The Eternal Tower hummed with an ancient, melodic resonance. Its walls, smooth and ageless, rippled with a faint blue light that spread through the runes and sigils etched deep into their surface. Within a grand chamber, Lucy sat cross-legged atop a floating cushion, her eyes locked on the translucent projection hovering before her. The playfulness that often danced in her eyes was replaced by a cold, calculating focus.
The place she was in pulsed with arcane energy, and as Lucy adjusted her position on the floating cushion, the room around her shifted. Shelves of tomes and ancient scrolls hovered in mid-air, their spines glowing faintly as they responded to her presence. The books rotated slowly, revealing titles in languages both familiar and alien, some etched with runes that shimmered in blues, greens, and golds. Wisps of magic trailed from the spines, connecting them to unseen anchors in the room’s vast space, like cobwebs spun from pure energy.
Directly above Lucy, an enormous sigil hung suspended in the air, rotating slowly as it projected waves of magic that rippled downwards, influencing the floating books and papers below. Each time her fingers brushed through the air, a tome would shift from its orbit, lowering itself into her lap or opening mid-air, pages flipping rapidly before settling on passages she sought.
One such book drifted toward her, its cover a deep crimson, engraved with an ancient, curling script. “The Rise and Fall of the Primordials: Secrets of the Lost Age.” She flipped it open with a casual flick of her wrist, and the pages filled with detailed illustrations of once-great cities, a sprawling civilization that spanned across the world, now reduced to ruins that were scattered across the Myriad Realms. One image captured her attention—a detailed depiction of the Citadel of Auryn, the sacred site that now lay beneath the tower’s foundations, in the depths of the island’s underground world.
Her eyes scanned the text, absorbing lines written in Primordial tongue, interspersed with hasty translations in Aesenyr script. “The Citadel remains the last bastion of the Primordials’ civilization, their wards entwined with the core of the Origin World itself. Only the Guardian of the Tower may access its hidden depths—should they possess the knowledge of the seals...” The words trailed off, and Lucy’s fingers hesitated over the page.
She muttered to herself, her brow furrowing. “Knowledge of the seals... And yet, no trace of them remains.” The sigil above flickered in response to her frustration, sending a ripple of energy through the room. She glanced up, the glow of the symbols reflecting in her eyes. “They’ve hidden them well, haven’t they?”
Another book floated into her line of sight, this one bound in shimmering silver, its cover adorned with intricate geometric patterns. “The Hollow King and His Accord with the Dark Realm”. The pages fluttered open, revealing sketches of shadowed figures draped in tattered robes, their faces obscured by darkness. The ink seemed to shift, as if alive, the eyes of the figures staring back at her. Lucy’s gaze lingered on the depiction of the Hollow King—a crowned entity, its hands clawing at the fabric of reality itself. “He who dwells between the veils, the keeper of lost realms and broken pacts.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Still no answers about his connection to the Citadel... or why he was banished there.” Her voice echoed through the chamber, and a nearby scroll, wrapped in what looked like translucent, enchanted spider silk, unfurled itself, revealing a map of the Myriad Realms as they once were. Hundreds of lines traced the paths between the realms, connecting them like threads in a grand tapestry. Some of the lines were intact, glowing with life, while others were torn, frayed, or outright shattered.
She traced one of the broken lines with her fingertip—a pathway that had once connected the Origin World to the Dark Realm. The ink pulsed under her touch, and she could almost feel the echoes of the magic that once flowed along that route. “It’s no wonder they saw their chance when the shattering happened.” Her voice was a low murmur, and her eyes darted to the next title floating by, “Envoys of the Hollow Cult: Rituals of Chaos and Corruption.”
The text was in a tongue far older than even the Aesenyr’s ancient dialect. Lucy gestured, and the script reshaped itself into something readable, the letters morphing into eerie, blood-red runes. The illustrations showed rituals performed by the cult’s envoys, figures cloaked in shadow, their hands raised as they commanded the eldritch horrors born from the depths of the Dark Realm. Some pages were scorched, the edges burned as if they had tried to escape the confines of the book itself. She frowned as she read, “The Envoys seek the weakening of the seals... To open the way back into the Heart of Auryn...”
She set the book aside, letting it float back into its place among the shelves, her expression growing darker. The citadel was a focal point, its influence spreading across dimensions. But its secrets were guarded—hidden in ways she had yet to uncover, despite the centuries she had spent delving into the tower’s mysteries. If the Blood Cult succeeded in tampering with the wards... the horrors sealed within the citadel would be unleashed, and she would be powerless to stop them.
A soft glow caught her attention. Another tome, its cover made of polished obsidian, drifted toward her. “Echoes of the Aesenyr: The Lost Legacy”. She paused, her fingers hovering over it. The Aesenyr... her people. Her past. She hadn’t opened this one in centuries. It held tales of their triumphs, their explorations into the mysteries of the universe, and the pride they once carried as protectors of the Myriad Realms. But it also chronicled their decline—the hubris that led to the fracturing of the Origin World.
