Chapter Twenty-Six: Welcome Ceremony
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The Welcome Ceremony venue towered before him, a breathtaking fusion of artistry and power. Spiraling columns, carved with intricate runes that seemed to hum with dormant energy, stretched skyward like ancient sentinels. Their surfaces shimmered faintly in the glow of ethereal light. The building itself sprawled along the edge of the Inner Circle, a testament to grandeur that dwarfed even the opulent avenues they had traversed to reach it. Warm light poured from massive arched entrances, each glowing with enchantments that warded off the evening chill.
Jace reached the ceremonial hall, feeling the weight of more than a few curious stares. A quick glance at his reflection in a polished surface told him why—he looked as bad as he felt, like someone who had just lost a brawl with a runaway carriage.
Before he could gather himself, Marcus appeared at his side, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “What the hell happened to you?” he hissed. “Wait—don’t tell me. I don’t actually want to know. You look awful. I've seen better on the bottom of a farmer’s boot.”
Jace opened his mouth to respond, but Marcus waved him off. “Save it. Come on.” He dragged Jace into a shadowed corner. “I’m not letting you make us all look bad. They’ll think we’re a pack of heathens. Here.” He thrust a small crystal into Jace’s hand.
Jace blinked at it, recognizing the artifact from a previous outing. Marcus had used one after their last trip to town. With a resigned sigh, Jace activated it. A swirl of soft blue magic enveloped him, lifting away grime and exhaustion. His skin felt clean, his hair freshly combed, and his clothes pressed.
“Better,” Marcus muttered, scrutinizing him like a particularly fussy tailor. “Now, tell me you’ve got proper formal attire.”
Jace nodded and summoned his semi-formal outfit. The tunic was dark with subtle silver embroidery along the edges, the material shimmering faintly under the enchanted lights. A fitted jacket completed the look, its clean lines lending him a sharp, dignified air. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, a minor miracle considering how rough the day had been.
Marcus gave a reluctant nod, then grimaced. “It’ll have to do. At least you don’t look like roadkill anymore.” He straightened Jace’s collar with a sharp tug. “Try not to embarrass us.”
Together, they stepped out to rejoin the others. Dex, Ell, Alice, and Molly were already waiting, their outfits striking a balance between individuality and the semi-formal dress code.
Dressed in his newly cleaned attire, Jace couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, though he said nothing as they followed the steady stream of participants and spectators into the venue. Enchanted sigils glowed at intervals, their soft light guiding the flow of the crowd with effortless precision. The space inside was nothing short of awe-inspiring—colossal tiered seating that climbed so high Jace could barely see the uppermost rows, all filled with eager faces. The main floor stretched wide enough to host an army, and balconies above shimmered with nobles in finery that sparkled like the night sky, lending the space an air of exclusive majesty.
The Olympus contingent settled into their section, a modest group of a few hundred amid the thousands assembled. The hum of excitement filled the hall, voices blending into a rising tide of anticipation. Jace scanned the noble balconies, his gaze lingering for a moment, though even he wasn’t sure who—or what—he was looking for.
Dex leaned over, his sharp eyes catching Jace’s distracted expression. “What’s eating you?”
Alice glanced over as well, her brow creased with concern. “You okay?”
Jace hesitated, then shook his head. “Later,” he said quietly, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The restless hum of the crowd faltered, thinning into a curious silence as the herald ascended the stage. His ceremonial robes, weighed down by intricate sigils that glimmered faintly like embers beneath the light, swayed with his measured movements. Planting his staff into the wooden planks with a commanding thud.
“Peoples of Stronghold,” the herald began, his voice a resonant melody that carried effortlessly over the crowd, cutting through the chilled air. “Today, you stand beneath the unyielding gaze of our ancestors, within the sanctity of the city’s holy barrier, to partake in a tradition as old as the stones beneath our feet.” He let the silence linger for a heartbeat, a practice in showmanship.
“And now, as custom decrees,” he continued, his tone dipping into reverence, “we are honored to welcome the guiding hand of our city’s esteemed Regent—Koren Klaventaire, Custodian of the Tower, Arbiter of our trials, and the steadfast guardian of the Tower.”
