Chapter 47
Sleeping Artefact
"Very attentive, aren't you?" the alchemist blurted out, tilting his head just slightly.
The young man with the red bandana looked at him serenely, unperturbed.
"I have a very good memory when it comes to physical things," he replied calmly.
His fingers still rested on his neck.
The alchemist nodded slowly.
For a moment, the air seemed to thicken between them: the group's attention hung on that brief exchange.
-...-
Until Eli spoke.
"Well..." she began, her voice serene, breaking the tension without completely breaking the atmosphere, "at least now we know why the pen changed."
The gazes turned almost in unison.
First towards her, then towards Eilor.
The young man had the folded sheet between his fingers, but he wasn't looking at it.
His attention was fixed on the object that had started it all: the bronze pen, still held by the boy in the blue coat.
The glow was still there, weak but persistent, pulsing with the ambient light, as if something inside was breathing very slowly.
Eilor remained motionless.
He didn't speak, he didn't gesture.
He just observed.
The entire room had stopped at that point.
Every gaze floated between the sheet and the pen.
The alchemist lowered his head slightly, his eyes narrowed.
"So the blood responded," he murmured, more to himself than to the others.
…
Eilor sighed, sinking his shoulders slightly.
"So... why did you have something like this among your belongings?" he asked, pointing at the pen with a slight movement of his thumb, his voice laden with disbelief.
The young man in the long blue coat — the same one who still held it between his fingers — slowly looked up.
The bronze's gleam still reflected in his eyes.
For a second, no one else moved.
The alchemist narrowed his eyes.
There was something in the way Kaep had phrased the question that made him pause.
"Wait..." he said slowly. "Who did you take the pen from, Kaep?"
Eilor straightened up a bit, bewildered by the sudden attention.
Before he could answer, the young man in the blue coat raised a hand with a resigned gesture.
"From me," he said, without fuss.
And he accompanied the phrase with a half-guilty smile. "He must have taken it from me while I was sleeping."
The air tensed for a second.
Several people looked at each other, holding back smiles or surprised glances.
Eli was the first to speak.
"So it was yours from the beginning?"
The young man nodded, lowering his hand with the pen still trapped between his fingers.
"Yes, it's a gift... a test I had to pass, which now I won't be able to do," he said, looking at Eilor with reproach.
The gazes slid towards Eilor.
One, two, three… soon almost everyone was watching him.
He pretended not to notice, although discomfort rose up his neck like a warm current.
His fingers tightened on the folded sheet; the corner crinkled softly between the friction of the paper and the sweat.
Even so, he kept his face neutral… a tremulously neutral face.
He averted his gaze to the side, feigning interest in the bronze's gleam, although the air around him had become uncomfortable, almost dense.
The alchemist observed everything in silence, his arms crossed.
He didn't seem amused.
His eyes went from the young man in the coat to Eilor and from Eilor to the pen.
And in the center, the pen glowed softly.
…
Eli crossed her arms, her expression laden with that mix of curiosity and caution.
"So... what are we supposed to do with that now?" she murmured, looking alternately at the young man in the coat and the alchemist.
Eilor turned the sheet between his fingers once more.
The paper crinkled, barely stained by the sheen of the dry ink.
"And what use can be gotten from it?" he finally asked with a spark of interest.
The alchemist arched an eyebrow.
His countenance, until then relaxed, hardened just a bit, just enough for the air to seem to weigh a little more.
He let out a measured sigh.
"First of all," he said, raising a hand and pointing at the object with a firm finger, "no one is supposed to do that."
Eilor blinked.
"Do that?"
"Yes," replied the alchemist. "Write with an instrument that uses alchemist's heart blood without knowing it."
The silence was immediate, almost physical.
Those who were seated straightened up without realizing it.
The gazes automatically turned towards Eilor.
Now motionless, and the discomfort on his face became visible.
He swallowed, looked down… and the sound of the paper slipping between his fingers.
"What?" asked Eilor, with a grimace between surprise and annoyance. "I just put ink from that vial in it," he said, pointing to the small open vial to his left, still on the table.
The alchemist turned his face slightly, following the movement of Eilor's finger.
"You're not going to tell me the ink was actually blood from... a heart, are you?" added Eilor, with a tone between disbelief and nervous jest.
"No," interrupted the owner of the pen before he could finish.
"The blood is inside the chamber," he continued, turning the object between his fingers. "It mixes very well with oil-based ink. It doesn't use much blood, and the difference in thickness allows you to refill it and keep using it the same."
A flat silence ran through the room.
For an instant, everyone simply watched the movement of the pen between his fingers.
"Eh?" Eilor managed to let out, with a voice that barely came out.
The answer left both Eilor and the rest incredulous.
Some leaned forward a bit, others exchanged quick glances.
"So when you write with that... you do it using that blood mixed with the ink?" asked one, with raised eyebrows.
Another nodded beside him.
"The same blood that...?"
"Not exactly," interrupted the young man in the coat, and the way he pronounced those two words was enough for the air to grow still again.
He leaned on the table with both hands. The flame of the nearest lamp flickered, casting irregular shadows on the faces.
