Chapter 8: The Path to the Tower
A new day had dawned, and the Mossy Floater was buzzing with chatter. Excitement and nerves were at an all-time high. Today, they would be reaching the Stone Port and finally setting foot on solid ground. For these young recruits, this moment symbolized their beginning—a true initiation into the magical world that lay ahead.
Abel stood on the deck, staring at the distant shore that was now finally visible. Large, thick, dark green trees loomed near the rocky shore, standing tall and ominous against the misty sky. The port itself was a structure of dark stone, jutting out like a jagged extension of the land. The wind had picked up, carrying with it a chill that swept through the deck and sent shivers down Abel's spine.
From the moment he had boarded the vessel, Abel had experienced one strange occurrence after another, each one chipping away at the naïve sense of security he once had. His idea of the world was transforming, revealing a reality far removed from the mundane life he had known. Now, standing on the edge of that reality, he felt a mix of trepidation and a strange excitement.
The ship slowly approached the port and docked with a low groan. Waiting for them on the stone pier was an older man with a flowing white beard, wearing a dark blue hooded robe. His eyes, sharp and piercing beneath his heavy brow, scanned the ship as if weighing each soul aboard. Behind him, a small, weathered cottage stood by the port, with smoke gently rising from its chimney. A narrow, winding path led away from the cottage, snaking into the depths of the dense forest.
Apostle Flint lowered a plank, creating a bridge between the shore and the Mossy Floater. He signaled for the recruits to disembark, his expression stern and unyielding. "Cornelius, I am Apostle Flint, and this is Apostle Essence. We've brought in this year's recruit batch."
Flint descended the plank with steady steps, leaving Apostle Essence on the deck to direct the recruits off the vessel. She moved like a shadow, her presence commanding yet almost spectral.
Cornelius, the old man, smiled faintly and reached out to shake Flint’s hand. “Ah, Apostle Flint! I was wondering which skilled Apostle would be handling the recruitment task this year. You’ve returned on schedule.”
Though Flint returned the smile, a worried look crossed his brows. He glanced at the recruits slowly filing off the boat. "We might be below the quota by ten heads," he muttered, his tone low.
Cornelius gave a contemplative nod. “Since you’ve been away on the task, you might not have heard. We have more recruits returning from their expeditions and completing their yearly tasks than the faculty initially expected. There were some minor successes—seems there might be a new batch of Apostles climbing the tower soon.”
Flint didn't respond immediately. His eyes narrowed, deep in thought. After recruits were brought in, they would undergo classes and research, learning the paths they might take. For the first six months, they’d study and train, understanding the magic and trials of the tower. Once those six months passed, they would be sent on an expedition—a test of skill and endurance, each with its own dangers and intricacies. Many recruits didn’t return from these trials. Only those who survived would progress, potentially becoming Apostles and earning rooms and laboratories on the tower’s upper floors.
“Well, that's a relief,” Flint finally said, glancing back at the last few recruits stepping off the boat. “I'll leave the Mossy Floater to you.”
Cornelius nodded and slowly walked up toward the ship, leaving Flint and Essence to lead the recruits into the depths of the forest.
As the recruits assembled on the stone port, Abel couldn’t help but glance back at the old man in the dark blue robe. Who was he? Why was he dressed differently from the Apostles? Could the color of their robes signify something important? Apostles wore black robes, while this older man wore a deep blue. Abel tucked these thoughts away for later.
The recruits followed the Apostles into the forest, the path winding ahead of them like a serpent’s trail. The dense canopy of enormous trees quickly swallowed them, plunging them into an eerie twilight. Shadows twisted and swayed with the wind, and beams of sunlight filtered through the thick leaves, casting ghostly patterns on the forest floor. The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth, rotting leaves, and the fresh scent of grass. Occasionally, a cool breeze carrying the scent of the distant sea would cut through, a reminder of the world they were leaving behind.
