Extract from the -{ Tome of the ‘Forgotten One’ }- Divine scripture of the Church of the ‘Forgotten One’.
"As echoes of ancient betrayal reverberate through the ages, discern the signs of impending doom. Embrace the abyssal wisdom that reveals the folly of following the false light's twisted path." (The Abyssal Prophecy 3:5)
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As the night deepened, Asher trudged back to his wooden cabin, his mind heavy with newfound knowledge. The revelation that the clan in the south was the soul custodian clan brought a mix of relief and apprehension. While it spared him a potentially arduous search across a vast world, the challenge of approaching them loomed large.
Asher's footsteps creaked on the worn floorboards as he entered his humble abode. The flickering light of a single candle cast dancing shadows on the walls, mirroring the tumultuous thoughts in his mind. He ran a calloused hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he contemplated his next move.
"How does one approach a clan of cultivators?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the quest pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the delicate situation he found himself in. These weren't just any strangers; they were potentially powerful and dangerous individuals.
As Asher paced the small confines of his cabin, the floorboards groaning beneath his feet, he couldn't shake the feeling of being a pawn in a much larger game. The quest, the clan, the cultivation – it all seemed to be leading to something greater, something beyond his current understanding.
Unable to find an immediate solution, Asher's attention turned to his other pressing task – the key he had placed in the ground earlier. He stepped outside, the cool night air nipping at his skin. The forest around him seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the significance of the moment.
There, where he had left it, the key glowed with an otherworldly light. As Asher approached, his heart pounding in his chest, a prompt materialized before his eyes:
[Time remaining: 6 hours 12 minutes]
The ethereal glow of the key cast an eerie illumination on Asher's face as he decided to let the process run its course. With a mix of anticipation and unease, he returned to his cabin, determined to make the most of the waiting time.
The aroma of simmering meat soon filled the small space as Asher set about preparing a late-night meal. As he stirred the pot, the rich scent seemed to momentarily push away his worries. The first bite of the tender, seasoned meat was a revelation, transporting Asher to a world where cultivator clans and mysterious keys didn't exist.
Even Inky and Jormu, the two horrors that had become his unlikely companions, seemed entranced by the meal. Their shadowy forms quivered with what Asher could only interpret as desire.
"Can we go steal some seasoning from the town?" Jormu's voice was a raspy whisper, filled with longing.
Asher's eyes narrowed. "Absolutely not," he said firmly, though a small part of him was amused by their newfound appreciation for human cuisine.
It was then that Asher realized the importance of educating his otherworldly companions about human ethics and common sense. As the night wore on, the cabin filled with Asher's voice as he delved into a lengthy lecture. The two horrors listened with varying degrees of attention, their ethereal forms shifting restlessly in the candlelight.
"You can't just take things that don't belong to you," Asher explained, his voice growing hoarse from the extended lesson. "And interacting with humans... well, that's a whole other challenge we'll need to prepare for."
As the first light of dawn began to creep through the cabin's single window, Asher finally succumbed to exhaustion. His dreams were a confusing mix of cultivator clans, glowing keys, and seasoning packets.
The next morning, Asher's eyes snapped open as the system timer for the tower gate reached zero. Despite the lingering fatigue from his late night, a surge of anticipation coursed through him. He stepped outside, the cool morning air sending a shiver down his spine.
A light fog blanketed the surroundings, obscuring the trail that led to the central forest below. Asher took a deep breath, the damp air filling his lungs as he stretched his stiff muscles.
'Morning fog, perhaps?' he thought, noting the chill in the air. 'It is a bit cold up here.'
Asher's attention was drawn to a new prompt from the system:
[Spatial fusion complete. The gate to Fortune's Folly has been formed.]
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His eyes scanned the misty landscape, finally settling on a structure that hadn't been there the night before. Between the lakeshore and his cabin stood what looked like a shrine gate, its black, glossy wood a stark contrast to the surrounding fog.
The gate resembled a torii, the traditional entranceways found at Japanese shrines. Yet this one led to no visible path, standing alone in the misty clearing. As Asher approached, his footsteps muffled by the damp earth, he noticed a faint, shimmering layer within the gate's frame.
When he reached out to touch it, a system prompt appeared:
[Enter the tower? (Yes/No)]
Asher hesitated, his hand hovering near the shimmering barrier. "No," he whispered, deciding it was best to prepare before venturing into the unknown.
Returning to the cabin, Asher roused Inky and Jormu from their slumber. The two horrors stirred reluctantly, their shadowy forms stretching and contorting in ways that defied natural law. Asher quickly prepared breakfast from the leftover meat, the rich aroma filling the small space and finally motivating his companions to full wakefulness.
