Claude observed the scene as people bustled about, the soldiers guiding evacuees back into the city after spreading the word that a bandit attack had been imminent. Obviously, it was only an excuse.
He noticed Guillaume—the indolent knight he'd first encountered upon waking—now leading the rest of the knights and soldiers with an unexpectedly focused demeanour.
"Ready?" A voice sounded beside him. Claude turned to see Zal, who had returned after ensuring all traces of the ritual had faded.
"We're leaving now? But what about the knights? And, how will—"
"Don't worry about them. They're not children; they can handle their tasks," Zal cut him off briskly. But Claude's real question wasn't about the knights.
How were they getting to Elysium?
Before he could ask aloud, he felt something envelop his body, and without a second's warning, he and Zal shot into the air.
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Claude's eyes ached, struggling to keep up with the blur of his surroundings as they hurtled through the air. Despite travelling at a speed that would humble any bird, he felt oddly unaffected.
Is it because of this? he wondered, squinting at the strange layer—a translucent film of air that seemed to coat his body like a protective shell.
Looking ahead, something began to emerge from beneath the clouds, a shape distinct from the bright sky.
A mountain range.
It was a sprawling, rugged expanse of towering peaks and deep, shadowed valleys. The rocky terrain was an earthy brown, streaked with sparse vegetation.
Yet, that was not all. As Claude's gaze shifted from the rugged peaks below, he noticed something hovering above them.
Claude blinked, squinted his eyes, and looked again. But no, the vision persisted—an enormous structure suspended in the air, unaffected by the howling winds that ran through the mountain range. It wasn’t a bird, nor a cloud, nor any natural phenomenon he could recognise.
'An island…?!' His half-formed exclamation was silenced by sheer wonder as the colossal floating landmass fully revealed itself. It was a vision that defied everything he knew about the natural world.
The island was circular, cradled in lush, verdant forests that cloaked its perimeter in a deep green. Rising around the edges were four colossal stone spires, they surface as dark as storm clouds.
At the heart of the island lay a majestic structure—a sprawling building of pristine white marble, its massive archways, towering stained-glass windows, and open courtyards.
Between this central marvel and the four massive towers lay a bustling city, woven with manicured gardens and crystalline fountains.
Whoosh!
They began to rapidly descend, landing before a massive gate. At the gate stood guard a pair of knights, clad in bright, silver armour polished to a mirror sheen.
"Your Excellency Zal!" the knights shouted in unison, their armour clinking as they raised their arms in a crisp salute.
Zal acknowledged them with a nod and strode forward, Claude trailing a step behind, eyes darting around, trying to absorb every detail.
"Wonder why we didn't directly enter the city?" Zal's hands were clasped behind his back as he strolled ahead, his head tilted toward Claude.
Not waiting for an answer, Zal continued, voice filled with a faint amusement. "Remember those four massive towers you saw at the corners of the island?"
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Claude nodded, curiosity gnawing at his thoughts.
"Those are the mage towers belonging to the High Council, headed by the Four Mage Lords, who stand at the helm of all mages. Mortal gods, they're sometimes called…" Admiration flickered in Zal's eyes as he mentioned the Mage Lords.
'Mage Lord? Is that a higher level of mage?' Claude wondered silently. But his thoughts paused, his attention drawn back as Zal went on.
"Each Mage Lord has their own specific tower, where they conduct their personal research. Anyone entering the city from above may be deemed a spy, gathering information on these towers… and let's just say, those who ignored the warning did not exactly make it back down in one piece."
Zal's voice dropped as he strolled forward. But just as Claude's mind began to spin with questions, Zal clapped his hands.
"Ah! We're here!" Zal's voice pulled him back to the present.
They stood at the threshold of a city, no longer in an idyllic forest. A sprawling vista lay before him, bustling with activity yet brimming with an unusual calm.
The streets are paved with smooth, polished stones, and buildings shaped from ivory-hued stone, looming overhead.
Lush gardens interspersed among the buildings were filled with beautiful, exotic flora.
