“Do you wish for me to sing to you?”

 

“Please,” I plead, not for the first time in the cold night.

 

She falls silent and I can hear my heart thud painfully in my chest. Will she deny me once again, like she has every night before? At one time she sang to me every night, filling me with her voice that sang of the histories I crave. She sung of heroes and monsters, wars and journeys, victors and those lost to time. With every word she sang, I recklessly filled scrolls with ink, compiling her verses and poetry for all time, nonsensical as they may be. I understood the words, I knew what they meant and how they could be preserved and admired for all time. But now her silence enveloped everything, leaving me desperate and clawing for her words filled with the world’s magic.

​

She promised me this, yet she is silent.

 

“You ask for so much, yet give me so little,” her voice tickles the edges of my hearing while her fingertips run along the length of my ear, ushering a pitiful shudder out of me.

 

She knows what she does to me. She knows that her voice carries my soul to the edges of the abyss and begs me to jump within, and I know that if she fulfills her end of the bargain, I will jump.

 

“What do you want of me? I will give you anything,” I say, lavishing in the feeling of her hands on my shoulders, sliding down over my chest to squeeze at my breast.

 

Pressing against my back, I feel her hot breath on my ear and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of her attention. “You know what I desire, Keeper,” she says, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. I should flee, hide, get the Muse as far away from me as the edges of the earth is from the heavens.

 

I do not.

 

“You have not told me. Please,” I beg again, knowing that I must be so pathetic, yet I cannot stop. I will not stop, not until she gives me her stories. She promised. “Please tell me what you desire and you will have it.”

 

Her low laugh sends me into a bout of dizziness, twisting my stomach and shooting flashing lights behind my eyelids. I want to be sick. I want it to end; she is skewing my body into a contorted version of what it once was. But she will not relent, she loves to destroy me and force me to beg and plead and scream. She knows that I will, for I do it every night she visits me.

 

Cutting through the torturous undulation within me, my Muse, my love, my very desire, sings. Ringing in my ears her voice slices through me, forcing its way into the depths of my soul, peeling it apart and sinking itself within. She ravishes me, nails biting the fabric of my cloak until they tear through and pierce my flesh, pushing her fingers in to reach for my heart that surges with newfound strength and need.

 

“More,” my voice is breathless and weak despite the vigor I feel rushing through my veins.

 

“Let me in,” she sings against my ear, hand gripping my throbbing heart, talons piercing the arteries. The cool rush of gore sent my head spinning and my eyes shoot open to stare into the bleak darkness.

 

I open my mouth to accept her, a wheezing prayer that she must answer to hold up her end of the bargain. She pulls herself over my shoulder, contorting her body with snaps and aberrant bends to allow her lips to brush against mine. So cold.

 

I cannot move, I do not desire to move. I only desire for her to push herself within me and give me her song.

 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

 

“Sir?”

 

A blaring knock at the door drew me out of sleep, cursing the sunlight streaming through the window. My Muse was lost to the night, when she would return, I just did not know. Everything inside me wanted to curse the man who knocked at my door and ruined my bargain.

 

Again, he knocked and I untangled myself from the blankets, stepping barefoot on the rug. “I am coming,” I called, letting the irritation in my voice show. I had no strength left to hide it, nor did I carry the desire. My Muse slipped through my fingers through no fault of my own. She was going to give me her song and it was ripped away by that damned knock.

 

I did not bother with dressing when I opened the door, only clasped my robe tighter around myself to preserve my modesty. In the doorway, one of my attendants stood, looking both bashful and unusually nervous, his fingers twitching and eyes darting down the hall.

 

“My apologies for waking you, Keeper,” he said.

 

“Speak quick, Kendel,” I snapped.

 

His back straightened suddenly and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Yes, sorry, sir. There’s a man with a message for you. From the crypts,” he said, glancing down the hall once again.

 

The apprehension was still unclear to me. Men and women from the crypts were not unusual, though usually it was only one who ever stepped foot in the library. Their courier, the one connection those below the earth had with the outside air. The last courier must have died and been replaced, or Kendel would not be acting so foolishly.

 

“That is what you woke me for?” I took a breath and slowly exhaled.

 

“If you could hurry so he can leave,” Kendel said, an edge to his voice that should have made me uneasy. Instead, curiosity sprung in my heart.

 

“I will dress and greet him. Have him sit. Be polite and offer him tea,” I instructed. I may be in a terrible mood this early in the morning, but I would not let my position as Keeper of the world’s lore slip.

 

Just as I turned to close the door and dress for the day, Kendel reached out to grab my sleeve. “If you could just come now and help him so he can leave.”

 

Staring at his hand on my arm, I yanked back, turning my head to look up at him. “I will not leave my chambers in my undergarments. If you cannot handle a guest, perhaps a new line of work is required of you,” I said, closing the door before he could say anything else.

 

I just could not handle Kendel’s antics anymore this morning. Not when seeing his face reminded me that he was the cause of my Muse denying me her song. In the privacy of my room, I took a moment to collect myself. If there was a new member of the Deadwatch, I would need to be on my best behavior, as the Council would put it. Otherwise, I risked the funding for my library, and I would never put that at risk, no matter what buffoon the Deadwatch sent me.

 

Undressing and tossing my night garments into the hamper, I pulled on my undergarments and silks. Tailored to my form, perfectly as I paid far too much for them not to, and deep cobalt. Over that, I pulled my ebony robe and tied the silk ribbon around my waist to cinch it shut. The uniform in the library was required of everyone, and while this robe matched every other member, the one difference was the hemming. My position as Keeper gave my blackened robes golden hems. It felt a bit gaudy and awkward, but there was nothing that could be done. Voting on uniforms was not exactly top priority for the Council, and truth be told, it was not my priority either.