As Asher went through his usual set of exercises outside, he couldn't shake an unsettling feeling. The surrounding forest was eerily silent, devoid of the usual morning chorus of birds and rustling of small animals. Even as the sun climbed higher, the ring of fog persisted around the clearing, as if isolating them from the rest of the world.
'Something's not right,' Asher thought, his muscles tense despite the familiar routine of his exercises.
After cleaning up and donning his new cloak over his handmade leather armor, Asher felt as ready as he'd ever be. With no scabbard for his katana, he reluctantly asked Inky to store it in their inventory. The weight of the two knives on his person provided little comfort as he approached the torii gate once more.
Taking a deep breath, Asher squared his shoulders and stepped forward. "It's time," he murmured, more to steady himself than to inform his companions.
As they passed through the shimmering barrier, the world around them dissolved into blinding whiteness.
When Asher's vision cleared, he found himself in a featureless white room. The sudden transition left him disoriented, his senses struggling to adapt to the lack of reference points. The absence of any distinguishing features made it impossible to judge the room's size or even differentiate between walls, floor, and ceiling.
As Asher and his hidden companions materialized in the stark white room, elsewhere in the tower, another consciousness was stirring.
Winston opened his eyes in a room as blindingly white as Asher's. At first, his thoughts were sluggish, his consciousness slowly solidifying as if emerging from a deep slumber. He blinked, his gaze roaming the featureless space that lacked even a door.
Closing his eyes, Winston seemed to listen intently to something beyond human perception. When his eyes reopened, they gleamed with a newfound spark of excitement and purpose. Memories from before his long sleep flooded back, causing his body to tense with anticipation.
"You truly didn’t lie to me….. finally, after centuries of darkness, I greet a new master," Winston exclaimed, a toothy grin spreading across his face.
With practiced efficiency, Winston waved his hand, conjuring a closet filled with neatly pressed black and white uniforms. He selected a set with reverent care - a jet-black tailcoat, crisp white shirt, and a perfectly tied black bow at his neck. As he donned each piece, he transformed into the very image of a Victorian-era head servant.
Winston's movements slowed as he opened a special compartment in the closet. Inside lay a pair of black leather gloves and a golden pocket watch attached to a delicate chain. He gazed at the gloves with admiration, appreciating the craftsmanship before solemnly slipping them on, each fitting his hands as if custom-made.
With gentle hands, Winston connected the watch's chain to his suit. He held the timepiece in his gloved palm, a gleam of nostalgia shining in his eyes.
“My dear master,” he declared,” how I wished I could have served you for eternity. Alas, that wretched barbarian of a god took you away from me. Today, I greet a new master, and this time, I will ensure that history does not repeat itself.”
With this vow, Winston tucked the pocket watch into his suit. He stood tall, finally ready to once again greet the light of the Myridrealms and, most importantly, his new master. It was time for him to come under the spotlight just as it was all intended.
Meanwhile, Asher was cautiously exploring his own white room, his enhanced senses failing him in this strange environment.
"Can you two sense anything?" Asher whispered to Inky and Jormu, hoping their otherworldly perception might provide some insight. Their negative responses only deepened his unease.
A system prompt appeared, offering the only confirmation of their location:
[You have entered the tower of Fortune's Folly. Welcome.]
Deciding that standing still would yield no answers, Asher began to explore the space. His footsteps made no sound as he moved, adding to the surreal atmosphere. As he ran his hand along what he assumed was a wall, the perfect smoothness of the surface sent a chill down his spine.
'Is this some kind of test?' Asher wondered, his mind racing with possibilities. 'An escape room, perhaps?'
Just as the thought crossed his mind, his fingers detected a subtle change in texture. A vertical line, barely perceptible, ran from ceiling to floor. Careful not to lose this potential clue, Asher kept his right hand on the line while his left hand searched for more anomalies.
His persistence was rewarded when he found a second vertical line, parallel to the first. 'A door?' he thought, hope and wariness mingling in equal measure.
With no visible handle or mechanism, Asher took a chance and pressed the section of the wall between the two lines. The sound of gears turning broke the oppressive silence, and the wall split apart to reveal a new space.
This new room was as blindingly white as the first but significantly larger. In its center knelt a man dressed in a crisp black suit, one knee touching the floor. His right hand rested on his heart, while his left rested on his knee. The man's face was bowed, obscuring his features, but Asher could see black, semi-long hair flowing from his head.
Before Asher could step into the room or utter a word, a booming voice filled the space, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once:
"THIS HUMBLE WINSTON GREETS THE TOWER MASTER."
The sudden proclamation echoed in the vast whiteness, leaving Asher frozen on the threshold between the two rooms. Questions raced through his mind: Who was this Winston? And most importantly, What did he mean by "Tower Master"?