Oren heard his grandfather from the workshop and had never heard him take that tone with anyone before. Curiosity got the best of him, and he had to see who it was. Oren very carefully set down the crate he had been unpacking and snuck over to the edge of the room. He could not help but smirk to himself about how quiet he was.

Avoiding every creak on the floor and dodging all the paper and boxes scattered around the workshop. He slowly peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the man. It was tough for him to fully see him standing in the dark, but he could make out the faint distinctions in his face. Then Oren heard his grandfather repeat his tone once more while addressing the man.

“Choose your words very carefully, Balimore.”

“Frederick, it’s been a long time,” said Balimore.

With increasing tension in his voice, “Not long enough! I won’t ask again, why are you here?” questioned Frederick.

“I know we have had our issues in the past, but I would not have come to your home if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. The Guild still honors and upholds your agreement, but I came to fill you in on certain events that have transpired.”

“And why did they send you?” Frederick asked.

“It may come as a surprise, but I am the presiding leader of The Guild now, and I came as a courtesy to you. I know your house rule and have honored your wishes. I walked here from town and all that remains of The Guild has accompanied me. They are waiting on the far side of the meadow. I understand how impressionable Oren is, and did not want to disrespect your wishes. If you would permit, I would like to ask on everyone’s behalf if we could come inside and talk.”

“And why would I let you do that?” asked Frederick.

“Because Vataxin and Lilith have surfaced after all these years,” stated Balimore.

Oren was still listening from around the corner and trying to make sense of the conversation he just heard. So many questions popped into his head, like who was Balimore, how did he know his name, and what was The Guild? The two biggest questions he could not figure out were who Lilith was and what his grandfather’s “house rule” was.

Oren had lived with his grandfather his entire life and never known of a house rule. His grandfather had things he preferred done a certain way and was known to have a temper sometimes, but nothing was ever a set rule that Oren was told to follow. Secondly, Oren had never heard his grandfather talk about anyone named Lilith. Balimore had said her name with an intimacy that struck Frederick in his heart, and Oren was curious about how this girl fit into his grandfather’s life.

Frederick thought about Balimore’s proposition and agreed to let the other members of The Guild into his home. “Go ahead and get the rest of the group. I will hear what you have to say.”

“Very well, and if you could do me a favor, I have not told the rest of The Guild that Vataxin is with Lilith. I would like to keep that between us for now.”

Frederick nodded his head in agreement.

Balimore disappeared into the dark to get the rest of The Guild, and Frederick turned around to see a curious Oren peeking around the corner. “Oren, you can come out from behind the corner.”

“Grandfather, what’s going on?” Oren asked.

“They are some old acquaintances from a long time ago. They will not be staying long. They just want to tell me some information and ask my opinion on the matter. You can go ahead and start making some dinner, anything that you want. Just make sure you don’t eat too many sweet cakes,” he said with a small grin.

Oren was too hungry to inquire further and did not think twice about the question he had asked. He had quite the sweet tooth and was going to try and sneak some extras if his grandfather was not going to help him cook.

While Oren was scavenging the pantry for extra sweet cakes, he heard the rest of the people arrive at the house. He heard a lot of voices and peeked around the corner to see who else had accompanied Balimore. Sitting in the living room were his grandfather, Balimore, two men, and two women. They were all wearing the same tailored raven black clothes with maroon trimming and various red accruements. Oren decided he was more interested in sweet cakes and went back to rummaging through the pantry.

Frederick waited for everyone to enter his home before he shut the door behind them. He went over to his usual chair by the cobblestone fireplace and threw on an extra log to keep the heat up in the house before sitting down. He recognized a couple of the members of The Guild, but not all of them.

Balimore decided to begin with introductions, so Frederick knew who was in his house, and to inform him of the current members of The Guild.

“We appreciate you meeting with us at such a late hour, especially regarding the circumstances. We are the remaining members of The Guild, or at least everyone that we know of. I believe you already know Griffin and Constance Palmer, and this is their daughter, Aurora. The other man with us is Luther Yates. He has been with us for a while.”

