Lemuel’s studio on the first level could easily be described as a dump. It was a large room, tucked away on the first floor of what looked like a derelict building in the slums of Azure Heights. His choice of location actually made sense, as few to none would think of looking around these parts for… anything, really.

He locked the door behind him, then walked across the room, which was filled with old furniture covered in dirty cotton sheets. There was a wooden bookshelf leaning against the wall at the end, loaded with dusty books, and a lever hidden behind an encyclopedia. The old Iman pressed it, and the entire bookshelf shuddered, clouds of dust falling off in thick rolls as he pushed it to the side.

Heron and I were speechless at the sight of a small, hidden chamber filled with boxes of scrolls and manuscripts, their pages yellowed by the passage of time.

“I keep everything here,” Lemuel grumbled as he started looking through the scrolls, selecting a handful, which he handed over. “I don’t know why, but I just do. It’s like… something inside me tells me that I need to preserve the history of my people and keep it away from the Maras… so, I do.”

“Yeah, you’ve been mind-bent like crazy.” Heron frowned, staring at the old Iman.

Lemuel blinked several times, then shrugged, while we started reading through the scrolls he gave us.

“That’s highly probable, and I don’t know why. But as long as they don’t know about the archives, I’m good. They can’t make me forget about something they don’t even know I have, right?”

“Fair point,” I muttered, while scanning the texts.

“It says here that there was a hundred-year war between the Maras and the Imen when the Maras first arrived on Neraka,” Heron said, checking another scroll. “But there is no mention of a truce. I specifically remember the Lords telling us about a truce, about how they came to finally get along with the Imen, when they swore an oath to only consume animal blood and so on…”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Lemuel replied. “All I know is that there is a long-standing truce, but I have no idea who signed it, or when it took place. It’s just common knowledge. Something we’ve learned since we were children.”

“Do you remember anyone teaching you that, in particular?” I asked, suspecting another instance of the Maras mind-bending “facts” into the Imen’s heads.

Lemuel shook his head, then gave me a large notebook filled with handwritten notes and sketches. I recognized the daemons in the drawings, but not all of the creatures. Some of the illustrations were quite strange, depicting massive beasts, along with pit wolves and what looked like giant bats with big, round red eyes. The artist had used red ink to emphasize that specific trait.

I started reading entire passages from the notebook, instinctively looking at Heron whenever fact and fiction met in the middle.

“Heron,” I muttered, “this is supposed to be a collection of myths and legends…”

“And the truth seems stranger than fiction?” He sighed, giving me a faint smile, while Lemuel kept scouring his archives for anything we could use regarding the daemons.

“No, that’s the thing. This is supposed to be fiction, but everything I’ve read so far is real… what the daemons look like, what they feed on, where they hunt,” I replied. “Even their underground cities and their use of magic, which the Imen identify as ‘foreign power’.”

Heron frowned, then moved closer to me so he could read, too. His eyes wandered across the pieces of text for a while.

“I see they mention the armored daemons here… the hierarchy in their cities, along with Seven Princes and a King Shaytan,” he breathed, then looked up at Lemuel. “Lemuel, is all this meant to be lore?”

The old Iman stopped his search and straightened his back, groaning from physical discomfort.

“Yes, just… just ancient mythology, at least two thousand years old. Tales passed on from one generation to another, scribbled down by the few Imen left behind in Azure City who could write,” he replied, taking a seat on a nearby stool. Its wooden legs creaked under his weight.

“A lot of the stuff in these scrolls and books is true, though,” Heron said. “At least, as far as we’ve seen, in the Valley of Screams.”

Lemuel thought about it for a second, then put on a half-smile.

“Don’t tell the other Imen, then.” He sighed. “It’s bad enough they’re being taken away by these invisible beasts. If you tell them they’re organized and whatnot, it’ll scare them to death.”

“Tell me something, Lemuel,” I asked. “How come there is so little written history of your people?”

“Well, it all goes back to the founding of Azure Heights,” the old Iman replied, scratching the back of his head. “The majority of Imen in the region chose to live beyond the gorges, away from the Maras’ new city. At the time, there were millions of Imen inhabiting the planet, so we didn’t think much of the newcomers settling on the mountain. Those of us left behind, however, didn’t know how to read or write—most of us, anyway. There were a couple of scholars among us. We went into servitude and learned to coexist with the Maras, while the rest of our people died out in the world.”

“But why? How do millions just die out?” I frowned, unable to wrap my head around the mysterious demise of nearly an entire species. “The daemons ate their souls, or what?”

“That’s what the lore says, yes.” Lemuel nodded slowly, sadness pulling the corners of his mouth down. “I’ve only been around for some decades, milady. All I have to work with are these pieces of paper, as far as the past of my people goes… and it’s mostly legends and tales. I’m afraid I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

There were still many unanswered questions weighing down on us, but at least we were getting somewhere with all these searches. We were getting some answers, even though each left the door open to more unknowns.

“There’s one thing we know for a fact,” Heron said, his eyes fixed on me, as if he’d just read my mind. “The Maras are mind-bending the Imen on a much broader scale than they’ve told us.”

“Which means they lied to us,” I concluded, my stomach turning.

“Our most burning question is why.” He raised an eyebrow. “But we need to find a way to ask it without arousing suspicion. Who do we talk to about this?”

“My money’s on Arrah. Once she takes her brother to safety, I’m sure she’ll be able to shed some light on the matter.”

Heron nodded, then briefly glanced at Lemuel before shifting his intense focus back to me.

“I think we should try another exploratory mission once Harper and the others are back,” he said, a playful twinkle settling in his pale green eyes. “We could find the tribes beyond the gorges and hear what they have to say about all this.”

“You know what?” I replied with a smirk. “For a guy who prides himself on, and I quote, ‘not liking the overly brainy stuff much’, your words, not mine… you’re a pretty smart cookie.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, that’s all.” Heron gave me a warm smile, lighting me up on the inside. I couldn’t help but return it, feeling my lips stretch and my heart sing. Even our banter was taking on a sweet tone, and… I loved it.

“Are you two married?” the old Iman asked, his question crashing into me like a bucket of icy water. I nearly broke into a sweat trying to answer that. Why am I having trouble answering that?

Heron and I stared at him for a couple of seconds, then looked at each other and almost simultaneously cleared our throats.

“No, we’re not,” Heron replied. “We’re part of the same team, and that’s it—”

“Oh, please!” Lemuel gave us a dismissive wave of his hand. “The longer you deny it, the faster you two are going to burn. My wife and I did the same and wasted ten years before we got together. Both of us were too proud to take the first step, and… well, that’s a decade we could have spent loving each other.”

What do you say to that?

I was already burning on the inside. Judging by the look on Heron’s face, so was he. But were we ablaze because of the dynamic between us, or because Lemuel had seen through us in ways I’d never thought possible?

So, on top of all the questions we had about the Imen, the Exiled Maras, and the daemons, Heron and I were facing ourselves under a big fat question mark. What were we to each other? Most importantly, what did I want him to be to me?

I am in so much trouble…