Page 64 of The Last Remaining Light

Home.

Elowynn opened it with care to one of the pages near the center where his handwriting curved in careful loops beside a pressed, faint blue crystal fragment.

You once said these looked like frozen starlight.

She swallowed the painful lump forming in her throat.

Stars above. She missed him more than she could have imagined she would.

She knew somewhere far beyond the mountains and snow and endless roads between them, Caelyn remained beside the sea cliffs of Lumenshire while she stood in the heart of the world wishing impossible things.

With a sigh, Elowynn gave the words a final look before she closed the journal and hugged it to her chest. She wanted to write to him already, but couriers and caravans would not travel until the spring thaws.

So instead, Elowynn opened the journal once more and began reading from the beginning, if only to hear his voice in her thoughts again.

A Letter to Caelyn

Duskfall, 749 A.V.

Dear Caelyn,

Finally, the spring roads have reopened! Though several caravans arriving from the northern territories apparently lost wheels to mudslides somewhere beyond the eastern passes. Veylspire has spent the last several suns in complete chaos because of it. Half the Spire seems convinced civilization collapses the moment supply routes fail to deliver citrus or imported tea on time. I have discovered scholars are dramatically unreasonable creatures. You would fit in terribly.

The mountain snow has finally begun melting along the upper terraces of the city. You must be careful of those because if you are caught under one, you get absolutely soaked and it is brutally cold. Do not ask me how I know. Streams of thaw water from the mountains run through portions of the city in these glowing channels beneath the roads where the astrylite catches the light beneath the stone. It is beautiful. I struggle to describe it properly.

Everything here still feels impossible.

The observatories are always active. Even at the deepest bells of night, there are scholars moving through the Spire carrying charts or resonance instruments while the telescopes continue tracking the heavens overhead. And stars! The TELESCOPES, Caelyn! They are so large and beautiful and just really pretty.

My studies have consumed most of my suns. The archive systems here are labyrinthine and entirely designed by people who hate joy, I swear to the Gods. I have spent nearly two moons cataloging harmonic convergence records from before the Ash Wars only to discover half of them contradict one another. What is even the point? But one of the most fascinating things I discovered is that there are observatory sectors beneath the Spire older than the Great Vigil, Caelyn. Entire halls sealed behind resonance locks containing texts even senior archivists require permission to access.

Naturally, this only makes me want to access them more.

Everything is vast and wondrous, but there are nights where I still wake expecting to hear the crashing waves of the sea only to remember I am not there.

Anyway, my mother has decided to return to the abbey. I have hardly seen her anyway. She does whatever it is she does with the nobles of the city and the higher-ranking archivists in the Conclave. And when I DO see her, it is to be chastised about not following ‘what I was born to do.’ Which is apparently currying favor with the higher-ups of this city.

No. Thank. You. We argue a lot because of it.

Speaking of… I have learned the political climate within Veylspire is worse than northern court gatherings, which I had believed impossible. The Auric Conclave and Ascendant Collegium disagree on nearly everything, and the tension between them hangs over the city constantly. I noticed it right away upon arriving.

The Conclave believes resonance should exist in harmony with the aethercurrents. Preservation. Restraint. Stability. The Collegium prefers innovation and experimentation, often with alarming enthusiasm and questionable foresight. I suspect you would accidentally set something on fire within the Collegium halls during your first span here. Lora insists that would improve their atmosphere considerably.

Yes, I have made a friend. You may recover from your shock at your leisure.

Her name is Lora, and she speaks faster than any person I have ever encountered. I genuinely do not understand how she breathes between sentences. She has adopted me like some manner of socially inept stray creature and seems determined to drag me into every political disaster within the Spire, whether I wish it or not. I think you would like her. Though she would absolutely bully you for your hair, saying you need to cut it short (which is apparently the style here in the heart of the continent for both human and Astrari men).

Many of the scholars here still recognize House Selvicta’s name. Others seem more interested in what surviving means politically than personally. I am still uncertain how I feel about that, honestly. It is actually exhausting being known as ‘the last of the Selvicta bloodline.’ I hear that so often, I want to pull my ears down and glue them shut.

Then there are real moments, Caelyn, where Veylspire reminds me of Astermere and others where it feels so foreign I cannot imagine ever belonging here at all.

I miss Lumenshire more than I expected. I miss the sea cliffs during evening bell. I miss Sister Agatha’s tea being strong enough to dissolve internal organs. I miss the gardens during frost mornings.

And I miss you. More than I intended to admit within a letter that may potentially pass through several courier hands. Or never reach you. Stars, I hope it reaches you.

I still carry your journal with me almost everywhere. Before you become unbearable about that fact, know it is only because your notes continue proving useful during lectures.

Write to me when you are able. Tell me everything I am missing, alright? Even the boring parts.