Chapter 22: The Quiet Before The First Clash
Tip, tat, tat.
Rowan's hand was dancing across his papers like the uneven zig-zagging of electricity, leaving behind sensible stanzas full of poem.
It was the only place where he felt at ease, the unrest in his heart forgotten in his many crumbled papers.
And yet, he'd gotten not even one step closer to unlocking either the ultimate poem he'd written back on earth, nor the secret to his grimoire that would've given him the arcana he needed to fulfill his legend.
He tilted his torso back, the back of his chair following him to allow him to look over at the opposite side of the room.
"You know, grimoire, if there were any way that you could tell me how to speak with you, now would be the perfect time. We almost died out there, and having you would've done wonders."
The room's silence was only supplemented by the grimoire, not even bothering to give him a small dim or thrum the same way the others' did.
"Well, it was worth a try."
He sighed, spinning around while thinking of more poem, the ideas dancing across his mind and offering him respite from a long day spent.
Knock, knock, knock!
Rowan could faintly hear the voice of the guard and another man, their whispers followed up with a banging against the door.