 

Only after I pulled my silk slippers on did I leave my room, grabbing my leather cord with the emblem of the Saint on the way out. I pulled it over my neck and pushed by hair back over my shoulders. At some point, I should cut it, but it was easy enough to get out of my face with ribbon.

 

The scent of every book and tome hit me when I left the residential chambers of the Academia Apocrypha, filling my very soul with comfort. Inhaling deeply, I prepared myself to meet this new Courier of the Deadwatch. If Kendall’s reaction was to be believed, I was in for a very long day with the Courier, when I preferred their visits be brief.

 

Just as I expected, my attendants were nowhere to be seen, probably trying to stay away from the new Courier. I would have to remind them of their jobs here. They were not required to be the picture of hospitality, but we did have a reputation to uphold and as a library that rarely turned anyone away, they knew better than to treat a guest like this. Even if they were… Whatever they were. I would find out.

 

Sitting alone at one of the tables near an open window, flanked by shelves and carts of books, the man who I figured was the Courier sat by himself. His gaze was firmly set out the window. I could not make out much of him, he wore clothing that covered most of his body, but I could see the pale skin. A result of spending most of his life underground with the rest of the Deadwatch. The Deadwatch, once one joined, remained below the earth for the rest of their lives. Only the Courier and the General being allowed to see the sun once they committed themselves to the overwatch of the Hell Gate.

 

As I approached, I could not quite place why Kendall was so apprehensive. He looked like any other man. Human in birth, though he was taller than I expected, his long legs seemingly to lay awkwardly under the table.

 

“Courier,” I said as I stepped up to him.

​

When he turned to face me, that’s when I knew why Kendall had been so uncomfortable. Yet, gazing at this man, I saw the beauty in his features. Human, yet, not. Elven, yet, not quite. His ears, neither round nor elongated was a mix between the two, a curiously marvelous deformity. I had never seen such a being.

 

Perhaps the Muse really did give me her blessing.

 

“Keeper,” he said, his voice low and solid.

 

“Ikarys,” I said. Though Keeper was proper, I wanted to hear him say my name.

 

“Yes, Ikarys,” he obliged me, standing up from his seat, a good amount taller than I was. Though, that was not a difficult task.

 

“What do you bring from the Deadwatch?” I asked him, stopping a reasonable pace away from him, but my fingers itched to reach out and feel his skin.

 

He reached into his satchel and removed a scroll. The Deadwatch had requested it days ago. “I’m returning this,” he said, holding out the scroll. There was hesitancy in his movements, as though he was expecting me to flinch away from him.

 

I took the scroll and slipped it into my robe. “Thank you. You are the new Courier, what happened to the last?”

 

“Dead,” he answered quite simply. It would not do. I needed to hear more from him.

 

Of course. Such was the risk of those who lived beneath the earth. “I see. Shame, she was a nice fellow,” I said, taking the smallest step closer to him.

 

It might have been too close, he took a step back toward the table and just nodded. “I must be going,” he said, tilting his head politely.

 

“I understand. Courier, one more question if you do not mind,” I said, waiting for him to respond before asking, as politeness required of me. He did not speak, but he nodded just once and that was all I needed. “I would like to know your name. If you are to be visiting the library more often, I feel it only polite.”

 

The shock on his face was unexpected, but perhaps I should have expected it. This man, neither human nor elf, but something wholly new and wholly unique, somehow brought fear to my librarians, and surely brought fear to those within the Deadwatch. I could assume that was why he was selected as the Courier. The job alone meant he would leave the underground home of the Deadwatch and leave them alone for the day, keeping him out of their hair.

 

Keeping those cowards safe from the beauty of his existence.

 

“Sabiq,” he finally answered, his brows upturned with disbelief.

 

“Sabiq. A fitting name,” I said. The first.

 

If he truly was the first of his kind, I would make it known. This could not be lost to the histories. My Muse was a wonderous being for bringing this man to me when I needed her blessing the most. Perhaps when I saw her again, she would give me more of her knowledge and continue sending him to me.

 

“Well, Sabiq, I know you must go,” I said, taking a step back to allow him to move past me. “The next time you visit, perhaps visit us last on your route. I would like to offer you tea next time you visit us.”

 

Again, the shock that crossed his face brought an odd sense of pride in my chest. Regardless, I would not be swayed in my request to see this half-human half-elven man. So many questions roiled in my head, and there would be no outlet until this man sat down to answer them. And I would get my answers. One way or another.

 

“I suppose I could manage that,” Sabiq said, much to my delight. There was trepidation in his voice. A sort of disbelief. The lingering doubt that I was performing some sort of trick meant to hurt him. I would do no such thing, not when his very existence was so awe-inspiring. “Until next time.”

 

Then he left, walking swiftly with long, powerful strides out of the library. I watched him, wondering how I missed his existence. Surely if such a man existed, rumors would have abounded. It would have reached my ears. There would have been something to tell me of his life.

 

Almost too quickly, my librarians come out of hiding to complete their work for the day, and I felt my chest fill with uncomfortable heat.

 

Those cowards would soon see that their inability to see the greatness in what we had just witnessed would be their downfall. I did not care about their souls though. I cared far more about returning to my chambers to record what I saw. This information could not be lost to the histories. It could have easily been missed. Forced to be forgotten. Hidden below the earth for all time.

 

If what I thought was true, then Sabiq was truly the first of his kind. An anomaly. A mistake. A miracle.

 

I would ensure the world knows of it. More importantly, I would ensure that the world knows that I, Ikarys son of Daedalus, chosen consort of the Muse, and Keeper of the Academia Apocrypha had discovered him.

 

The world would know my name.