Extract from the -{ Tome of the ‘Forgotten One’ }- Divine scripture of the Church of the ‘Forgotten One’.

"When the mists of illusion dissipate, witness the truth that lies hidden beneath the surface. Embrace the prophecy of renewal, where the chains of falsehood crumble in the wake of the harbinger's revelation." (The Abyssal Prophecy 3:9)

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*Rustle*

Asher's ears perked up, his keen senses attuned to the slightest disturbance in the forest. He turned towards the source of the sound, his eyes scanning the dense foliage. The leaves parted, revealing Winston emerging from the shadowy depths of the woods, his pristine attire a stark contrast to the wild surroundings.

"Care for some soup?" Asher offered, his voice carrying a hint of warmth that belied their unusual relationship.

"It would be my pleasure," Winston replied, his tone as crisp and professional as ever.

Asher, long accustomed to Winston's formal demeanor, simply nodded and set about preparing a bowl. The firelight danced across his features, casting flickering shadows that seemed to deepen the mystery surrounding him. Winston took a seat by the crackling flames, accepting the offered bowl with both hands, a gesture of respect that seemed almost incongruous with his otherworldly nature.

Without further ceremony, Winston partook of the meal. The rich broth slid down his throat, warming him from within. He pondered Asher's earlier words about comfort and warmth, concepts that had once felt alien to his very being. Now, as the flavors melded on his tongue and the heat spread through his body, Winston found himself grasping at the edges of understanding. These sensations, so vital to the living, still eluded his full comprehension, but a seed of awareness had been planted.

"Master Asher," Winston began, his gaze lifting from the empty bowl, "may I pose a question?"

Asher's attention shifted from the vast expanse of the night sky, stars twinkling like distant beacons of possibility.

He met Winston's inquiring look, curiosity evident in his expression. "Ask away," he encouraged, settling in for what he sensed might be a weighty conversation.

"Why do you concern yourself with the two beastkin?" Winston's question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. "From my understanding, they are strangers to you and offer no discernible benefit."

A thoughtful silence descended upon the clearing. Asher's brow furrowed slightly as he carefully considered his response, seeking words that might bridge the gap between their perspectives.

"What, in your opinion, Winston, is the point of life?" Asher finally countered, his tone gentle but probing.

The unexpected question caught Winston off-guard, causing a momentary crack in his usual composure. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, realizing that his initial thoughts – revenge, servitude to a master – were not what Asher sought. Stripping away the programming and purpose that had been instilled in him, Winston found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Sensing Winston's internal struggle, Asher offered another avenue of exploration. "Perhaps this might help – why did Master Norgrim choose to create a new tower, knowing it would lead to his demise? He could have easily chosen a different path, one that would have granted him a longer existence."

At the mention of Master Norgrim, Winston's ever-present smile faltered for only the second time since meeting Asher. The question struck at the core of something that had long troubled him, a paradox he had never fully reconciled.

"The answer might be complex," Asher continued, his voice low and thoughtful, "but in my opinion, he did it simply because he wanted to. Because he chose to do so."

Winston remained silent, his usually quick responses deserting him in the face of this profound simplicity.

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"Much like that," Asher went on, "helping the beastkin is something I chose to do when I encountered them. I claim no heroic status, nor do I seek accolades. It's merely a choice I made in the moment."

The fire crackled, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky as Asher continued, "Whether it benefits me is irrelevant in this situation. It all comes down to choice. To circle back to my initial question – isn't it peculiar? Why live when we know death is inevitable? What purpose does it serve?"

Winston leaned forward slightly, drawn in by Asher's words despite himself.

"In my view," Asher said, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames, "the answer lies in the choices we make while we draw breath. Though a person may succumb to death, the choices they made in life become their legacy, eternal in one form or another."

He gestured expansively, encompassing their surroundings. "Master Norgrim built the Tower of Fortuna – that was his choice. You stand here now, a result of that choice. Aren't you carrying on the essence of his life? his decisions? Does your existence benefit him? No, but does that truly matter?"

A wry smile played at the corners of Asher's mouth. "I'd wager if you asked Master Norgrim, he'd laugh heartily and say, 'Who cares? I wanted to do it, so I did. That's all there is to it.'"

Despite knowing Asher had never met Master Norgrim, Winston felt an eerie resonance in those words, as if they had indeed sprung from his creator's lips.

"But if you're seeking a more concrete answer," Asher added, his voice taking on a softer quality, "perhaps it stems from a childhood dream. A vision of a world where happiness is universal, where each person can face their end with the satisfaction of a life well-lived, ready to move on without regrets."

