From the shadows of a lower level emerged Rolan, the tiefling wizard Alex had once saved in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Back then, Rolan had been reckless, running from the safety of the Last Light Inn after drinking too much. But now, as Alex’s gaze fell upon him, the tiefling was almost unrecognizable. His face was bruised, faint traces of dried blood on his lips, and his usually vibrant aura was dimmed by exhaustion and shame.
Rolan froze in his tracks as his eyes landed on Aylin, her celestial armor gleaming, her wings a radiant display of silvery white. His voice was barely a whisper, laden with disbelief. “My gods... the Nightsong is a person?”
Alex’s gaze shifted to Rolan, concern flickering beneath his stoic exterior. “Rolan, what happened to you?” he asked, though his instincts already whispered the truth.
Rolan blinked, confusion clouding his features as he tried to place Alex. “Sorry... do I know you?” he asked hesitantly, his voice cracking slightly.
Before Alex could respond, Lorroakan’s voice cut through the tense air like a whip. “Boy! At the ready! Once I’ve taken control of the aasimar, she must go directly into the caging runes. No hesitation!”
Rolan stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His gaze darted between Lorroakan and the others, uncertainty battling with a growing sense of defiance.
“Rolan,” Alex said, his voice steady but firm. “Look at me.” As he spoke, the magical disguise Alex had donned shattered, revealing his true form. He stood tall, an imposing figure clad in dark organic looking armor that seemed forged from the void itself. Fiery veins of molten energy pulsed through the cracks in the blackened metal, casting an eerie glow that seemed to challenge the ambient light of the room.
Rolan’s eyes widened, and his voice trembled. “Zeus...” he murmured the name the refugees had once called Alex during their time in the cursed lands.
Rolan’s gaze snapped back to Lorroakan, and his voice gained strength as fury replaced fear. “No, Master Lorroakan. I would never have assisted you if I’d known you planned such horrors. You lied about the Nightsong. You told us she was a relic, a tool for power. I’ve seen what true leadership can accomplish—but never under your tutelage.”
Lorroakan’s expression darkened, his polished demeanor cracking as anger seeped through. “Watch your tongue, boy!” he hissed. “I could make it so that no wizard in the realm will touch you. You’ll be nothing but a pariah, a disgrace.”
Rolan’s defiance did not waver. His lips curled into a smirk. “If they’re all like you, I think that sounds like an excellent bargain.”
Before Lorroakan could retort, Aylin’s laughter rang out, clear and biting. “Ho! Face us, charlatan. We who detest you so.”
Lorroakan’s face twisted in rage as he raised his hand, his voice sharp as steel. “Myrmidons! Imperatum!” His command echoed through the chamber, and his sly smile returned, certain his elemental servants would spring into action. But nothing happened. The armored forms of the elemental myrmidons remained unmoving, their glowing eyes fixed on Alex.
His smile faltered. He barked the command again, louder this time. “Myrmidons! Imperatum!” Still, the elementals did not move.
“They will not listen to you. They are not under your command anymore.” Alex said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet menace.
Lorroakan turned to Alex, his eyes narrowing. “Lies. They are bound to me.”
Alex raised a gauntleted hand and pointed to himself. His voice was steady, but his words struck like thunder. “I am a primordial archomental.”
Lorroakan paled, the blood draining from his face as realization struck him. His arrogance was replaced with fear, his confidence cracking like brittle glass.
Alex stepped forward, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “Your myrmidons recognize the hierarchy of their kind. They serve me now.” He paused, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Aylin, he is yours.”
Alex stepped back, his movements deliberate as he allowed the celestial warrior to take center stage. Aylin’s wings flared, their radiant light filling the chamber as she drew her blade. Her eyes locked onto Lorroakan, her expression a perfect storm of divine wrath and righteous fury.
“What we have here,” Aylin said, her voice a dagger of scorn, “is a magician trembling before the power he so desperately sought to steal. How pathetic.”
Lorroakan stumbled back, his once-imposing figure now dwarfed by the sheer power of the celestial before him. For the first time, his cunning mind failed him, and the reality of his folly bore down on him like a collapsing tower.
“Let us end this,” Aylin declared, her voice reverberating with the promise of retribution.
Lorroakan’s body crumpled to the ground after Aylin’s devastating punch, and the chamber seemed to hold its breath. The sound of his teeth scattering across the floor was drowned out by the dull thud of his body hitting the floor. He lay motionless, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, likely concussed from the force of Aylin’s gauntleted fist. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, a pathetic echo of the arrogance he had carried just moments ago.
