[00-013] [Days of the Deliberate: 0215] [Justerian Caelus] I'm looking at the maps now, and we're sitting

in a chamber beneath the captains deck, where windows flank all sides. The lands we've crossed have given me more to study than the Astraisium could have proved in thrice the time. Now, I've been staring out the window again to the beautiful violet and blue mountains of Southern Trazeus, the flora more stratified and dynamic than the Aatra-Shii, even. I turn back to the maps, a series of red pins poking out of our areas of stop. There's four people in the room, including myself, the faces of Froxxe, Noir, and Sverra, as they've all introduced. For a moment, I'm not quite sure why I'm here, but I realize that I was the leader of the Astrasium's academic project, and thus I had a say in the direction. After pondering our new course, we led a conversation on the most efficient way of going to...Ah, Allyse. If my papers weren't mistaken Allyse was actually just outside of a Great Race Checkpoint-- Sverra and I cross referenced the manual and discovered that there was no rules on taking an alternative course, as long as all the checkpoints were still reached. In fact, with the prevailing Eastern winds, it would make the journey consequently harder for anyone traveling into it; it was beneficial, even, that the boy led us this direction so soon. We may just have the edge in the race. I spare no regrets for the crimson appointed counterpart. All that stick shaking for nothing? Even as I think this, I feel the cool impression of doubt slip into my mind. My calculations lead me to believe that they will be back again. Froxe and Noir speak amongst themselves, the boy is quiet, but he has a strong voice, he looks aged of sixteen, perhaps seventeen circling. His tealgrey eyes see me, they stare right into my goggles and speak. Noir looks like she could wrestle a bear to the floor. I remember the effect of her words on me just hours earlier, flowing out, it felt like my mind

became clay beneath the harsh vibrations. Although I understood that it was for a good cause-- (in theory), I would not want to feel that again. I'll keep my Logicum Acranorum to myself in case I really need it. This particular spectrum of magic differed so far from the Voice that I can hardly imagine how they're related. Logicium Acranorum was, after all, the magic of logic, it puts one cause into play and creates the subsequent effects. Voice magics and the like are Discordant. They come from a sporadic source: the quavering will of the spellbinder/breaker. Logicium,however, comes from the fabric of Aeternum itself, utilizing the Laws of Existence to exact their goals. It is the most absolute form of magic I think, and unlike the increasingly popular Discordant magics, it's mathematical values are true. Comparitevely, one's will is so unquantifiable, one can never know what will arise from it. Perhaps the battle for supremacy for these two magics will end with some questioning paradox: [Both?] It's been four rotations since the air attack, and we've passed over the major landmass of Trazeus-Ai, the northernmost third of the continent. A three-way split, carved by the Spine of Chaos some couple hundred circling away creates the new lands. Since then, the city that stretched between North Trazeus and Southern Trazeus-- when they were just 'Trazeus', has been compromised by the ensuing waters of the Flooding. ...Always a Shattering, then a Flooding. Then, a Flowering, if one would believe that. That's why Trazeus is so beautiful, they say. Here, we're flying over the Submerged Cities of Eraxomath, where they saythat some elves still reside, waiting for the magics to return and their lives to resume, trapped in eternal stasis... But who's 'they' anyway? The city is all wide towers and terraces; I can follow the lines of the submerged gardens, squares of shimmering sea where the memories of colors sunk below, analogous to the said elves. The towers themselves were based in circles, their abandoned white peaks rising above the waves, providing new shelter to the life of the isle. Vibrant green plants grow and thrive in any sill of the oculuses stacked in tower walls, I can see flocks of azure-sparrows diving from these emerald nests in their ever present search for food...

It's all very fascinating, I'll be sure to add another log on the extended botany of The Eraxomath City. [See: Aeternum: Visual- Fig 1.] I was told that we're landing on the edge of Eraxomath in a day, and by then we will have reached the Faeris mountains. These mountains claim the final barrier that the elves erected to buffer the furies of past Shattering. The Aethella will rest just before these mountains, where the two journeyers would have to travel on foot. In consideration to another approach Sverra and Froxxe, both understanding the mechanisms of Aethella, knew better than to try to navigate over those frostily elected peaks. Even I and Noir could agree that it would be foolish to attempt flying over it. Once deposited, the crew and I decided to proceed to the Race checkpoint city, Andoros. Later, when I returned back down to my quarters, a half-dozen men and women were still groaning of the nasty welts that were drawn from their previous assault. Apparently, Noir was skilled in her works, and I would not want to get in her way. Still, there's something about her one crimson eye, and the other-- obscured in eye-patch that brings me back to question her, silently, in my thoughts. Who are you? Why do you place a hand upon your navel when it seems that no one is looking? I can see something behind her jovial behavior, in what shells and barriers has she erected to hide her secret? She catches me, her crimson eye lowering in disapproval, I turn back to my work, hastily jotting down the remaining notes on the Azure-sparrow's flight pattern and keeping my business to myself. And the boy, Froxxe, he's the most mysterious of all. Reflecting back on it, I feel as if asking the captain to consider their words came from the stark curiosity that befell my nominal equilibrium. He stood with a back perfectly straight, his composure, although constantly stymied by the oft chaotic life of an airship, remained unified. Behind his eyes, I could see him holding a tide of information back, he speaks as if he is calculating which words would be the most fitting of raging sea behind that stare. At night, the tapping of his leather shoes inspires his deepest thoughts, I can hear him mutter of his dreams, '"...Criexdrian..."

I scour my mind for any references to this name and realize that he was the God of Logic. One-hundred and two circlings ago, I remember being taught of his implementation of the Council System. He first decreed Acranorum, the title by which all magic fell under, to be split into two categories. Logicium Acranorum is my forte, but the second category was scorned by the god, Discordia Acranorum. Logic and Discord. What a quandary-- The God of Logic is using the highest form of Discordia to exact his goals of Logicium. However esoteric his motives may be in releasing the Black radiation on all of Aeternum, I feel that in Froxxe's words rings an irrefutable truth. No one would fly half-way across the globe and steal an airship if they were not convinced in their rationale. Froxxe murmurs of the Black Radiation, he speaks of Spellbinding, his hands are on a spell orb that exists only in his mind as he combines and recombines ways to fly the ship. But something tells me his goals are more grave than what an airship would surmise. He walks on the decks sleepless, often, a battle between his nebulous dreams, and a festering world. Like stars, I think his youthful wisdom has yet to bloom, but it's glowing, steady. What will come of his inquiries, I can only wonder, infinitesimally. It's hard to imagine that in a few hours now, the unlikely duo will separate from us, the Astrasium's and the Crew's quest for Knowledge and Immortality resuming. I don't imagine I will ever be able to wipe the encounter of Froxxe and Noir from my mind. Perhaps we will meet again, in another world...