It was a momentous day.
Xyr thought as they looked over the surrounding landscape. The crumbling remnants of dead vegetation stuck oddly out of the barren earth pockmarked with scorched craters. Several of these craters were still pierced by the massive metal rods that created them. Of the newer tests, a few were still smoking from the burning soil. The smoke rose in spiraling pillars, wafting gently upwards. By the time they reached the height where Xyr stood, there was nothing but a faint scent of sulfur in the air. Xyr nodded. This was home, after all. They rested a hand on the side of the opening on the top of the tower.
Here they were, at the apex of their work. Atop this massive tower of durum, painstakingly crafted to be everlasting. They stepped to the edge of the doorway that looked over the edge and stared straight down. The side of the tower was a maelstrom of deterrents. Durum blades jutted outwards at odd angles, sharpened to a razor’s edge to discourage climbing. There were several layers of these blades periodically constructed up the sides of the tower. Xyr beamed at the sight of the jagged weapons, glittering with a dull light. Durum – Xyr decided – was a beautiful metal. It was extremely durable, heavy, and unbelievably expensive. Though other fine metals showed their price through glimmering gilding or finely-spun jewelry, durum’s beauty was a simple assurance in its dark steely hue; it was a promise of longevity.
The entire tower was plated in the heavy metal, particularly sensitive or critical parts of the tower were covered in thicker plates. The procurement of so much durum had been a decades-long endeavor. Trade deal after trade deal had been struck, quests completed, and markets drained of the substance. For a mage of Xyr’s status, it was merely a matter of letting the rest of the world mine it for their purchase. They had just recently begun installing the final shipment of the durum with the help of their worker automatons. Xyr watched as one such sentient machine affixed another layer of armor onto the side of one of the chambers.
The automaton was about the size of a large beast, with prehensile limbs of interlocking metal plates. Powered by Xyr’s own magical power, the creature used tools affixed to the ends of its limbs to append the plates, gripping the tower itself with the rest. Upon the completion of its task, it climbed along a section of the tower between layers of blades, the sound of metal scraping metal echoing up to Xyr’s perch. After a brief chirp into Xyr’s mind to alert them of the completion, the automaton found its way into the tower through an opening.
Among the mundane structures of anti-climbing spikes, armor plates, and parapets were magical countermeasures: anti-magic machines, defensive runes, and automated sentinels. The AM machines whirred night and day, ready to unleash their anti-magic upon any hostile spell that would target the tower or its occupants. The runes were a simple yet efficient construction, increasing the massive natural resilience of the durum while also protecting its inhabitants directly. Finally, the sentinels...well, if any invaders got to that point, they would be easy pickings for the masterfully constructed constructs. Xyr mulled the defenses over in their head for the umpteenth time. Yes. This tower would be impossible to take by any non-unified force. Even in the case of it being occupied, it would surely be a pyrrhic effort. That should be enough of a deterrent. After all, the creatures of this world valued their lives. Simpletons, Xyr scoffed.
Of course, the most important piece of the tower’s puzzle laid at the top. This room - clad in the finest durum alloys magic could manufacture - was the most protected portion of the tower. It was so secure, Xyr was sure it was the most defended place in the entire world. The top of the tower possessed the magnum opus of Xyr’s entire existence. Xyr turned away from the large gap left in the tower and relayed a mental order. Several worker constructs emerged from the tower, and placed a large armor plate of durum over the gap.
The room was cast into darkness. For several moments, the only sounds to be heard were the calculated movements of the constructs as they quickly affixed the armor over the gap. There were no longer any exits. There was no turning back. With a grin, Xyr held up a finger. A hearty flame plumed from their fingertip, illuminating the room’s contents.
The Telstrum. It was a complex machine, tens of thousands of parts perfectly calibrated to work with each other. Magical runes imperceptible to the human eye were inscribed on every part to ensure their continued and efficient function. The machine loomed over Xyr, divided haphazardly into several parts. There was the ammunition reservoir, containing several types of ammunition for replication and acceleration. Nearby was the enhancing rig, which could enchant specific pieces of ammunition with specific effects. Of course, there were several magical capacitors filled to nearly bursting. Their faint hum was the only sound aside from Xyr’s footsteps. The machine was capable of nearly anything, but Xyr was under no illusions as to its purpose.
It was a weapon. That much was apparent. Despite its deactivated state, the flickering flame upon Xyr’s finger cast frightening shadows upon the walls. With the machine still as it was, Xyr’s mind produced images of a sleeping animal. No, this was something greater...a dormant monster. To each direction, a mighty wing, able to change the winds of fate itself. Above, a magically powered computer to rival the mind of gods. And in the center...Xyr shuddered with delight.
Xyr was the greatest mage to ever live. This much was well-known. The list of their merits was too long for mortals to recite, and crimes too horrid to utter. They approached the heart of the machine, trailing slender fingers along the inactive parts of the Telstrum. In this moment, Xyr’s mind wanted to wander. To reconsider. However, their resolve was far too strong now. With a gasp of delight, they slipped between two pieces of machinery to cast light on the most beautiful part of this masterpiece. If the tower was the worst place to get into, this was the opposite. Xyr gripped a piece of metal nearly hard enough to distort its shape in their ecstasy. It was time – finally – to make use of this.