People strode the streets, garbed in robes bearing odd insignias, while children hurried from one building to another, their eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
They finally arrived at a modest structure nestled between two larger buildings. Unlike the exquisite facades around it, this building was plain, and made of sturdy wood and stone. A sign bearing the inscription "Task Registry" hung above the entrance.
As Claude followed Zal inside, they found a young man seated at a desk near the entrance, lost in a daydream.
His slender frame was draped in flowing robes, accentuating a warm olive complexion. The man's eyes were almond-shaped and raven-black hair was pinned up with jade combs. Hearing their footsteps, he snapped out of his reverie, standing to attention.
"Your Excellency Zal?" He greeted, surprise leaking into his words.
"Yes! Chang Wei," Zal replied. "I need your help to register a new apprentice."
Chang Wei's brow arched slightly, a hint of doubt crossing his face. "Oh? But isn't the college graduation due in a few months? Isn't this a bit… unusual?"
"Don't worry," Zal assured him. "I'll explain it to the council. This is a unique situation."
With a resigned shrug, Chang Wei turned to Claude, smiling. "Good morning, sir." He held out a small notepad and quill. "I just need a bit of your information to get you registered. Let's start with your name?"
A brief silence followed before Claude cleared his throat and answered.
"Claude… Claude de Laval."
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"Damn it!" The words escaped in a voice thin and brittle. A fist struck the smooth wooden table, shuddering the stacks of parchment and jars of ink.
The voice's owner, cloaked in a blue robe that obscured all but his thin, bony hands, had a face shadowed by the deep hood he wore. Yet, the fine lines tracing his knuckles and the translucent skin that clung to his joints gave away his aged exterior.
"Calm down." A gentle voice drifted from across the table. "You shouldn't be so emotional… Remember who we are."
They sat in a room encased by darkened stone walls, lit by the dim flicker of torchlight. A large, arched window overlooked a mountain range, where the peaks of distant mountains pierced the clouds.
Across the table that sat in the centre of the room, the two figures faced each other. The man was tense, his bony hands balled into fists. Opposite him sat a woman.
She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with strikingly brilliant blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Clad in a dark robe that draped down her arms, sleeves pooling onto the desk, she had sharp blue eyes that were magnified by her round spectacles.
"Don't be emotional?!" The old man shouted, his voice seething with fury. "Damn it, woman! Do you understand the consequences of this?!"
"A whole year!" he continued, slamming his hand once more. "For a whole year, we stalled the Inquisition. We gave those plague bearers a year to cast their vile ritual! And now what?!"
The target of his rage merely adjusted her glasses, her face placid as she let his anger wash over her. She rested her chin upon her stacked hands, her elbows firmly planted on the desk.
"And?" she replied, a wry smile touching her lips. "What can we do? Nicolas is already growing suspicious of my true intentions. At least you remain beyond his suspicions for now."
The old man grumbled, though his shoulders slumped with resignation. His anger seemed to falter, his words sputtering into silence before he exhaled in a long, defeated sigh.
"I understand," the woman said softly, her voice as smooth as silk. "You feel uncertain—you doubt the feasibility of our plan... But have faith; our pawns in Assur have succeeded. A new era lies ahead if we are willing to seize it."
The old man gave her a long look. Then, with a nod, he muttered a low farewell, his voice. He lifted a hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the air before him twisted and shimmered.
A dark tear shredded through the air before him, it soon grew in size and formed a stable circular form, its depths shifting in shades of indigo and black.
He stepped forward, and as he vanished into the churning darkness, the odd tear closed with a quiet hiss, leaving no trace of his presence in the room.
The woman watched him disappear, her gaze thoughtful. "Oh my, seems he's picked up a trick or two." She chuckled softly.
Leaning back in her chair, she stretched, arms raised high above her head as she stifled a yawn. For a brief moment, her facade slipped, revealing an almost childlike satisfaction.
"Who was it that caused the Francia operation to fail…? Claude, was it?" Her lips curled into an odd smirk. "How very interesting."