The crowd shifted, eyes drawn forward as a man emerged from the shadows of the wings. Koren Klaventaire strode into view, his footsteps deliberate, boots striking the wood with a clipped precision that spoke of calculated authority. A faint smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. His gaze swept across the assembly like a blade seeking its mark as he took center stage.
“Citizens and esteemed visitors alike,” Koren began, his voice warm with an undertone of iron. “Our trials are not merely burdens; they are the crucible in which we are forged. Look around you—at these streets, at each other. This city stands because of its people, and because we will not kneel to the darkness that presses against our walls.”
The crowd leaned in, tension crackling in the air. Koren’s gaze lingered on a cluster of knights near the stage, his words sharpened by a bright smile. “Together, we will ensure the Stronghold does not merely survive—it will endure. And for those who falter… the Tower is always watching.”
Slick-haired and perfectly tailored, Koren’s presence exuded a practiced authority that felt more polished than genuine. He paused, letting the crowd’s murmur of approval swell before raising his hands to call for silence.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice magically amplified but smooth as polished stone. “Welcome to this year’s Winter Games!”
The crowd responded with applause, scattered cheers breaking out before quieting again. Koren smiled as though every face in the room was his favorite person.
“As always, the Tower awaits you. Its trials stand as the ultimate test of your strength, cunning, and will. Each floor conquered brings rewards, recognition, and the chance to leave your mark on history."
"And now, let us honor our esteemed benefactors for this year and unveil the prizes that await you. For those who reach the second floor, our allied kingdoms have generously bestowed a trove of treasures—rewards to celebrate the bravery of those who dare to step into the unknown."
At Koren’s signal, attendants emerged from opposite sides of the stage, their movements as synchronized as a well-practiced dance. They carried three massive chests, each crafted to reflect the rich heritage of its donor kingdom. The chests gleamed under the light, their intricate designs pulling gasps from the crowd as they were brought to the forefront of the stage.
The Regent’s voice rang clear over the hushed crowd as the first massive chest was opened on the stage by attendants clad in robes of frosted blues and grays.
"From the Lands of Eternal Frost," he announced, his words steeped in reverence. The chest, crafted from dark oak, bore swirling carvings of wolves prowling through ancient forests, their forms entwined with twisting trees. Polished silver reinforced its edges, glinting beneath the stage’s enchanted lights. When the lid was raised fully, there were respectable nods of approvals throughout the audience. Inside lay rows of hand-forged talismans, and bottles of magic meads, their amber hues catching the light. A ripple of pride surged through the Slavic delegation as they rose in unison. They clasped their hands to their chests and bowed deeply. The crowd responded with cheers and scattered applause.
The second chest was brought forward, its bearers adorned in feathered headdresses and golden sashes. "From the Realm of the Sunborn," Koren declared. The chest itself was a spectacle—hewn from volcanic obsidian that gleamed with an inner fire and traced with golden inlays depicting feathered serpents, jaguars, and radiant sunbursts. Gasps of admiration rippled through the audience as the chest opened, revealing ceremonial cloaks woven from threads of gold and crimson, their intricate designs radiating an aura of strength. These cloaks, Koren explained, granted the wearer agility and resilience beyond mortal limits. Beneath them lay obsidian daggers, their edges gleaming with predatory sharpness, their leather-wrapped hilts a testament to ancient craftsmanship. The Aztec delegation erupted in a rhythmic chant, stamping their feet in unison as their pride echoed through the square. The crowd clapped and cheered, swept up in the fervor.
The third chest appeared next, carried by attendants moving with the quiet grace of a spring breeze. "From the Blossoming Horizon," Koren announced, his voice softening in deference. The chest, lacquered in a flawless black sheen, was adorned with golden cherry blossoms so delicately rendered they seemed alive, swaying in an invisible breeze. When opened, it revealed rows of intricately carved talismans, each tied with silk threads in hues of red and gold. The Regent gestured toward them with a solemn nod. "These charms offer blessings of health, protection, and fortune to those who carry them." The Shinto delegation stood silently, their heads bowed in serene reverence, a contrast to the raucous pride of the others. The crowd mirrored their bow, their cheers quieting to murmurs of appreciation for the elegance on display.