"The blood isn't supposed to mix with the ink," he explained in a low tone. "Unless... it awakens."
Eli frowned.
"Awakens?" she repeated, as if the word had another meaning.
"'Awakens?'" Eilor repeated mentally.
The word spun in his head like a bouncing stone.
The alchemist, however, reacted instantly.
His expression changed slightly — a minimal contraction of his brow, a rapid blink — before he brought a hand to his mouth.
"Shit..." he murmured, almost voicelessly. Then he lowered his hand and added, in a whisper no one expected to hear so clearly. "It was a sleeping artefact."
The comment fell with weight.
The alchemist let out his breath slowly, straightening up.
The glow of the object kept pulsing between the fingers of the young man in the blue coat.
"If that thing is awake," he said finally, breaking the silence with a deliberately casual tone, "congratulations."
He raised both hands, exaggerating the gesture, and began to applaud slowly.
The hollow sound of applause echoed in the room like an involuntary mockery.
The group looked at him with expressions between confusion and annoyance.
Eli arched an eyebrow.
Eilor, who still had the sheet half-folded between his fingers, blinked.
The alchemist smiled.
"You can ask it to arrange itself," he continued, turning his head a little towards Eilor. "And, in theory, it should obey you."
He paused, lowering his tone.
"That way you won't lose your notes. What's more..." he added, pointing at the pen with an extended finger, "you won't need another instrument to write or take notes. It will be enough to just talk to it."
The words floated in the air with a strange weight.
The young man in the blue coat looked at the pen with resignation, turning it in his hand.
The glow pulsed once more, reflecting in his iris. As he held it out to Eilor.
Eilor looked at him, confused at first, but took it with a spark of curiosity he couldn't hide.
"This must be very expensive, then," he said, raising both the sheet and the pen.
"Extremely," replied the alchemist, in a grave tone. "Now you've left my poor apprentice in debt." He pointed his finger at the young man, who was still looking at the pen with an expression of defeat.
Eilor turned, almost tripping over the chair.
"Heavens! Sorry, truly!" he said, clasping his hands in front of him as if begging for forgiveness.
Some made faces at the lack of sincerity; it was evident from the shifting of their feet that they were glad he had gotten something like that.
The young man brought his hand to his face, massaging the bridge of his nose with resignation.
"As long as you pay me back, it's fine," he replied, with a tired voice.
Then he murmured, almost under his breath, but loud enough for Eli to hear:
"Still, why did that stupid ink awaken for you?"
Eli let out a soft laugh, looking at Eilor with a mix of mockery and curiosity.
Eilor stood still for a moment, the sheet still in his hand. The alchemist's words struck him more deeply than he would have admitted.
"Well..." he said finally, trying to return to a light tone, "at least something useful came out."
"Yes," replied the alchemist, "a new expense for my apprentice and an artefact that now obeys you. Quite useful, I'd say."
The group laughed under their breath.
Eilor narrowed his eyes as the first rays of dawn filtered into the room through the successive chain of round windows.
"What...?" he murmured, bringing a hand to his face, his voice hoarse from tiredness.
The alchemist and the rest of the group turned their heads towards the source of the light.
For a few seconds, no one said anything. The golden clarity spread little by little through the room from bottom to top, bathing the tables, the stacked weapons, and the shadows on the ceiling. After so many hours under the dim interior lighting, the daylight seemed almost unreal.
Those who were closer to the windows hurried over, moving chairs and boxes aside. When they stuck their heads out, the murmurs turned into exclamations of relief.
"The sun!" one shouted, laughing. "Finally!"
Another raised his arms and added, with a mix of joy and weariness:
"We're still afloat! The ship is still moving!"
Laughter and cheers spread through the room. Even those who were still half-asleep or dazed got up to look, caught up in the energy of the moment.
Eli smiled with a soft expression, letting out a long sigh.
"One more day," she said, almost in a low voice, but Eilor heard her.
He nodded slowly, without taking his eyes off the light filtering through the wood.
The clarity made the air inside the place seem warmer, more human. For a moment, the tension from the previous night dissipated.
The alchemist raised a hand to cover his eyes and let out a short laugh.
---
Eilor held the sheet with both hands, the paper still warm from the touch of the rising sun.
He intended to read silently, just for himself, and at the same time check if the ink really reacted to his voice, as the alchemist had mentioned.
But just before he began, something stopped him.
He slowly lowered the sheet and found himself meeting Eli's fixed gaze in front of him.
She wasn't saying anything, but the expression on her face — a mix of expectation and mischief — spoke for itself.
"Ah..." Eilor cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortable. "I thought it wasn't necessary to say it out loud."
He coughed a couple more times, trying to buy time, while the others began to look on curiously.
Eli smiled sideways and leaned an elbow on the table.
"Please, read it aloud," she said, extending her hand palm open towards him. "It's your turn to entertain us and kill some time, don't you think that would be the fairest thing?"
Some in the group laughed at the comment, nodding as if the idea seemed excellent to them.
