The town was on fire!

As quickly as his feet could take him, Herik dashed in through the gates into the raging inferno. He passed the screaming townspeople,the occupying Sudh soldiers , even his own father, and traced the quickest route to Old Pethre’s home. His (still half-formed) Scribe instincts told him this was no ordinary fire, and perhaps the aging Master can confirm his suspicions.

When he entered the smoke-filled lodgings, he saw the old man on the floor of the study. He was still alive, coughing violently.

“Who did this?”the young man asked.

“I believe… the orders came from… from Singayn,” Pethre managed. Herik’s eyes widened in surprise.

“There… is not enough time… Please, help me… apprentice,” he wheezed.

They stood there for almost an eternity, before Herik’s calculating eyes (he’ll make a fine Scribe with those eyes) fell on the ancient tomes by the shelves.
His voice tensed. “I’m sorry, but… I wouldn’t be able to carry everything.”