The chests, each as distinct as the lands they represented, cast an enchanting spell over the crowd. The air shimmered with a palpable mix of reverence, pride, and wonder, transforming the ceremony into a celebration that felt eternal—a vivid tapestry of the world’s shared magics on full display. Or so it seemed to Jace.
From his vantage point, it was easy to get swept up in the moment, but a glance toward the noble tiers told a different story. Many of the nobles sat with the disinterest of seasoned attendees, their expressions calm, almost indifferent. To them, this might have been just another show in a long series of such spectacles. Was he being silly, letting himself be carried away? The thought lingered as he studied their detached faces.
Then he turned to his friends. Ell’s wide eyes glinted with the light of the treasures, a grin tugging at her lips. Alice’s hands were clasped tightly, her focus unwavering. Even Marcus, normally so composed, looked caught in the current of awe. Their expressions mirrored his own—the kind of awe that made the world seem brighter, richer, more alive.
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Jace let out a soft laugh, more at himself than anyone else. Maybe it wasn’t just the treasures or the ceremony; maybe it was seeing that glimmer of magic reflected in those he cared about. He smiled and turned his attention back to the stage, letting the enchantment carry him along with the moment.
"Did Olympus donate anything, you think?" Jace murmured to Dex, his voice low enough not to draw attention.
Dex shook his head slightly, leaning in just enough to reply. "Nah, pretty sure they were off the hook this year. Heard we were the big benefactors last time around. They rotate it, or something like that."
Marcus leaned forward and shot them a sharp look, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Shhhh.”
Jace and Dex raised their hands simultaneously, palms out in exaggerated mock surrender, their faces the picture of innocence. Their grins betrayed them, though, as they exchanged a quick glance. Marcus sighed, shaking his head.
The stage cleared, its expanse left bare for a brief moment before the attendants returned, carrying singular treasures that gleamed under the enchanted lights. Each was a masterwork: swords with edges that seemed to drink in the light, hammers etched with celestial patterns, and armor sets that gleamed with an otherworldly sheen.
Koren’s voice rang out, commanding the attention of the crowd. “The rewards for the fourth floor,” he declared, his tone rich with anticipation, “are beyond extraordinary, offered by the illustrious kingdom of Asgard. Anyone who reaches the fifth floor will have the honor of choosing from these extraordinary items," Koren announced, his voice resonating with gravity. "But for the first participant to cross into the seventh floor, this singular prize awaits."
The audience hushed, as four towering Asgardian warriors emerged. Clad in ceremonial armor adorned with intricate runes, they moved with a measured precision that spoke of both discipline and strength. Between them, they carried a single immense chest—crafted from blackened iron, its surface glowing faintly with golden inscriptions that pulsed as though alive. The air seemed to thrum with restrained power.
In perfect synchronization, the warriors lowered the chest to the center of the stage. A moment of reverent stillness followed before they opened the lid, revealing the prize within: a suit of armor that seemed forged from sunlight itself. The chest plate radiated a warm, golden glow, as if capturing the very essence of the heavens, while the gauntlets shimmered with raw, untamed power. Every detail of the set exuded strength and majesty, a testament to the legendary craftsmanship of Asgard.
A collective gasp swept through the audience, the sheer magnificence of the armor rendering them momentarily speechless. Even the nobles seemed impressed.
The Asgardian delegation stood, their hammers raised high before they struck them against their shields in unison. The resounding clash echoed like rolling thunder, sending a ripple of awe through the crowd.
Then, like a storm breaking, the applause began—scattered at first, then swelling into a thunderous roar. Once the crowd quieted, Koren continued.
“And for those bold enough to ascend to the fifteenth seventh,” Koren intoned, “a Celesteel-ranked artifact awaits, a gift from the Jade Kingdom.”
The stage darkened slightly, as if shadows had pooled around its edges. Then, in a dazzling display of light and color, a procession of Jade Kingdom attendants glided forward. Clad in flowing robes of emerald and gold, they carried a single long chest that seemed to float above their arms, supported by unseen magic. When they reached the center of the platform, they knelt as one, placing a single chest onto a pedestal of polished jade.