It was a pod just above seven feet tall. Though it was a durum construction of seemingly little import, Xyr’s intuition and – indeed - their memory placed great significance on the existence of the object. Its very presence seemed to command respect, like the fabric of reality was caving towards it. Xyr’s eyes wandered to the hundreds of magical conduits running from the pod to the rest of the machine. The metal cables resembled the veins and arteries of a great, magical heart. If Xyr’s calculations were correct, this machine was completely inoperable. The demand for the raw amount of refined, pure magic was far too large for even a country to muster over a year. There was no one in this world who could possibly operate it.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
That is, perhaps aside from the greatest mage to ever live.
Xyr looked upon the pod with a new perspective. Bursting with Xyr’s most potent enchantments, the pod’s magical signature rivaled their own. There was a small door ajar on its front. Xyr changed their mind. This wasn’t the heart of the Telstrum.
It was its maw.
The pod was going to be Xyr’s prison.
Before they knew it, Xyr’s hand was resting on the edge of the opening. Their breath caught in their throat. If they were to step inside, to sit down on the seat, and close the door...it would be over. The legacy of Xyr the Archmage would end here. With the level of controlling magic this pod was laden with, it would be impossible to escape...even for Xyr. They laughed nervously to themselves, recalling an idiom from a woman they knew in their youth, nearly three centuries ago. They had thought they loved her, at the time. The mage scoffed; it was a foolish fling of youth.
Xyr smiled as they recalled her words, “They say only kings can invite their own demise.” Xyr could feel her hands on theirs, even now. Her eyes, gazing into their own, “But, I think...I feel...like that’s below you, somehow. You won’t be taken down by anyone, right? You promised. So...I feel like you won’t just invite something, but...if you really do lose, it’ll be your own design, right? Like a taste of defeat, or something. Haha~!”
Xyr smiled along to the tinkling sound of her laughter in their head. Then, the memory truncated. The mage cocked their head, trying to recall for a moment before realizing. Xyr couldn’t remember her laughter. Their smile evaporated from their face. A part of their own mind scolded them: you know the rules of this existence. Xyr desperately gripped at their own face, fingers bruising their face as they groaned. Before their very mind, memories of her were being destroyed. The mage squeezed, as if holding their face still would keep the memories from leaking out. Her face was now murky. Xyr coughed, collapsing into the pod as they tried to spark magic within themself to prevent the erasure of more memories.
They failed. After all, the one casting the spells to erase the memories in the first place was them. Xyr’s eyes welled with tears, and the first tears to fall from Xyr’s face in a century reminded them of hers. Warm, salty tears falling onto their bloodied forearm. Their hand spearing her chest, her healing magic vainly attempting to reknit her sundered chest. Now, Xyr couldn’t remember her face as it contorted in agony. It wasn’t the physical pain – Xyr always knew - but the betrayal. Xyr sobbed, sitting on an apparatus within the pod as they buried their face in their hands.
The strongest mage in existence weakly cried, “Stop...please.”
Her body was gone, now. No matter what, they couldn’t recall her skin, her face...was she even human? Next, they forgot who she was. A woman? A man? Someone in between? The last to go was their eyes. Sparkling, even the color was forgotten before the contents.
Love. Overflowing, limitless love.
The eyes glossed over and faded.
…
What was Xyr thinking about again?
Xyr sniffled, wiping a line of tears from their face. Who was that for?
Ah, of course. The Telstrum was completed, and the tower was prepared. What a day to remember. A day to cry for, indeed. Xyr reached for the door’s handle. There was nothing left to do but begin it. To seal themself away, and let go.
…
Was Xyr forgetting something? They felt like they were going to say something, to dedicate this moment to someone. Wasn’t there someone important? A moment of panic flashed across Xyr’s mind. If someone was missing...Xyr thought for a long moment, before coughing. What a preposterous thought. Who in this world could be that important? Everyone was so far below them it wasn’t even worth remembering a single name. Xyr laughed at the very thought of dedicating a moment’s time to one of those...mongrels.
Their laughter echoed, then died. Only the hum of magical capacitors remained.
That soured their mood. Thinking of such pitiful creatures was beneath them. On this momentous day, every thought should be calculated, important. After all, they may be their last. Xyr took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Their chest trembled. Then, they shouted, declaring to the room filled with machine,
“I am Archmage Xyr, the greatest mage to ever have lived!”
Their mind filled in the rest of their achievements, their mouth busy with huffing air. Their last breaths. Before Xyr could reconsider, they leaned forward and grasped the edge of the pod’s door. With a heave, they pulled it nearly shut, only their fingers preventing it from closing. Xyr breathed heavily, the imprisoning magic nearly activated. The prickling sensation set off so many alarms in Xyr’s head, they could barely focus. Xyr removed their fingers.
A word echoed around the room of the Telstrum.
“Goodbye.”
The door fell shut with a bang. The Telstrum whirred to life, filling the room with a cacophony of grinding and whizzing. The greatest weapon, powered by the greatest prison. Xyr’s screams would never be heard. Xyr the Archmage died. The Telstrum was born. It calculated for a moment and decided:
It was a momentous day.