Her eyes softened as she traced the sigils on the cover. “The age of the Aesenyr...” she whispered. “We were so close to understanding everything, and then...” She hesitated, her thoughts pulling her back to her mother—the former Guardian, and the sacrifices she made.
But the moment of nostalgia was brief. Lucy’s hand flicked, and the tome closed itself, floating back into the shadows of the chamber. There was no time for sentimentality. She needed answers.
The sigil above shifted again, projecting another set of runes that filled the air like constellations. Her eyes followed the symbols as they rearranged, forming the name of a section she hadn’t dared access for eons—“The Vault of Forgotten Secrets.” Her heart quickened. She had attempted to breach that section of the tower multiple times, each attempt blocked by seals she could not decipher. The tower had a will of its own, and some of its chambers only opened under very specific conditions—conditions she had yet to fulfill.
“Is this the key?” she mused aloud. “If I could unlock the vault... maybe I’d find the missing pieces.” She clenched her hand into a fist, magic crackling around her fingers. “But I can’t be reckless. Not again.”
Her mind wandered back to the last time she’d attempted to force an entrance. The explosion had nearly destroyed half of the tower’s structure and unleashed an entity she had barely managed to seal back. The scars of that mistake still lingered, and the tower had been more hostile to her ever since.
Lucy’s wings folded against her back, and she exhaled slowly, the weight of her duty pressing down on her. “I need more information. More… assistance.” She gestured, and the books that had been hovering around her realigned themselves, forming a circle above her, their pages flipping open and shimmering with light. Each book projected a fragment of knowledge—tiny glimpses of the secrets she sought.
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There was one more title that caught her eye, hovering just out of reach. Its cover was a dark, abyssal black, void-like, with no markings. She recognized it instantly—“The Codex of Veils”—a tome that chronicled the shifting boundaries between worlds, including the Dark Realm’s connections to the Shattered World. She hesitated to open it; the last time she had done so, she had felt the Hollow King’s eyes upon her, watching, waiting.
Lucy reached for it but stopped short. She could feel the faintest pull, a whisper tugging at her thoughts, like a dark lure calling her name. She withdrew her hand, her eyes narrowing. “Not yet,” she whispered. “I won’t repeat the same mistakes.”
The tome floated back into the shadows, leaving her to contemplate the next move. She had spent eons trying to find a way into the hidden depths of the citadel without breaking its seals, and now, with Mochi—Bo—she might finally have a path forward.
She folded her hands, the sigils above flickering once more. “The answers are here. I just need to be patient.”
Gesturing towards the central sigil, a map above her flickered to life—a sprawling, three-dimensional web that traced the surface of the sky island and plummeted down into its hidden depths. Tendrils of glowing lines snaked through the caverns below, paths carved eons ago by hands now forgotten. Lucy’s gaze followed one of these paths, leading deep beneath the island, beyond the boundaries of her enchanted mist. It terminated in a glowing cluster of symbols—an ancient citadel that loomed in the heart of the underground.
She reached for a crystalline flask filled with a pink, shimmering liquid. As she took a sip, her wings fluttered behind her, their movements slow and measured, betraying a tiredness she rarely allowed herself to show.
“Lumi, status report,” she murmured, her voice soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade.
A gentle light pulsed through the room as Lumi’s voice filled the space. “Mistress, the wards remain intact. However, the strain is increasing. The frequency of breaches has doubled in the last decade.” Her tone, usually warm and soothing, carried an undercurrent of tension.
Lucy’s fingers tightened around the flask. “The Underworld’s barrier... It’s weakening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lumi confirmed. “The eldritch entities that once slumbered have begun to stir. Some have already managed to escape. Your enchanted mist holds them at bay, but the energy required to maintain it is... considerable.”
Lucy’s lips tightened, her eyes flicking to another section of the map. There, she watched as tiny pinpricks of red lights blinked in and out, marking locations where breaches had occurred. “I can’t keep this up forever. Not with the tower’s defenses needing constant reinforcement, and the darkness growing stronger in other dimensions.”
She leaned back, her gaze fixed on the glowing map, her mind racing. It had been eons since the world shattered—since the Origin World was torn apart, its pieces drifting like forgotten memories around the artificial sun. Back then, she was just a budding prodigy, a mere teenager thrust into a role far beyond her years after her mother’s passing. The Aesenyr’s era, the time of the Nine Races, was a distant memory. Most of this world’s inhabitants had long forgotten the time when the Myriad Realms prospered, and few even knew her name anymore.
Lumi’s voice broke the silence. “Mistress, I must caution you. The entities escaping the citadel’s boundaries have grown bolder. If the mist fails...”
