PROLOGUE: 1143
or: The Death of a Language
1143, mid-winter, The University
A snowstorm was raging high above their heads. However, Totāc and Çuacollen didn’t notice a thing. They were hidden deep, in the bellows of the Univerisity, hidden in the endless maze of tunnels, behind a secret wall. There, they were researching in their secret library with ancient books, written in Quoçiaolãç, the forbidden language of magic.
They were working all winter, trying to uncover the secrets of the language to gain the ability to do anything their hearts desired.
The books were spread out over the floor of the dusty library, dimly lit by a lantern, notes everywhere. They had successfully translated hundreds of words, mostly understood the grammar, and once the spring came, they would come back to the surface, hopefully finnished. If not, they’d continue next winter, when the chance of being discovered was the lowest.
“Láotmẽ́qóçíssájáoca la chichímá!!” As Çuacollen uttered these words, a small feather started floating. They had recently discovered the word for feather, and Çuacollen was testing it out, while Totāc was trying to translate one of the ancient books. Then, the door to their secret library opened. Totāc grabbed his dagger, and Çuacollen started speaking one of her their spells, building a barrier. Someone coming in here, discovering they were here, if they didn’t know already.. bad news.
In came a woman, and a small bird flew in. The woman was not wearing any armour or weapons.
“Do you two know what you’re doing is dangerous and forbidden??”
“Ma’am, we can’t let you leave, but I don’t want to kill you. Sit down on the floor, head on the ground.”
The woman started laughing. “Oh, of course..”
The bird, sitting on one of the bookshelves, started glowing slightly, and the woman stepped right through the invisible barrier that Totāc had constructed. Then, she started speaking in Quoçiaolãc, though the two men didn’t understand her.
“You didn’t understand me?? Well, your studies haven’t payed off then, have they??”
A scared expression appeared on their faces. Totāc walked up to her, raising his dagger, as the woman spoke: “Lalláotçẽciánpóstá.” Suddenly, the man with the dagger fell onto his knees, grabbing for his head, as the woman in the corner stopped speaking, despair in their eyes. Their heads started hurting, being filled with an intense pain with no clear cause. The bird flew down from the shelves, and landed in front of the man. The bird was glowing a dim, blue light.
“Now, you can bring your face to the floor.” The man felt himself being pushed as if by invisible hands, and the pain made him unable to resist. Çuacollen, in the corner of the room, fell down as well, screaming, though her screams became weaker with the second. The woman walked through the room, picked the lantern that had given the two scolars light, smashed it and threw the burning candle on their research papers. They quickly caught flame, and the woman looked down on the two scolars.
The flames quickly spread, warming the room, consuming the years of research, as well as the ancient books, over a thousand years old. Foam was coming from the two researchers’ mouths, as they didn’t even try to escape the flames ~ all that occupied their minds was the incredible pain in their heads.
The bird flew up, and sat down on the woman’s head.
“This language will die here, with you.”
