Mimi’s eyes widened. “But… why would they do that?”
“Once,” Rugen continued, “many people knew of the Blessed Ones. There were stories, celebrations, and entire festivals. Now? No one remembers. That kind of widespread amnesia doesn’t happen naturally. It was deliberate. Long, slow, methodical.”
He stood, stepping toward the wall of books, and gently ran his fingers over the spines. “Even these, the fragments I’ve gathered, took decades of work to recover. I built this archive far from the kingdom just to keep them safe. Had I stored them within Crystia’s borders, I would have been arrested… or worse.”
Belamus frowned. If the ancient records were right, and the bearer of the Leaf Mark was vital to the kingdom’s well-being, then why destroy that knowledge? Why create the illusion of a curse instead of a blessing?
“It makes no sense to erase a truth so essential,” Belamus muttered aloud. “If the original writings were flawed, the kingdom could have simply dismissed them. But they didn’t; they buried them. That implies intent.”
“A conspiracy?” Mimi whispered, the word foreign and heavy on her tongue.
“That is my belief,” Rugen confirmed gravely. “At first, I thought it was merely a protective measure, that perhaps the truth was too dangerous to share. Maybe revealing it would incite panic. I trusted the kingdom then… believed they had good reason.”
He shook his head, his beard rustling softly. “But over time, I learned better. And so I took action, quietly. I entrusted someone worthy with the letter meant for you, Lady Mimi. A risk, but a necessary one.”
He turned again to the shelves, pulling free a thick, leather-bound journal. The title, etched into its cover, read “My Days of Struggle.”
“This is the diary of a man who once held power within the royal court. A century ago, he led an independent faction after being cast out of the palace under mysterious circumstances. His name was Garmatt,” Rugen explained solemnly, his fingers resting on the worn leather cover with a reverence that hinted at the gravity of what lay within.
“Who was he?” Mimi asked.
“A trusted official,” Rugen said. “A man of high rank, deeply respected by the king. But then… something changed. A stranger appeared. A dwarf of unknown origin. He rose quickly—too quickly—gaining favor with the prince and other nobles.”
Though Garmatt never liked the man, he couldn’t deny his brilliance. The stranger who had wormed his way into the royal court possessed a silver tongue and a mind as sharp as any blade. He was persuasive, charismatic, and—worst of all—effective.
He solved problems that had baffled ministers for months, anticipating crises before they bloomed and offering elegant solutions that won him both accolades and influence. Promotion followed promotion, and before long, he stood at the king’s side as a trusted advisor.
With his newfound position, the man began to wield significant power over royal policy. But while others admired him, Garmatt watched with unease.
He’s too capable, he wrote. Too trusted. The king hangs on his every word. If he ever desired the throne, he could take it without a single blade drawn.
But Garmatt’s suspicions had been misplaced, not because the man was innocent, but because his ambitions were of a darker sort.
One day, the advisor proposed something unthinkable.
“The Blessed Ones,” he told the king, “will bring ruin upon this kingdom. We must eliminate them, now, before that future arrives.”
Even in that era, such words were seen as dangerous heresy. The king hesitated. But the man was persuasive—too persuasive. One by one, he won over the court. Ministers, nobles, aides. Even Garmatt, for a time, wondered if there might be truth in his warnings.
That changed the day he found the man’s journal.
“It described a plan,” Rugen said gravely, flipping through the diary’s worn pages. “But this here doesn’t tell the details. Only Garmatt’s reaction was recorded.”
Belamus leaned in. “And what was it?”
“That if the plan was real,” Rugen said slowly, “the man intended to bring catastrophe upon the entire Kingdom of Crystia.”
Catastrophe… The word rang in Belamus’s mind.
It echoed what the old records had warned: that if the Blessed Ones were ever lost, the kingdom would be plunged into calamity.
“After discovering the plan, Garmatt tried to stop it,” Rugen continued, voice heavy with the weight of old secrets. “But the man had already laid his trap. Garmatt was nearly executed; he only just escaped with his life.”
He paused, running his fingers along the cracked spine of the journal. “From the shadows, he founded a resistance. Small in number, but resolute. Their goal was simple: to protect the Blessed Ones… and preserve the truth.”
Mimi leaned forward. “So this secret organization… they were trying to protect people like me?”
Rugen nodded. “They called themselves Gagagamoor. Even now, they’re labeled enemies of the state, dangerous extremists, hunted by the crown. When I worked in the palace, I heard the name. At the time, I dismissed them as nothing more than common rebels.”
Belamus narrowed his eyes. “They still exist?”
“They do,” Rugen confirmed. “Though how many remain or where they’re hiding, I cannot say.”
“Gagagamoor…” Mimi echoed, a faint chill in her voice. “I think… I’ve heard that name before…”
Belamus folded his arms. “So, to summarize: a powerful man rises through the court, manipulates the king, spreads fear about the Blessed Ones, and flips public perception. Suddenly, those meant to protect the kingdom are branded as its doom.”
“That is exactly what happened,” Rugen said grimly.
If the old records were true, Mimi’s survival could determine the fate of the entire kingdom. But the implications went even deeper, and Belamus felt the sharp sting of unease creeping in.
“There’s just one thing,” he said slowly. “How do we know this diary is real? Could it have been fabricated?”
Rugen gave a slow, resolute shake of his head. “Garmatt’s role in founding Gagagamoor is a matter of historical fact. And this diary was recovered from one of their abandoned safehouses, a confirmed site, long since raided and cleared.”
He tapped the cover with a callused thumb. “This book was hidden, too, deep in a hollowed stone behind a false wall. It took me years to find it. No one else ever knew it was there.”
Belamus studied the worn leather cover. If Garmatt truly wrote this… it wasn’t just a record. It was a warning.