From the side, one of Lorroakan’s animated armors, Krank, sprang to life, its greatsword raised high. It charged at Aylin with deadly intent, but before it could strike, the armor froze mid-motion. With a sickening creak, its parts fell apart, collapsing into a pile of lifeless metal. Alex stood nearby, his hand still raised as he absorbed the armor’s magical essence, the veins on his dark armor glowing faintly with stolen power.
Aylin loomed over Lorroakan’s broken form, her silver wings outstretched, casting an imposing shadow over him. Her voice was venomous, dripping with disdain as she spoke. “Lorroakan: you who would see me caged, bound like some common trinket. Let every wicked magus, every vile murderer, each slaver, and purveyor of misery see what fate awaits them.”
Shadowheart and Gale exchanged uneasy glances as they watched Aylin lift Lorroakan off the ground, his limp body dangling like a broken marionette. Her grip was unrelenting, her celestial strength evident as she raised him high above her head.
“Dame Aylin is watching,” she declared, her voice reverberating through the room like a divine decree. “She is indomitable. And when her light illuminates the shadows of your wrongdoing, you are undone by its beauty.”
With a chilling, calculated motion, she brought Lorroakan crashing down onto her armored knee. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the chamber, and a gasp of pain escaped his lips as his lower body went limp. His legs twisted unnaturally, useless beneath him. Paralyzed and defeated, Aylin tossed his broken form aside as though he were nothing more than discarded refuse.
From the corner of the room, Rolan stepped forward, his face a mixture of fury and vindication. He spat on Lorroakan’s battered face, his voice trembling with emotion. “You deserve every bit of this, bastard.”
Alex approached Rolan, his imposing form towering over the tiefling. His hand glowed with a soft, holy light as he placed it on Rolan’s bruised face. The glow enveloped Rolan, healing his wounds and erasing the traces of Lorroakan’s abuse.
“Thank you,” Rolan said, his voice filled with sincerity. He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from his body. “Lorroakan was a cruel, vicious man. By day, I tended the shop. By night, he’d fire nonsensical questions at me, and for every ‘wrong’ answer, he’d beat me.”
Rolan’s voice wavered as anger began to simmer beneath the surface. “I could have killed him with my own two hands, but I kept telling myself it was all a test—that I had to endure it to become a true wizard. I realize now he was just a sick, sadistic man.” He paused, spitting on Lorroakan once more before taking a deep, steadying breath. “I see things clearly now. If I’m to master the Weave, I must do it myself.”
Gale stepped forward, his expression neutral but his tone tinged with understanding. “This library of magical knowledge is indeed formidable, but don’t underestimate the value of a good teacher. A good mentor who knows how to guide its students can make all the difference.”
Rolan’s eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing Gale. “You think you could be that teacher?”
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Gale nodded solemnly. “You have great talent, Rolan. If you’re willing, I could be your tutor. I won’t lie—I can be firm, but I am fair.”
From the side, Shadowheart chuckled softly. “Firm? I think that’s a stretch. But fair? Absolutely.”
Gale smirked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of self-deprecating humor. “Come now, Shadowheart. Even I have my moments of intimidation.”
Rolan let out a short laugh. “I’ll think about it. Thank you… truly.”
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the tower that was now his to command. “I can’t wait to bring Cal and Lia here. Lorroakan refused to let them stay, but this tower will finally be a home. They’re going to love it.”
Rolan turned to Alex, his expression earnest. “I wouldn’t have this—the tower, my family—without you. What can I do to repay you?”
Alex didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to Lorroakan’s motionless form, placing a hand over the wizard’s face. Everyone watched in tense silence as Alex stood still.
Finally, Alex broke the silence, his voice calm but commanding. “Do you know how to operate the tower’s defenses?”
Rolan hesitated, then nodded. “I stumbled across a book about them. Yes, I know how.”
Alex turned and placed his hand on Rolan’s head. “Do not move,” he instructed.
Rolan’s body stiffened as a torrent of memories flooded his mind. Images of the Netherbrain, its overwhelming power, and the looming threat to the city consumed him. When it ended, Rolan stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“By the Nine Hells!” Rolan exclaimed, his hands trembling as the memories settled. He looked up at Alex, his determination rekindled. “I’ll learn everything I can about this tower. If it can help stop that… abomination, I’ll rip this place apart to make it work.”