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The dirt path twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the dark woods. Strange sounds—birds with haunting calls and unseen creatures scurrying through the underbrush—echoed in the silence. Massive, ancient stones littered the area, their surfaces glistening like they were coated with a thin layer of dew or moss, occasionally sparkling with a mysterious light.
Abel walked alone, trailing behind the rest of the recruits. While he had made some acquaintances in Room Eighty, none of them were openly walking with him now. A sense of isolation crept over him, mingling with the unease of this new environment.
The path seemed endless until it suddenly widened into a small clearing, dominated by a gigantic stone covered in thick moss. The stone loomed above them, towering like a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of the forest. Its surface was rough and weathered, yet it emitted a subtle, almost imperceptible hum that Abel could feel resonating in his bones.
Essence moved toward the stone and placed her hand on its cold, rough surface.
Hummmm!
The stone began to vibrate, its deep hum growing louder and more resonant. A thin crack appeared at its center, glowing faintly. As the vibrations intensified, the crack spread vertically, splitting the stone nearly in half. Pieces of rock started to crumble away, falling like dry earth, but instead of revealing a hollow center, the stone began to erode away into itself, crumbling into a wide tunnel that seemed to defy the stone’s original size.
Abel’s eyes widened. Was he seeing things? The stone was enormous, but it hadn’t seemed wide enough to contain such a vast tunnel. He rubbed his eyes but quickly stopped, reminding himself that he was in a world of magic now—what was real might not always conform to logic.
Flint and Essence stepped into the newly formed tunnel, their figures swallowed by the darkness almost instantly.
“Follow us,” Essence called out softly, her voice echoing within the deep black void.
The recruits hesitated but soon followed, stepping into the pitch-black tunnel. The air within was unnaturally still—there was no echo of footsteps, no rustle of movement, not even the faintest whisper of wind. It was as if the tunnel existed in a separate reality, one removed from the natural world.
After what felt like an eternity in the suffocating darkness, a dim light appeared at the far end. As they drew closer, the recruits could see the soft beams of sunlight breaking through the canopy, illuminating the exit with a golden glow. They stepped out of the tunnel and into a new forest, similar yet distinct from the one they had left behind. The air here felt different—thicker, charged with some unseen energy. Pieces of leaves and fluffy yellow flora, akin to catkin, floated lazily from above, adding an ethereal quality to the scene.
“Woah!” a voice murmured among the recruits, breaking the silence.
Abel was equally mesmerized. His gaze drifted across the landscape, taking in the towering statues scattered throughout the forest. Each statue was unique—one depicted a bull with ten horns, another a knight with a massive shield. Each exuded a sense of power, their stone eyes watching over the intruders like ancient guardians. They stood at least three heads taller than the Apostles, and each possessed an aura that commanded respect and fear.
The path continued, winding around trees and statues, until it opened up into a wide clearing. At the center of the clearing stood a massive stone tower, rising like a monolith among the trees. It was an imposing structure—old, weathered, and covered in patches of moss. The stones were perfectly aligned, forming a seamless exterior that stretched up into the sky. Rectangular windows lined its surface, dark and uninviting, giving little away about what lay inside.
As they neared the tower, a middle-aged man wearing a dark blue robe—similar to the older man at the Stone Port—approached them. His head was bald, and intricate floral tattoos covered his scalp and neck, giving him a peculiar yet striking appearance.
“Are these the recruits?” he asked, his voice deep and carrying an authoritative weight.
“Yes, our mission is complete,” Essence replied softly, while Flint nodded in agreement beside her.
The man studied the two Apostles for a moment before speaking. “Head back to the task room. Elias will discuss your mission details with you. I’ll take these recruits to be assessed.”
Without a word, the two Apostles turned and walked toward the tower, their black robes fluttering slightly with their movement.
The bald man turned his gaze on the recruits, his eyes sharp and scrutinizing. “You’ve arrived at the Stone Tower,” he announced, his voice carrying an air of both welcome and warning. “We shall head to the Pillar for your assessment. May fate be kind to you.”
As Abel looked up at the towering structure before him, a mix of fear and determination settled in his heart.