To Tailyn Blithe,
You speak of knowledge, of prophecy, of the exchange of wisdom and flesh alike. I do not deny the temptation in your words, nor the gravity they carry. But there are tides that cannot be rushed, and currents that must be followed to their inevitable end. We will meet, but not before the Blood Moon. It is written in the stars, in the spaces between them, and in the pages I have uncovered.
I have discovered a key to understanding—a revelation that has unraveled the path I once followed and laid bare the precipice before me. In the Ruins of the Cham Marches, amidst the dead and forgotten, I found a tome bound in silver-veined obsidian. It was there that the truth struck me like a dagger between the ribs. I had thought myself prepared for such a wound, but there are wounds even knowledge cannot shield against.
You ask for secrets. I ask for patience.
You offer a meeting. I offer only this: trust, though unearned. And know that the consequences of misplaced trust, for either of us, would be catastrophic. There are forces at play that neither of us can afford to misjudge, and I will not risk scattering the fragile threads I have gathered for the sake of premature indulgence.
When the moon runs red and the veil grows thin, we will find each other. Whether as allies, adversaries, or something else entirely remains to be seen.
Until then, be cautious where you tread, and more cautious still of what you seek.