Emon
The second drink went down smoother than the first. Or maybe I was just getting used to tasting ancient magic.
Bibi Kamwe sat across from me again, her old hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes shining like moons in the firelight.
“You are about to learn something most humans never do,” she said. “Knowledge like this doesn’t come through books. It comes through blood. Through memory. I am trusting you not to harm others with it because there is always a price to pay.”
I nodded, though my hands were still shaking.
“I’m ready.”
She watched me for a long moment, as if testing my words for cracks. Then she stood, slow and deliberate, and walked to a large chest beneath a shelf of animal skulls.
She opened it and pulled out a scroll, thick, old parchment rolled and bound in leath