"Besides..." Eli continued, tilting her head with a glint in her eyes, "I'm interested to know what notes you took."
Eilor let out a long sigh, looking at the sheet as if it weighed twice as much.
"You know there's nothing entertaining in my notes," he replied in a resigned tone.
"That's for me to decide," she retorted with a challenging smile.
The alchemist, from the back, added mockingly:
"You mean us."
Laughter mixed with the group's murmurs, all expectant.
Eilor closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and thought about the absurdity of the situation: surviving the night, accidentally awakening an artefact... and now, giving a public reading.
Eli watched him with an expression both innocent and predatory.
Eilor let out a breath through his nose, resigned.
Of course, she had been entertaining us when it was just the two of us during the first hours, and later when the group was growing, taking the initiative in conversations, and now it's my turn... Eilor let out a breath through his nose, resigned after analyzing the situation.
Eilor cleared his throat, moving the sheet between his fingers to buy a second of time.
He looked at it as if the sheet could give him an excuse.
"Ahh..." he murmured, dragging out the sound.
Hmm... what do I tell them... he thought, feeling an uncomfortable knot rise from his stomach.
He took a deep breath, straightened his back slightly, and, without looking at anyone, spoke towards the sheet:
"Arrange yourself... and show me my notes in order."
…
He waited.
…
Silence.
…
More silence.
Nothing… The ink remained motionless.
A few awkward seconds passed.
Eilor moved his eyes sideways, hoping someone would say something, but everyone was looking at the sheet as if it were an egg about to hatch.
"Hmm?" he grunted, with a grimace of incomprehension, and finally looked up at the alchemist.
"Alchemist…"
"Teo," he interrupted, standing without turning around, enjoying the light coming through the chain of windows.
The name came out as a soft but firm reminder.
Eilor blinked, surprised by the correction.
"Uh... okay... and?... Teo," he repeated, "I talked to the sheet and nothing happened."
Teo turned then, slow at first, and then advanced towards the table with short steps that, nonetheless, covered more distance than a normal step.
It was a way of walking that had its own rhythm:
compact, efficient, slightly irritating for anyone who didn't understand the logic behind it.
He walked straight to the chair where he had been sitting before…
only now someone was in the process of sitting down on it.
The young man had barely bent his knees when the chair disappeared from its axis.
Instead of wood, he found empty space.
The impact sounded dry: a direct thunk to the floor, followed by a muffled groan.
"Agh...! What...!?" he complained, grabbing his hip while trying to understand what had failed in the physics of the universe.
He lifted his head, turning it to the right, seeking the angle where the chair should have been a few seconds before.
And he saw it.
Teo was already sitting there.
To his right.
Leg crossed with almost surgical precision, arms folded over his chest, face completely neutral.
Not a trace of the movement that had taken him to occupy that seat before the other had finished falling.
The young man on the floor remained still for a moment, as if his brain needed to confirm that he had indeed been the victim of an unknown temporal displacement without prior warning.
He simply closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and spoke calmly:
"Hmm... how strange," he murmured, as if no one had just fallen next to him. "I'm sure there are adventurers who only talk to a sheet written with a similar pen... and the ink reacts."
The scene froze for a few seconds.
The boy on the floor remained seated, one hand firmly on his hip;
Eli had a barely contained smile;
Eilor watched with growing uncertainty at the immobility of the ink.
"Try now, resting the tip on the ink," said the young man in the blue coat.
He didn't say it with command or urgency; he said it like someone pointing out the obvious step everyone is ignoring.
Eilor glanced at him sideways, with a particular mix of irritation and curiosity.
And he thought, without saying it:
Everything related to this… he knows more than the alchemist.
The thought left him still for a second longer than necessary.
Finally, he looked down at the sheet.
He slid it forward with both hands.
He spread it out, smoothed it with his finger, aligned the edge against the table.
Then he took the pen.
He raised it slightly, the bronze capturing a faint glimmer of the light coming through the round windows.
He brought the tip closer, slowly.
The group unconsciously leaned forward.
The tip touched one of the dry letters.
Tap.
A tiny contact, almost imperceptible, but clear enough to provoke a collective, held-in reaction.
"Just like that?" asked Eilor, without taking his eyes off the point of contact.
His voice was cautious.
"Just like that," replied the young man in the coat.
Then he added:
"But concentrate when you speak. The ink doesn't obey hollow words… but intention."
The phrase landed right where it should.
Eilor frowned, swallowed slowly.
He inhaled through his nose.
His chest rose a little more than normal.
"Alright…" he murmured.
He fixed his gaze on the sheet.
The index finger of his free hand gave an involuntary tap on the wood.
He exhaled.
"Arrange yourself… and show me my notes in order."
The request came out firm, almost too firm for someone talking to ink.
For an instant, nothing happened.
Nothing.
Only the silence of the group surrounding him, all completely motionless.
The creaking of the ship stretching with the movement of the sea.
A dull rub of wood.
The rhythmic, distant knocking of water against the hull, like fingers tapping from below.
Eilor kept the tip resting on the letter, his hand steady, his jaw tense.
And the whole world seemed to hold its breath.