The lead attendant stepped forward, her hands moving with ritual precision as she unlocked the chest. A soft glow spilled forth, illuminating the stage. From within, she lifted a spear of otherworldly beauty—its haft carved from pure jade, its blade forged of Celesteel that shimmered like moonlight on water. The artifact exuded an energy that seemed to reach out and touch the hearts of those watching.
The crowd held its breath, as if afraid their collective awe might disrupt the moment. When the Jade Kingdom’s delegation stood and bowed deeply, the audience erupted in applause. Many mimicked the bow, a gesture of respect to the kingdom’s grace and generosity.
Koren allowed the applause to subside before raising his hands once more. “The eighth floor offers an invitation to a privilege few ever achieve. The Royal Ball, hosted by the Capital Kingdom, opens its gates to the champions of this trial.”
Attendants from the Capital Kingdom stepped forward, their crimson and silver uniforms catching the light. They carried a chest of platinum, its surface engraved with the imperial crest. When opened, it revealed golden invitations—more than mere parchment, these were living artifacts, inscribed with shifting runes and surrounded by a faint golden glow.
The crowd broke into whispers, and some even wept at the sight. To be invited to the Royal Ball was to be elevated into a world of unimaginable prestige. The Capital Kingdom’s representatives—a stately woman in a ruby-encrusted gown and a silver-haired man in ceremonial armor—stood and inclined their heads, their movements as measured as a courtly waltz. The audience rose to their feet in reverent applause.
But unlike the other representatives, these two did not bow and sit. Instead, they stood tall, waiting for the applause to subside. The woman stepped forward, her voice magically enhanced to a perfect, crystalline clarity, as though a whisper carried effortlessly to every corner of the room.
"People of Terra Mythica," she began, her tone commanding yet graceful, "our allied kingdoms and extraordinary peoples. His Majesty, King Stanley, sends his deepest regrets for being unable to attend this year’s ceremonies in person, as he tends to urgent matters in the northern reaches. However, he has entrusted us with his message of hope."
The silver-haired man produced a gemstone from the folds of his ceremonial cloak. It shimmered with a brilliance that outshone the stage lights, casting an ethereal glow. He held it high, and as he did, the air around it shimmered and expanded into a dazzling cascade of green and blue hues.
The light shimmered and twisted, condensing into the striking visage of a man. Shadows and highlights played across the translucent form, giving it an almost lifelike texture. Deep-set eyes emerged first, pools of light that carried both a weight of command and a glimmer of warmth. Lines etched across his face, and his brow bore the mark of a ruler who had spent countless nights wrestling with the burdens of leadership. Yet, faint creases around his lips softened the sternness—a testament to a lifetime of hard-won smiles and quiet moments of joy.
Jace stared, transfixed. The man seemed hauntingly familiar, though he couldn’t place him. Was it just one of those faces, he wondered.
The king’s projected form loomed over the crowd, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the aura of authority yet tempered by an undeniable warmth. It rolled across the room like distant thunder, commanding attention and silence in equal measure. As one, the crowd rose to their feet, the collective motion a ripple of reverence that spread outward from the stage. Though it was only an illusion, the presence it exuded felt tangible, almost alive, a figure worthy of respect.
Jace found himself standing too, the act instinctive rather than conscious. There was something about the man—it wasn’t just his station or the grandeur of the projection; it was the sense of a life lived in service to something greater. The respect didn’t feel forced; it felt earned.
“People of Terra Mythica, brave competitors of the trials,” he began. “You stand here as the future defenders of our realms, as the next legends who will carry the torch of hope into the unknown. These trials are not merely a contest of strength or cunning, but a crucible to forge the heroes we so desperately need in these dark times.”
His tone grew grim, his expression shadowed. “The threats that loom beyond our borders do not discriminate upon heritage, kingdom, or wealth. They do not rest. We need champions—those with the courage to rise and the fortitude to endure. To all of you gathered here, I offer this: prove yourselves worthy, not for glory alone, but for the survival of all we hold dear.”
The king’s gaze softened, a faint smile curling at his lips. “And for those who succeed… I look forward to meeting you at the Royal Ball, where you will be honored as the best of us, as protectors of this world. Good luck, and may the trials guide you to greatness.”
