Later that evening, Sonder curled up in the reading nook of their quarters, a thick book resting open in her lap. She'd been staring at the same page for ages.
The sketches showed golems. They were tall and slender with narrow limbs and delicate postures. They looked more like sculptures than automatons. Not built for work or war. Just made. For what, the book didn't say.
Her mind wasn't really on them anyway. She kept thinking about what Vell had said. About the cursed things.
She glanced toward Vell's desk. The only thing resting there now was his worn leather bag.
It looked mundane, slouched, and scuffed. The sort of thing an old man on a long journey might carry. But Sonder knew better.
She set the book aside and slipped quietly over to it.
"Hiraeth?" She called. "If you can hear me, could you come out?"
There was a pause. Then, a faint green flicker shimmered near the satchel's flap. It bloomed into a dim glow, and from it, Hiraeth appeared.
"Sonder," he said. "Greetings. Is something wrong?"
She shook her head. "No. I just wanted to ask you something."
Hiraeth tilted his head, curious. From his size, the drop to the floor must've looked like a cliff's edge. "Ask away."
She hesitated. "Vell said he keeps things. Dangerous things. Does he collect cursed things too?"
The sprite's expression didn't change, but his glow dimmed ever so slightly. "I don't know everything," he said quietly. "He doesn't tell me everything. But… yes. Some of them aren't just dangerous. They're wrong."
"Wrong how?" Sonder leaned in.
"They don't want to be here," Hiraeth said. "The bag holds them, but not completely. Some of them… seep out. Like damp through stone. Like rot in wood. They hum when the room is quiet. Sometimes I think they try to speak to me in my dreams. I don't listen too closely. Vell does. He has to."
"Do you know what any of them are?"
Hiraeth gave a thoughtful pause. "There's a cracked stone, wrapped in chains. It vibrates sometimes. And there's a shard of glass, always wet, even if you hold it in a flame. Vell keeps that one in a box, then seals it inside another box. I've never seen him touch it with bare hands."
"What are they made of?" Sonder asked. "Who made them?"
He shrugged. "Some might've been made by good people, with good intentions. But magic doesn't always care what you meant. And others… I think they were never meant to exist. Not magic, not life. Just broken things. Made in hate. Or pain. Or both. Or for reasons completely outside our understanding."
Sonder's fingers curled loosely in her lap. "If one of those things could kill a Kalandir…"
She didn't finish the thought.
Hiraeth studied her, quiet again. Then he said, "It's not wrong to ask questions."
She looked down, her hands resting in her lap.
"It's not bad to ask," Hiraeth said.
"I just worry," she said.
"About what?"
"That if Vell has something that could hurt them, and if they ever find out, they might think bad of him."
Hiraeth didn't answer at first. A dozen flickering thoughts passed through his mind. He wanted to say there was no chance, no way Vellichor would ever misuse what he kept. But Vell had lived many lives. And done many things.
He just had to have faith.
"Don't worry too much, girl," Hiraeth said gently.