Worn Seer Tablet
Worn Seer Tablet
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Worn Seer Tablets are documents left behind by seers. The tablet in Lost Basilica is an excerpt from Lasia's journal.
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- Cloister of Stars
It's the last night now. By the time the sun rises tomorrow, we will be gone from here, and our legacy will be behind us. It should pain me more to abandon our temples, to see the sacrifices we've made amount to nothing, but I've already grieved as much as I can. I've spent my tears on my Endiro; there are none left for Castora.
Sidony says the beasts will protect Castora and guard its secrets for our inevitable return. But the pallid faces of my fellows reveal that we already know the truth: we will never return to this place. We march not to victory, but to extinction. The bindings on the beasts are indeed strong—as strong as we could make them—and they will not fray with time. Instead, they will guard this place, waiting for a return that will not come, until that distant day when the last light of Tyria is finally extinguished.
- Lost Basilica
The day approaches! Mazeo and I will both undergo the divitium nava at last. My brother has kept calm about it, but I am not so easily fooled. He knows this will be a great honor for us and a continuous boon for our family. Of course, Meliore believes I am too fixated, but she would; she was chosen and underwent the process several years ago. She has since lorded her "eternal wisdom" over my brother and me as if she were doyen herself. But then, she is our elder sister, as she loves to remind us.
Still, I admit some petty jealousy on my part. I've long wished to tend and work the forge and make divine instruments as my elder sister does, ever since the three of us were allowed residence here. A role that requires immense power and control—two things she tells me that I lack. It has been enough to serve her as an apprentice over the years, but banality has crept in, and I tire of a mere supporting role.
I did everything asked of me, word for word, motion for motion. Everything Mazeo had done mere hours before my own attempt. Instead, my body wilts. I can barely float from one room of the convalescent ward to the next. I have been summarily rejected, cast out by the will of this world. I will never spin threads of chronomantic-infused damask or create a masterpiece like the Dorat Fine. I will waste away, unremarkable and irrelevant.
Little Brother, Elder Sister. If you read this, perhaps you'll forgive my melodramatics in time. I am empty and spent. Something has been taken that I can never get back. Centuries chasing, preparing to finally stand at your side, Sister, among the ascended before us. For it to collapse away beneath me? I cannot bear it.
Mazeo left Castora this morning. He woke early and carried me to the coast to watch the sunrise. We sang for a time and spoke for longer. The conflict with the mursaat has grown beyond small skirmishes. At least, that is what we're told.
This outpost is to be abandoned in the coming years to protect and preserve its secrets, and if the healers' assessments are to be believed, my condition will overtake me before the last portal closes. Mazeo said he plans to return before then and see me one final time. I hope he means it. War breeds nothing if not uncertainty.
Meliore will remain here, for now. She has received a directive of transfer to the bastions of Stellis Quor to help with plans for the siege of Apavim, but she has been allowed to delay for my sake, to make sure I am cared for in my final years. After the grief we've given one another, I wouldn't have blamed her for accepting her new role and moving on, and yet, here she is at my side.
