Cypress's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

Inside the temple, water dripped from cracks in the stone ceiling. Cypress moved forward, amber eyes adjusting to the dim light. Ancient murals covered the walls, showing figures with raised hands and glowing symbols. Their wooden fingers traced the images, searching for meaning. One carving showed a tree standing alone, then the same tree with arms and legs. Cypress's heartwood thumped hard. This was their story painted centuries ago. But who painted it? They needed to learn the temple's language, decode its symbols, understand what these walls were trying to say. A doorway appeared at the far end of the chamber, half-hidden by hanging moss. Cypress pushed through and stopped. Shelves stretched up toward the darkness above, packed tight with old books and scrolls. Dust covered everything. Glass cases held strange objects that glowed faintly in the dim light. This was a library, buried deep in the swamp for who knows how long. Cypress pulled a thick book from the nearest shelf. The pages showed drawings of trees, animals, and symbols that matched the temple walls. Their fingers moved faster now, grabbing more books, scanning pages for anything about transformation. One scroll showed a ritual with circles and words in an old language. Another book had drawings of creatures that were once something else. Cypress set the useful texts aside in a pile. Someone had written all this down. Someone had recorded the magic that changed things. The answers were here, waiting in these forgotten pages. They just needed to read enough to understand. Hours passed as Cypress studied the texts. Words started to make sense. The ritual scroll mentioned water collected under moonlight. A dark stone basin. A ceremony performed by druids long ago. Cypress left the library and searched the temple grounds. Behind a cluster of twisted roots, they found it—a large basin carved from dark stone. Rainwater filled it halfway. The surface reflected the canopy above. This was where the druids had worked their magic. Where they had changed ordinary things into something new. Cypress touched the water. It felt cold against their bark. The books said transformation required intention, power, and sacrifice. Someone had stood here and chosen to give Cypress life. But the texts didn't say who or why. Still, this was progress. Real progress. Cypress now knew what kind of magic had changed them. The next step was finding who had performed it. Darkness fell across the swamp as Cypress returned to the temple entrance. A soft glow caught their attention near the water's edge. An orb sat balanced on a lilypad, giving off light that pushed back the shadows. Cypress picked it up carefully. The orb warmed their wooden palm and brightened as they held it. The druids must have used these to see at night during their ceremonies. Cypress carried it back inside the library and set it on a stone shelf. The light spread across the ancient texts, making the words easier to read. They opened another scroll and began studying again. Each page brought them closer to understanding the ritual. Each symbol decoded gave them another piece of the answer. The druids had left everything here—their tools, their knowledge, their records. Somewhere in these books was the name of the person who had transformed them. Cypress would stay here as long as it took to find it.