Luther was an oval-shaped man with pink blotchy skin and sloping shoulders, but carried his weight well. He had a firm posture that had been perfected after years of carrying around some extra weight. His hair was short and dirty blonde, and his teeth were slightly askew. Luther’s eyebrows were thin, and his eyes were narrow set and tan like faded leather.

Frederick smiled and looked over at Griffin and Constance, “It has been far too long since I have seen you both. I am glad to see things have turned out well for you. And your daughter is a spitting image of you. It’s nice to meet you, Aurora.”

Griffin was a short man with big arms and a wide frame. He was big-boned and brawny with black combed-over hair and shamrock-colored eyes. His face had some stubble, but it grew in patches instead of a full beard, with hints of red throughout. Constance was taller than Griffin and had a pear-shaped frame. Her hair was auburn with a smart semi-high bun and pompadour. Her eyes were a dull lapis blue, and she had some bags under them from lack of sleep.

Aurora was a beautiful girl with long auburn hair like her mother’s that was in a fishtail braid. She was nearly nineteen and still rather shy, but she had a confidence about her that she was still discovering. Her eyes were just like her father’s, vibrant and green like emeralds. She had high cheekbones, plump lips, and the whitest smile. She was a spitting image of her parents.

Aurora was rather bashful meeting Frederick for the first time. She had admired him ever since her parents had shared stories about him and the things he had done. Constance let her daughter hide halfway behind her as they talked on the couch. Frederick was surprised to see her wearing the uniform of The Guild.

“It is only natural that your powers have passed onto Aurora with you both having abilities, but isn’t she rather young to be in The Guild?” asked Frederick.

Griffin understood Frederick’s concern. “Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, Frederick, but these are delicate times. There are not many of us left, and I do not like the idea of her being in danger, but the situation at hand takes precedence. You of all people know the devastation we will face if Lilith falls further into her obsession for power. She was spotted near the Orverian Swamp, and she has become far more powerful than we thought. Which is why we came to see you.”

Frederick gazed into the glowing embers of the fire before looking up at everyone. He could see the concern on their faces, and how tired they were from traveling.

“I don’t know how much of a help I can be to anyone. I have not spoken about Lilith or what happened since that day and have no idea about what is happening now. What is it that you want from me?”

You could see that Griffin was about to say something and then stopped himself. You could tell he was trying to figure out what to say to Frederick. He looked at him sitting in his chair and had not thought about how much older he would have. His face had more wrinkles, and his hair was pearl white and thinning, but Griffin could sense how strong he still was.

So much power was lurking under his debilitated appearance just waiting to be unleashed after years of repression. He knew that Frederick might appear geriatric, but it would be a fool’s mistake to think Frederick was anything but containable if he needed to be.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, but there has been a bit of miscommunication of why we came to see you. We are not here to seek your counsel on Lilith… we have come to ask for your aid. From everything we have seen that she is capable of there is no way we can stop her with just the five of us. You are the only way we stand a chance.”

Balimore shifted his weight around and walked to the other side of the room. “Frederick, you are the only one that can get close enough to Lilith. We are hoping that she is not so far corrupted that she won’t give you a chance to at least talk.”

Frederick shook his head. “And what happens if that doesn’t work? You of all people know what happened last time. I could not go through with it then, and I cannot do it now. That is why I left.”

“I know the memories that haunt you and they will never go away, but this time it is different. If you do not come with us she will start searching for Oren. It might be tomorrow, or it might be a few years from now, but they will come. It does not matter if you try and hide him, she will come for him and no matter how much you might want to ignore that, you know it is true,” Balimore said convincingly.

“I knew they would resurface eventually, but I just hoped that the grudge would be forgotten about. Oren does not know about that part of his life, or mine, and I never wanted him to have to live through those horrors. I always thought that if I hid his powers from the world he could have a normal life,” reasoned Frederick.

