“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “But I can tell you the door to the workshop—the majority of it—was made from the same material as this disk. There was some pure silver plating on the handle, but the rest was this metal.”
“It seemed to channel your blood magic when you opened the door,” Ruvan aptly observes.
I nod. “That’s what it felt like for me as well, which gives me some theories surrounding what this metal might be.” I doubt the reddish lines are by chance…
“Then you shall have time and space to investigate these theories when we return. Anything you need shall be yours,” he decrees.
I’m startled to silence, unsure of how to respond. Lavenzia narrows her eyes slightly and returns her focus to her hunt. A grin worms its way across Winny’s lips. I don’t know what has her looking so smug.
“So I can keep it?”
“You may. Conduct whatever experiments you’d like on it—just keep Callos informed. He’s the archivist among us. If we fail in our mission, he’s the one who’s going to pass on the chronicles of our attempt to the next group to be awoken.”
“Thank you.” I pocket the disk. “Ventos is right though, you all should keep looking for the actual anchor.”
“Don’t try and win me over with your agreements, human,” Ventos grumbles while keeping his back to me.
“I am perfectly capable of not trying to win you over while still being able to admit when you’re right.”
“Admitting when someone else is right isn’t a strong suit of his,” Lavenzia hums, pretending to inspect a shelf. “So it’s hard for him to see it as something other people can do.”
For a moment Ventos looks like he’s about to turn and rise to the bait, but he remains as impenetrable as one of the castle walls and keeps leafing through the various notes. The rest of them return to it as well, hunting for the curse anchor that will set us all free.