Jace couldn’t shake the unsettling sensation that the king’s eyes were boring straight into his soul—a ridiculous notion, he reminded himself, given that this was nothing more than a recording. Right?
The illusion shimmered, the image fading into the same cascade of green and blue light before dissolving completely. A stunned silence filled the room, as though the crowd had collectively forgotten to breathe. Then, as if released from a spell, the applause returned, thunderous and reverent.
Koren’s expression tightened, his jaw set as he forced himself to remain composed. For a fleeting moment, his scowl betrayed him before he quickly masked it, his hands clasping behind his back as he turned toward the next phase of the ceremony. The Capital Kingdom’s representatives, their duty fulfilled, bowed once more and descended gracefully from the stage.
Jace glanced at his companions, noting their awe-struck faces.
Koren’s tone deepened as he continued. “And for those who reach the ninth floor, the highest honor of all: a title of Lord or Lady and a fiefdom under your sponsoring kingdom.”
The representatives of the sponsoring kingdoms rose, each bearing a ceremonial symbol of the lands they offered. The Asgardians raised a gilded banner, its edges embroidered with lightning bolts. The Verdant Court’s envoy unfurled a tapestry depicting sprawling emerald forests. From the Jade Kingdom came a miniature pagoda carved from a single block of jade, its details impossibly intricate. The crowd was silent, awed by the magnitude of the reward.
The Asgardians clashed their shields, the Celts roared, and the Jade Kingdom’s attendants performed a synchronized bow. Each reaction reflected the culture and pride of its people, creating a mosaic of reverence and tradition that swept through the grand hall. The audience erupted in cheers, a crescendo of excitement that filled the air with magic and wonder.
Marcus leaned in, his voice a muttered grumble. “They set it at twenty-six so no Traveler gets close.”
Jace frowned but said nothing, the words settling into his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Koren’s expression sharpened, his smile stretching into something almost predatory as he prepared to deliver the final promise. His voice deepened, resonant with reverence.
“No one has ever conquered the climb, no one has ever claimed the final prize,” he said, his voice low but carrying to every corner of the hushed crowd. “And yet, perhaps there is one among you—standing here today—who will rise above all others, the first to ascend all ten floors and claim the greatest treasures of the Tower.” The air seemed to shift, growing heavy with anticipation. The crowd leaned forward as if pulled by an unseen force, every breath held in expectation. Koren let the silence stretch, savoring the moment, his pause drawing them deeper into the gravity of what was to come.
“For that person awaits glory and treasures untold. For centuries,” he continued, his voice a hypnotic cadence, “the kingdoms of Terra Mythica have paid tribute to the Tower Trials. Each year, gemstones and gold, treasures of your lands, are offered in honor of those brave enough to climb, a testament to courage and resolve.” He paused again, letting his words settle like a weight upon the gathered masses. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he delivered the revelation.
“And every year, the treasures that remain unclaimed do not vanish. They stay, secured within the Tower’s vaults, untouched and waiting. With each passing year, they grow, compounding into a hoard unlike anything the world has ever known.”
The murmurs that swept the square were hushed, almost reverent. A ripple of awe passed through the crowd, and Koren stood tall, his voice carrying a note of triumph as he prepared to conclude. “A treasure beyond imagining,” he said, his tone as steady as the promise it held, “awaits the one who dares to reach the pinnacle of this challenge. Who among you will rise to claim it?”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Whispers began to buzz like a swarm of bees, excitement and disbelief battling for dominance.
“As first light, upon the morrow, let the Climb begin!”
As he spoke the final words, the room erupted in an explosion of light and sound. Fireworks burst overhead in a kaleidoscope of color, shimmering in unnatural patterns. Illusions danced through the air—heroes of past years ascending the Tower, triumphant and radiant, their victories writ large for all to see. The crowd roared, their cheers vibrating through the stone walls and into Jace’s chest.
The hall erupted, the sound of voices and applause rising like a storm.
Koren stepped back, letting the moment wash over the crowd.
A familiar ping resonated in Jace’s ears, cutting through the noise:
System Notification Quest Updated—The Tower:
* Climb the Tower: 0/10
The glowing text hovered in his vision for a moment before fading. The cheers around him grew louder, and though Jace felt the surge of ambition filling his own chest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.