Kaelen locked himself in his room for seven whole days.
He divided the book into three parts, only daring to translate about two pages each day. These ancient characters were not like the script he was used to in his previous life; every time he encountered a strange stroke, he had to trace back up to find where that stroke was used to cross-reference, sometimes sitting for a whole session just to correctly identify one word.
By the afternoon of the seventh day, the door finally burst open.
Kaelen stepped out, dark circles under his eyes, his hair messy, hugging a thick stack of wood pulp paper in his arms. He blinked because of the blinding sunlight, his voice hoarse:
"I finished translating the main part."
The two old men jumped up so fast they almost flipped their chairs.
The whole family sat gathered around the wooden table; Bertram tightly closed the door, standing blocking the entrance.