Griffin consoled Frederick. “That might have been a vision you once had, Frederick, but I do not know if we will have that option for very long.”

Luther then interjected: “I cannot hold my tongue. Why don’t we utilize Oren? He has so much potential and could be extremely helpful in the fight against Lilith.”

Frederick, without hesitation, shouted, “NO!” and then paused to gather his thoughts. “Oren stays out of this. Just let me think.” After a short while, he spoke softly; “I will go and help you find Lilith, but on one condition. Oren is not to be involved in any of this. If you want my help those are my terms.”

Balimore was relieved; he had thought they were going to have to do a lot more convincing than that. Fortunately, Luther’s loudmouth had paid off for once. Maybe the idea of Oren being involved was enough to push Frederick over the edge. Balimore nodded his head. “You have my word that Oren will be kept out of it.”

Luther was not appeased.

He stood up and addressed Balimore. “Balimore, you do not know how powerful Lilith may be now. We need that kid if we are going to stand a chance. This is a suicide mission without him! Regardless of whether or not he has used his powers yet, he is more powerful than any of us.”

Not amused with his outburst, Balimore peered over at Luther.

“It would be best if you watch your tone, Luther! Frederick is Oren’s guardian, and we will honor his terms. If you involve that boy in any way you will face the consequences of The Guild yourself, and then I will hand you over to Frederick,” threatened Balimore.

Balimore looked back over at Frederick.

“I apologize for Luther’s discourtesy. The Guild will honor your wishes to keep Oren out of this. As soon as you are ready, we will wait for you on the other side of the meadow. Everyone, let us give Frederick some space to say goodbye to Oren.”

Griffin, Constance, Aurora, and Luther all stood up and followed Balimore to the door. They all went outside and gradually disappeared from the candlelight as they walked to the other side of the meadow. Frederick closed the door behind them and headed to the kitchen to find Oren.

Frederick could hear him rummaging through wrappers and knew he would be raiding the pantry. He turned the corner to find Oren snacking on some chocolate-covered pastries they had picked up from town. Chocolate was smeared around his lips and face from the onslaught of sweet cakes he had devoured.

Frederick smiled and expected nothing less of an unsupervised Oren in the kitchen. He asked him to come to the living room so they could talk. Frederick’s head was spinning, and he did not know how much to tell Oren. Oren had always been attentive, and it was going to be difficult to explain why he had to leave without much detail on such short notice.

Frederick sat down with Oren and told him to pay close attention. “The people that were just here need some help, and they need me to go with them. They have a problem, and I am the only one who has had some experience with what is going on. I know you were not expecting this, but it must be done. It is quite sudden, but I must leave with them tonight.”

“You are leaving with those people? Who are they?” Oren questioned, confused.

Frederick dodged the question.

“I will only be gone a couple of days, and I will explain everything when I get back. There will be a lot of work to do while I am gone, and I am counting on you to keep the shop running. You can work on the books and finish the orders that we have. You know everything you need to finish the covers, and we just got back from town. You have all the supplies and food you need until I return.”

Oren was bummed that he could not go on the trip with his grandfather and was hesitant about why he had to leave so soon. He wondered if it had anything to do with his house rule or that Lilith girl. Oren trusted his grandfather and figured he would tell him more when he returned. Frederick went upstairs to pack a bag, and then came back down to the living room.

He made sure that Oren had everything that he needed and looked around the house one last time. Frederick could not even remember the last time he had to leave his home for such a period without knowing when he would return. He picked up his bag and made his way to the door. He opened it and turned around to take one more look at Oren. He still had chocolate smudged on his face and was poking the flames with the fireplace poker.

Frederick said one last thing with a bit of a smile. “Oren, try and leave me some sweet cakes for when I return.”

Oren chuckled. “Ok, I cannot make any promises.”

Frederick chuckled as he walked out the door, but his grin slowly turned into indifference as he made his way across the meadow to meet The Guild.