Alex nodded as he turned to Aylin, a glimmer of approval in his voice. “Good. Prepare yourself. This city’s survival may depend on it.”
Aylin’s gaze lingered on the window, her silver wings faintly shimmering in the sunlight that filtered through the intricate panes. Her expression was distant, her usual sharp defiance softened by an uncharacteristic vulnerability.
As though sensing Alex's eyes on her, she began to speak, her voice low and thoughtful.
“The fire-haired fool is beating at death’s door. Yet as I stare upon him, I feel... sadness?” She turned , her gaze looking downward, her eyes searching for understanding. “Why?”
“What kind of sadness is it?” Alex asked ,his tone calm but probing.
Aylin’s brow furrowed, her celestial aura flickering faintly. “A gripping in the chest. As though I’d lost someone... something. It must be a paladin’s fatigue, no doubt.” She paused, the faintest quiver betraying the depth of her inner turmoil. Her gaze softened. “You were of great help, and I’m proud to fight at your side.” Her voice steadied, but her eyes revealed more than her words. After a moment of silence, she added, “Can you send me back to Isobel? I must talk with her about something important.”
Alex gave her a slow, understanding nod. “Of course.”
Aylin’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Moonmaiden be with you,” she said solemnly, her voice carrying both gratitude and resolve. With a fluid motion of Alex’s hand, a shimmer of light enveloped her, and she vanished, leaving behind a faint glow where she had stood.
Once she was gone, Alex walked toward Lorroakan’s crumpled form, kneeling beside the defeated wizard. His hand hovered over Lorroakan’s chest, glowing with a soft, radiant light. Holy energy poured from his palm, seeping into Lorroakan’s broken body. The wizard’s pained expression eased, his ragged breaths becoming steadier as his injuries healed.
“What are you doing?” Rolan’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone a mix of confusion and anger.
“Healing him,” Alex replied evenly, not lifting his gaze from Lorroakan. As Rolan opened his mouth to protest, Alex continued, his voice firm. “Do not worry. From now on, Lorroakan will be your absolute, devoted student.”
Rolan’s eyes flicked between Alex and the unconscious wizard, his protest dying in his throat. If Alex said it, then it must be true. He remained silent, his unease palpable.
Alex rose to his feet, his presence commanding. “We will head to the vault. There is something there that I want to check.” With a snap of his fingers, the room shimmered and warped, and they vanished.
Rolan stood frozen, staring down at Lorroakan as the wizard began to stir. Lorroakan’s eyes fluttered open, wide with confusion. He looked up at Rolan, his expression almost childlike.
“Master Rolan,” Lorroakan said cheerfully, his tone unnervingly bright. “How can I help you today?”
Rolan grimaced, his mind racing to process what had just happened. The man who had once tormented him now regarded him with reverence, and the shift was as unsettling as it was satisfying.
----------------------------------------
Alex, Shadowheart, and Gale appeared in a new space, the air thick with an arcane charge. The room was a masterpiece of ethereal beauty and imposing architecture. Circular in shape, it was surrounded by wrought-iron balconies adorned with intricate, swirling patterns that shimmered faintly in the ambient light. The walls were lined with smooth stone arches that framed towering shelves, each filled with ancient tomes, magical relics, and artifacts of forgotten ages. Some shelves leaned precariously, their contents untouched for centuries, while others seemed to hum with latent energy.
The most striking feature, however, was the floor—or the lack thereof. Instead of solid ground, the floor consisted of a dense, undulating mist that glowed faintly with a silvery hue. It shifted and pulsed as though alive, yet it held firm beneath their feet. Each step sent ripples cascading across its surface, only to dissipate as if consumed by the magic that sustained it. Walking on it felt like treading on moonlight itself.
Behind them, at the center of the room, hovered a massive portal that they used to teleport here. The swirling vortex of violet and indigo light was encased in a circular framework etched with glowing runes. The portal emitted a steady hum, its rhythm akin to a heartbeat. Occasionally, arcs of raw energy crackled from its edges, illuminating the mist below in bursts of brilliance.
Lanterns mounted to the walls burned with ever-shifting magical flames, casting the chamber in hues of gold, purple, and green.
Alex , now in his human form scanned the chamber, his expression unreadable.
