An Instructive Treatise for the Uninitiated Composed by Archivist Mereth Talo, Third Keeper of the Technical Scrolls Imperial Library, Laver

You ask me of glythes, and I confess I am pleased by the question. Too few in our age understand the stones upon which our civilization stands, quite literally in the case of our airships.

Let me begin simply, as you are clearly unversed in these matters.

A glyth is a crystal. Pink in color, often described as “sky-pink” by poets of limited imagination. Hold one in your hand and you will notice something peculiar immediately: it weighs nothing. Not “very little.” Nothing. This alone should tell you that you hold something unnatural. Something divine.

The common folk call them “god-stones,” and they are not entirely wrong. Our oldest records, fragmentary things from before the Azurian Era which I caution you to treat with appropriate skepticism, suggest that glythes are essence made solid. The power of creation itself, crystallized. Beyond that, the origins remain mysterious. The priests of House Aera have their theories, but I am a keeper of records, not theology.

What we know is this: expose a glyth to light, and it becomes hot. Intensely so. The stones drink in what our natural philosophers call “photon energy” as a drunkard drinks wine. Store the heated glyth in water, and it produces photon energy that can be dispersed to components, channeled into devices, engines, and weapons.

Do not, under any circumstances, allow a charged glyth to release its energy uncontrolled. I have seen the records of such incidents. The raw power, when unleashed, becomes a beam of that same sky-pink light, dense as iron, hot as the forge, and capable of vaporizing whatever stands before it.

But the heat is only half the miracle.

That weightlessness I mentioned? A glyth does not merely lack weight. It creates around itself a field of lesser gravity. Place enough glythes together in the proper configuration, and they will make heavy things light. Light things lighter still. This is the principle behind our gravity displacers, those great mercury-filled engines that allow our airships to soar above the clouds. The glyth crystals negate weight. The displacers create directed thrust by forming pockets of reduced gravity that pull the vessel in the desired direction.

You begin to see, I hope, why the Empire guards these stones so jealously.

The witchlord Hemlok discovered glythes some fourteen centuries before our current age, approximately 500 OA by the Commission’s reckoning. The Talmians, curse their memory, used this knowledge to build their Silver armies and their terror-ships. It was glyth technology that made their conquest possible. And it was the capture and repurposing of that same technology that allowed our blessed Valarious to break their chains.

What do we know of how the Talmians developed this knowledge? Very little. Their slaves, our ancestors, were permitted nothing. Not learning. Not leisure. Not even food enough to survive without stealing scraps. Whatever secrets the sorcerer-kings held, they took to their graves or saw burned when Valarious razed their citadels. We have rebuilt our understanding through centuries of study and experimentation.

A Silver, if you have never seen one (and I suspect you have not, given your questions) is a man-shaped machine that moves and acts without a pilot. At the heart of each Silver sits a glyth crystal. This is both its source of power and its fatal weakness. Breach the crystal chamber, and the glyth releases all its stored energy at once. The resulting explosion will vaporize the Silver and anyone foolish enough to stand nearby. I am told our military academies teach soldiers to aim for the chest, where the crystal typically rests.

Our weaponsmiths have developed several armaments that harness glyth power directly. The Varista is a long weapon fitted with a buttstock and lengthy shaft to direct the flow of energy. It fires small orbs of pure glyth energy, about one inch across. Upon impact, the orb disperses a wave of energy into whatever it strikes. Some Varistas are matched with a bayonet or even an axe head, though the weapon is not meant for melee. Using it so risks damaging the crystal within, which as I have explained would prove fatal to the wielder.

The Varistis is the smaller cousin of the Varista, a handheld weapon that can be wielded in one hand. It fires the same orbs but uses a far smaller crystal, meaning fewer shots before depletion, though it recharges faster as well.

Then there is the Arctavista, a cannon about four to five feet in length. Unlike the Varista, which fires measured bursts, the Arctavista disperses the entire charge of its crystal in one tremendous beam. The damage is catastrophic. Reloading is simple enough: remove the discharged crystal and insert a fresh one. But mark this well. Special gloves must be worn when handling a fully charged glyth crystal. Without them, the energy will discharge directly into the handler, mortally wounding or killing them outright. I have recorded seventeen such incidents in the past decade alone. Carelessness with glythes is not forgiven.

Now, you may wonder: if glythes are so useful, why does the common farmer not power his mill with them? Why does the village smith not heat his forge with pink light?

The answer is policy, not scarcity.

The Imperator, in his wisdom, restricts glyth technology to the nobility and those who serve them directly. This is not cruelty. Or rather, if it is cruelty, it is the productive sort. A kingdom where every peasant commands the power to level buildings is a kingdom that will not stand long. The divide between those who fly and those who walk is the foundation of order. House Talo does not make policy; we merely record it. But I will observe that the Talmians hoarded their technology absolutely, and yet still fell. Perhaps there is no perfect arrangement. Only arrangements that last longer than others.

You ask where glythes come from. This is less certain. The crystals form naturally in certain locations: essence-rich caverns, sites of ancient battles, places where the boundary between our world and Amura grows thin. They can also be cultivated, though the methods are closely held secrets of Houses Paldice and Chaldia, and I suspect neither would thank me for inquiring too closely.

What else should you know?

Glythes power our augmentations, the mechanical limbs we attach to soldiers who have lost their own. Glythes enable the Optica network through which the wealthy communicate across vast distances. Glythes charge the force generators that create barriers and shields around our fortifications. Even visual cloaking, the technique by which certain agents make themselves nearly invisible, relies on glyth-powered field manipulation.

I will close with a warning that applies to scholars and soldiers alike: a glyth crystal is not a trinket. It is not a curiosity. It is condensed divine power, and it demands respect. Handle one carelessly and you may find yourself explaining to the gods firsthand how their remnants came to burn a hole through the Imperial Library’s floor.

Should you wish to study further, I recommend the restricted collection in the Third Vault. Present this treatise along with authorization from your House patron, and I will see that the appropriate scrolls are made available.

In service to knowledge and the Empire,

Archivist Mereth Talo Year 900 of the Azurian Era