Lucy’s eyes darkened. “If the mist fails, they’ll swarm the island, and the Shattered World will face a catastrophe it’s not prepared for. But I won’t let that happen.” She tapped a finger on the citadel’s glowing symbol, tracing the pathways that connected it to the surface. “I need the Underworld sealed properly again. If those wards fully collapse, there’s no telling what horrors will spill out.”
She paused, her thoughts shifting. The Well—a relic she had protected for eons, now buried in myths and tales—had recently chosen someone. The memories of her earlier conversation with Lumi resurfaced, and she let out a sigh. “Bunbun... Bo. He’s the first to pass through both the Well’s and the tower’s barriers unscathed in centuries.”
Lumi’s light dimmed, her tone tinged with curiosity. “Do you believe he is connected to the citadel, Mistress?”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed, her expression contemplative. “I don’t know. But his soul—there’s something about it. He survived the Dark Realm, and he thinks it was the Void. That’s no small feat for a being as weak as he was.” She paused, recalling the brief flicker of power she’d sensed within him, hidden and dormant. “If he’s truly capable of passing through the citadel’s barrier as he did with the Well, without breaking its seals... then perhaps he’s the one I need.”
She set the flask aside, leaning forward as her wings folded neatly against her back. “But first, he needs to prove himself. If he can retrieve the materials and artifacts we need to repair the Well’s power and stabilize the wards, then maybe—just maybe—he can go deeper. All the way into the citadel.”
Lumi’s light pulsed gently. “Mistress, the risks of sending him into the depths... Even the Guardian of the Tower herself faced difficulties there.”
“I know,” Lucy replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “But I don’t have much choice. The entities are already breaching the mist’s edges. I’ve kept this island shrouded for centuries, hiding its secrets, keeping the outer villages and towns safe. But the strain is growing. If I don’t act soon, it’s only a matter of time before they spill out into the port city and beyond.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle hum of arcane energy, the soft glow of the library’s core, and the flicker of the map’s light. Lucy’s eyes lingered on the ancient citadel, the lines connecting it to the tower’s heart like a web of fate.
“Perhaps...” she mused, her voice barely a whisper. “Perhaps he’ll be able to do what even I couldn’t.”
Lumi’s voice returned, softer now, as if sensing her Mistress’s unease. “Mistress, you’ve carried this burden for too long. The Tower’s secrets, the Citadel’s mysteries... It’s not your duty alone.”
Lucy’s wings fluttered, and she gave a small, almost melancholic smile. “The Guardian of the Eternal Tower bears its burdens, Lumi. It’s what I was born for.” She glanced at the flask, her eyes distant. “But maybe this time... I won’t have to do it alone.”
The map shifted, zooming out to reveal the entire island—its mist-covered forests, jagged mountains, and sprawling rivers. In the distance, the artificial sun blazed with ancient energy, its colorful swirls casting a surreal glow across the sky.
Lucy’s gaze softened. “I’ve watched over this place for eons. I’ve kept it hidden from those who would seek its power and knowledge, those who would corrupt its secrets. But the darkness grows bolder. The enemies I once held at bay are preparing for their return.” She turned her eyes to the citadel’s symbol, the pull of its power still whispering to her. “I only hope I made the right decision with Bo…”
Her fingers traced the edge of the floating projection, the lines and symbols shimmering beneath her touch. “But if he fails...” Her voice trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air. “Well, we’ll need another plan.”
She stood, her wings spreading out behind her as she moved toward the large, arched window at the far end of the chamber. From there, she could see the island’s mist-covered valley below, the Well hidden like a relic of another age. She felt its faint pulse, the echo of magic slowly reviving. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
“I won’t let them have this place,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with determination. “The enemies beyond this realm... the ones lurking in the shadows, in the dark corners of other worlds... They won’t take what belongs to us. What my mother once protected.”
Lumi’s light pulsed, casting a soft glow around the chamber. “And when the Underworld’s wards are fully restored, Mistress? When the Well regains its strength?”
Lucy’s smile returned, sharper, tinged with a hint of dark amusement. “Then... we go deeper. To the heart of the citadel itself. There’s something down there that even I don’t understand. But it’s calling to me, Lumi. It’s only a matter of time now...”
She turned away from the window, the soft glow of arcane symbols bathing her in light. “But first... let’s see what my little mochibunny can really do.”
With that, she waved her hand, and the projection vanished, leaving the chamber bathed in the quiet hum of magic. The books resumed their slow, orbiting dance around the library’s core. The air filled with the quiet rustle of pages turning, the ancient knowledge of the Myriad Realms echoing softly through the walls as Lucy prepared for the trials to come.
Her thoughts swirled with possibilities, as her plans unfolded like the strands of fate she had woven.
She didn’t need to rush. Everything would reveal itself in time. And when it did, she’d be ready.
As ready as she could be.