Three weeks passed. Twenty-one days. Twenty-one nights.
And, for the first time since arriving at the Caravan of Heaven, in fact, for the first time in his entire life, Kyrian felt something close to frustration.
It was not anger, not the hot fire that burned and demanded action. It was not irritation, the fleeting annoyance that came and went with circumstances. It was something stranger. A feeling of being trapped.
As if he were walking in circles inside a room with no doors. As if his legs moved, but the scenery around him never changed. As if every step brought him back to the same starting point. The same problem. The same questions. The same insufficient answers.
Sitting at the small wooden table in his rented courtyard, that table now covered in layers of scrolls and books, forming mountains of knowledge that threatened to collapse at any moment, Kyrian observed the countless volumes scattered throughout the room.
