The Hidden City.
Hilana listened attentively to Cevaerius, having gotten out her notebook and pencil. Her eyes never left the dark-robed Rehy’aean, and that included looking at her page. She didn’t need to look down to check her work, she was confident in it. When she felt she was near the bottom of the first page of notes, she flipped it and continued. The Hidden City…. Of which no mention was made anywhere, except for a single poem. Well, the difficult we do immediately, the impossible takes a little longer, and miracles are by appointment only… and she was making her appointment for this one, it seemed, come hell or high water. When papyrus and pen were offered, her pencil went into her hair and she backed the papyrus with her notebook, writing anew to transcribe the poem.
With the way he spoke, she sought to figure out where the lines of the poem were from the breaks in his speech and write it down properly. Her education had not been a classical one, and she couldn’t claim to be familiar with Phaedryn the First’s works. But Cevaerius was. She would check with him after to make sure that she had the lines of the stanzas correct.
She drew two arrows between the two verses at the Pater’s words when he said there was an unusual gap, with a question mark. That was something. She knew the Prince had Semblance. She didn’t know if he had Negation. She’d consider it probable. Odds were likely better that he had it.
“Did he go North with the conquering forces during that time, out of curiosity?” She wanted to know, despite the fact it likely revealed her lack of education on the Glorious History. It could very well be that she was going to have to scour the world at large for this place, and if such was the case, so be it. “I am not familiar with many of his works,” Hilana admitted. “But you said that the gap between those stanzas is unusual? Would you think that there is a jump between the wordings of the verses? Something tying the two? I don’t suppose there might be something obscuring the lines between those stanzas?” The Vastiana mused. If there was a gap, there was a gap for a reason.
She set her jaw, thinking quickly as she read and reread the poem. Glories falling - the Founders at the Rending. Brittle steel. A bad quench could ruin steel structures and make it weak. So could cold. Cold? Depths? Somewhere underwater? Maybe depths meant mountains or caverns. Maybe she was on the right track. Maybe she was overthinking it; maybe it was just meant to be poetic - crumbling steel, bitter loss on the battlefield. The fall of the Founders and collapse of the Empire. “Would it at all be possible that we could please see the original poem, Pater? If there’s something hiding on that paper… I would think that the Princeps Sibylla could uncover it.” Maybe, just maybe, there was more hiding in plain sight. Her own Semblance wasn’t going to be useful… but the Materfamilias of House Phaedryn would be able to see if there was something they were all missing.
This was a challenge, and she was bound and determined to figure it out. And, hopefully, see this Hidden City for herself.