Gale approached one of the shelves, his fingers hovering over a tome that glowed faintly. “These books contain powerful old magic . If Lorroakan knew what was truly here, he might have been even more dangerous.”
His gaze moved to Alex as he approached a heavy door, its surface adorned with ancient carvings and faintly glowing glyphs that seemed to shift subtly under the light. Alex, his movements deliberate and precise, pressed his hand against the cold stone wall beside the door. For a moment, the room fell into an anticipatory silence, broken only by the faint hum of magic resonating through the chamber. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a corridor ahead.
"Follow me closely," Alex instructed, his voice calm but firm, the authority in his tone unmistakable.
Shadowheart’s eyes darted around, her grip tightening on her weapon, while Gale’s curiosity fought against his unease. At the end of the passage, they arrived at the entrance to a circular chamber where three doors stood, each marked with the name of a legendary wizard.
To the left, the door bore the name “Elminster,” etched in flowing, elegant script. Straight ahead, another door displayed “Silverhand” in bold, commanding letters. To the right, the third door was marked with the name “Karsus,” its lettering jagged and foreboding, as if warning intruders of the dangerous knowledge within.
Alex moved without hesitation to the door marked “Karsus,” his demeanor unwavering. He placed his hand on the wall beside the door, closing his eyes as he seemed to focus on the faint vibrations of magic that thrummed through the air. A moment later, the door creaked open, its heavy weight groaning against ancient hinges. Without a word, Alex stepped through, Shadowheart and Gale following close behind.
As they emerged into the room beyond, the sight before them took their breath away. The chamber was a repository of ancient knowledge, its walls lined with towering shelves filled with scrolls and tomes. Books of every shape and size were stacked haphazardly on tables, some glowing faintly with enchantments that had long outlived their creators. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and a faint trace of ozone—the unmistakable scent of old magic.
Alex’s steps slowed as he moved further into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the shelves with purpose. A faint pulling sensation tugged at the orb in his chest, a magnetic force guiding him toward something he couldn’t yet see but instinctively knew was there. Shadowheart and Gale exchanged a glance, sensing the shift in Alex’s demeanor. He finally stopped in front of a particular shelf, his eyes narrowing as they settled on a single book: “The Annals of Karsus.”
The book rested heavily on the shelf, its presence almost overwhelming. Its deep crimson cover seemed to draw the eye, exuding an air of authority and danger. At the center of the cover was a large, ornate lock embedded within a golden compass-like emblem, radiating a sense of impenetrable secrecy. The lock was surrounded by intricate lines and arcane glyphs, hinting at the magical power contained within.
The edges of the cover were adorned with golden scrollwork, curling into patterns that were equal parts elegant and menacing. Along the spine, more golden accents gleamed faintly, their luster undimmed by time. Two circular seals flanked the central lock, each marked with faded arcane symbols that whispered of the book’s ancient origins. Despite its age, the red leather cover bore only faint scuffs and marks, adding to its enigmatic allure.
A faint, shimmering aura surrounded the tome, a soft glow of purples and whites that pulsed rhythmically, as if the book were alive and breathing.
Gale approached Alex, his eyes widening as they fell upon the book. His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “The Annals of Karsus... The preamble to a civilization’s downfall, committed to parchment by the very hand that wrought its destruction.” He paused, the weight of his words sinking in. “If the crown atop the Elder Brain was truly forged by Karsus himself, this book will confirm it. All we have to do is turn the page...”
Shadowheart stepped closer, her gaze fixed on Alex as she studied his reaction. Her expression was one of cautious curiosity, as though trying to decipher his next move. Alex reached out, his hand hovering over the book for a moment as if feeling its aura. The pulling sensation in his chest intensified, urging him forward. Finally, he opened the book. The instant the book opened, the room was bathed in a blinding flash of light. The air seemed to ripple as if reality itself was bending, and then everything turned white.
Alex blinked, his surroundings dissolving into an endless void of white. The air felt thick, not with humidity but with the weight of something immense, something ancient. In the heart of this endless expanse stood a solitary figure, his presence both commanding and mournful.
Karsus—the legendary archwizard, whose ambition had brought down an entire civilization—stood before Alex. His appearance was striking, his face a mixture of youth and weariness, as though he bore the weight of his catastrophic deeds across countless lifetimes. His flowing robes shimmered with an otherworldly light, their intricate patterns shifting and changing like a tapestry woven from stars.