Lucinde was in the middle of translating old Elven text to both Terra and Hara languages for the Bolster City's library when she was interrupted by a messenger. 

"Sorry to disturb, Keeper, but it's wax sealed."

"As you were," she released him as she took what was offered. It was a scrolled note from Marcus. Though she knew it was coming, it still made her heart race as she read it. Almost knocking over the vial of black ink on her desk, she began quickly tiding her workspace, the desire for perfection overruling her need for haste. She wanted to flee the upper office immediately but she was not alone. Her scribes worked tirelessly alongside her, row upon row, sorting through the latest discovery. An ancient Valintra tablet had been unearthed while breaking stone for the new eastern roads. So far they seemed to contain the history of the Crystal Palace, an Elven legend, with specific details on the magics of how and when it was built. It was fascinating, to say the least, more so to the scribes who thought the story, and even elves themselves, were just a myth. Of course, Lucinde knew better. As Keeper of Chronicles, she knew plenty which was never spoken. It was her sole duty to protect all scrolls, grimoires, and ancient texts housed at Castle Hawk. She alone had the authority to lend out classified, oftentimes magical items and only to people in great need. 

"Marigold, can you take over here," she asked the closest scribe. "Make sure everyone stays on task. I need to attend to a matter." She kept her face serene. Though her age would never show, she had practiced for generations. A mask of ice. People mistook her demeanor for unfriendliness, yet in truth she was afraid. Terrified. 

As she left the office, she almost took off in a run. Though how preposterous it would look? So she managed a ferocious walk. It didn't matter, she knew there would be stares, she never hurried anywhere. After receiving the message from Marcus, she didn't care, let them accuse her of what they would. It was already decided and there wasn't much time. No time at all.

When she turned a corner and saw that the hall towards the kitchens was empty, she picked up her pace. She tried widening her stride but almost ripped the hem of her blue dress. She always hated its snug fit and this almost enraged her. She would have to change. It was most definitely not for riding. She added that to her to-do list, along with a myriad of other thoughts that circled her head in preparation. Though first things first. She had to get down to the archives and fast. 

She scrambled through the kitchens as cooks and servers stared at her in shock. She'd never cut through the back way, always took her time to walk through the dining rooms, but not today. She scurried through the guild room halls, past the reserve armories and toward the back of the castle. Her breath was heavy, though she tried not to let it show she struggled. 

She still clung to Marcus' note in her fist. It was a warning, and a request for the Cormorant Scroll. It was a special one; one of four to represent the four elements. She had been trusted with their safety upon her initiation as Keeper. She had said the words, made the promise, sealed them in magic. They were bound to her.

The four scrolls were made to call the Birds of Tides. Each one spelled for a specific person, an initiate of a specific element. Initiates were those who carried the Primordial souls of the legendary Birds of Tides within their own. If an initiate was given the scroll to read aloud, the soul of the Bird would awaken within them, along with their Primordial and elemental powers. An initiate could come into their powers without the scrolls, under certain circumstances, though it was a much more painful process. 

Marcus must know the whereabouts of his initiate, the one in line for the resurrection of the Cormorant, though she always knew him as the Rain Maker. 

Lucinde could barely process this information. She was told this was going to happen, but believing it and living it were two different feelings entirely. She almost envied Marcus and what this meant for him. But she shook the thought away, she still had to pull this off to get what she deserved.  

She shoved open the door leading to a corridor stairwell,  at the bottom of which the archives awaited. Bending down, she pulled her dress up and over her knees so she could make it down the faster, not daring to take her eyes off her feet, her once tightly wrapped and pinned hair began to loosen and black wispy strands fell down the length of her back and over her shoulders. Her breathe ran ragged, chest burning. She hadn't had more than a brisk walk in months. It was a sure test of her commitment, she was Keeper, after all. 

Only one other Primordial had been resurrected by scroll since her service began, the Earth Builder. The one under the Dark's grasp. Before that, it had been generations, nearly 500 years. Another initiate of a different element coming of age so soon could only mean one thing.

A Shattering was upon them; chaos, destruction, the displacement of lives. When all four Primordials are resurrected, a battle is sure to ensue. The Dark incarnate could take many forms and had many followers, both human and creature alike. Now, even the Primordials themselves were not safe from its taint. 

Five hundred years ago, the Primordials had come out victorious for the Light. The stories tell how the Birds of Tides were able to push the Dark back into the Underworld, but at great cost. The world was almost destroyed in the process, entire civilizations wiped out of existence. Where were the elves? The fae? What form would the Dark take this time? Would the Council warn the people of what was to come? Would they believe it? 

Her mind raced and she cursed herself to calm down. For now, she needed only to retrieve the Cormorant Scroll, the rest could wait. She raced further and further down the spiraling staircase. One step at a time. 

When she reached the archives, she was breathless and her ankles throbbed. They had dug the archives deep, afraid the magic it contained would be felt by the wrong person, the wrong being. But they had taken extra precautions regardless.  What she sought was locked behind two arched metal doorways engraved in runic text and ancient depictions of the Shattering. She needed to trace the correct runes to open the doors, each time through the combination was different.

As Keeper of the Chronicles, she held an inherent knowledge, a spellbind specific to her. She could not explain how, but she always knew which runes needed to be traced to unlock the doors. She and she alone.

Housed in a massive cylindrical room, with all the historical books and grimoires shelved around its perimeter, the Elemental Scroll coffer was hidden in plain sight. A large escritoire had been erected in the center of the room. It was bound to the floor and contained numerous compartments and drawers, some with locks, some without.

She hesitated, only for a moment. She was taught how to release the scroll from its magical coffer but the last time she helped resurrect an initiate she was almost killed. Ivar had fooled them all. Not even she could feel the Dark stirring within him. Resigned to never being anywhere near another resurrection, she moved forward. She just needed to focus. Follow orders.

There was one hinged flap in the center drawer of the escritoire whose lock had been spelled. The lock itself was etched with the same runes on the doors leading to the archives. Lucinde needed to recall a series of runes and etch them on the opposite side of the lock. She did not know them yet and the knowledge would not come to her if the need from Marcus was not real, but as she picked up her burin etching tool she immediately saw the runes in her mind's eye.

In succession, she etched the runes for reveal, avow, profess. The lock popped opened.

The scrolls lay inside the small coffer, each separately cased and marked with an ancient symbol, one for each element; Earth, Air, Water, Fire. Lucinde should have solely taken the water scroll which represented the Cormorant and then re-locked the coffer. It would be reset and could not be open again until the need arrived.

However, that was not what Lucinde did. 

Instead, she grabbed all the scrolls. She let out a loud laugh at how easy it had been. She thought for sure there would have been some safety measure, some spell that kept her from touching the ones not requested. But there wasn't. They hadn't thought of everything, after all.

Madly, she tucked them away in pockets of her dress and locked up the empty the coffer. Calming herself, she made her way quickly back up to her quarters to pack a travel bag. Within the hour, she was discreetly on a horse, riding as hard as she could away from Bolster City. Away from Marcus, his initiate. Away from any chance to play a part in a new resurrection.

What she rode towards was a promise. A promise made in her darkest dreams. And now, for the first time, she heard its words while awake;

Ride, daughter. I wait.