Winston detected a slight contradiction in Asher's musings – the first part grounded in cold reality, the second veering into the realm of fantasy. He understood that even Asher recognized the improbability of such a dream. Yet the sincerity in Asher's voice gave Winston pause. He found himself at a loss for words, but the charged atmosphere made it clear that no further commentary was necessary.

As the night deepened around them, the forest seemed to hold its breath, witnessing this moment of shared understanding between two beings from vastly different worlds.

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The Tower of Fortuna's Folly, The Great Forest.

The morning air was crisp and invigorating as Asher's unusual party prepared for their journey. Utilizing Winston's otherworldly abilities, Asher had him open a portal directly in front of the cabin door. As the lapinians exited their temporary shelter, they stepped not onto the forest ground of the northern peak outside the tower, but into the very heart of the Tower of Fortuna's first floor.

Sarah and Clover, the lapinian siblings, sensed immediately that something was amiss. The abrupt disappearance of the wooden cabin that had been their sanctuary sent a shiver of unease through their fur. However, the gentle reassurance in Asher's eyes kept their questions at bay.

Asher took a moment to properly introduce his companions to the beastkin. The two horrors, currently in their diminutive forms, and Winston initially struck fear into the hearts of the Lapinians. Yet as Asher explained their roles and nature, Sarah and Clover found the courage to overcome their trepidation. With trembling voices that grew steadier with each word, they introduced themselves in return.

Before departing, Asher allowed the siblings a final, poignant visit to the graves of their fallen comrades. The air grew heavy with unspoken sorrow as Sarah and Clover paid their respects, whispering prayers and placing wildflowers on the freshly turned earth.

As they set out towards Willowwick, the Lapinians' hometown, Asher gently probed for more information about their destination. Sarah and Clover, still somewhat guarded, shared that it was a settlement primarily inhabited by their kind. Their brief description made Asher acutely aware of how limited his knowledge was regarding the various races dwelling within the tower.

Throughout their trek, Asher frequently caught Sarah and Clover stealing furtive glances at his ears and neck. Their curiosity was palpable, yet they seemed hesitant to voice their thoughts. Finally, Asher decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Is there something amiss with my ears?" he asked, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity.

Sarah started, her long ears twitching nervously as she realized she'd been caught. "A-ah, n-no, nothing's wrong," she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush. "It's just... I've never seen a beastkin with ears quite like yours before."

"I see," Asher replied simply, leaving room for further explanation if they wished to offer it.

Sarah's whiskers drooped slightly, clearly hoping for a more elaborate response. Clover, despite his attempts to feign disinterest, couldn't hide the way his nose twitched with barely contained curiosity.

The group journeyed for hours, the landscape gradually shifting around them. As late afternoon approached, Sarah and Clover's excitement grew palpable. Recognizing familiar landmarks, they announced that Willowwick was merely an hour away.

Asher called for a brief rest. As the beastkin settled down, he seized the opportunity to delve deeper into their knowledge of their world.

"Sarah, Clover," he began, his tone carefully neutral, "do you know about the tower?"

The siblings exchanged a meaningful look before Clover responded, his voice tinged with pride. "Of course, if you are referring to the Tower of Fortune that we live in, then we do indeed know about it."

Asher's brow furrowed slightly at the unfamiliar name. He glanced at Winston, who stood at attention nearby.

"This tower was indeed called the Tower of Fortune... before," Winston interjected, a wealth of unspoken history in that single word.

Confusion flitted across the lapinins' faces, but Asher pressed on, his curiosity piqued. "Do you know the history of the Tower of... Fortune?"

Sarah took up the mantle this time, her voice taking on a reverent quality as she recited what was clearly a well-known tale among her people.

"The Tower of Fortune was built by Saint Norgrim Starforger, as a sanctuary for the races that were being oppressed in the old age," she began, her eyes shining with conviction. "The tower is said to hold ten worlds, each stacked on top of each other. Our floor is also referred to as the Primal Haven. To prevent the cycle of oppression by stronger races, among those he saved, the saint distributed the races according to their potential, and restricted the native species living above from descending to the floor below."

As Sarah continued, her voice grew more animated. "The saint allowed the races to live and thrive within, without causing chaos. He left after declaring that the one who can climb to the top can become the master of the whole tower and essentially become the god of the ten worlds."

Asher listened with rapt attention, fascinated by the history told by the Lapinians even though he sensed some embellishments mixed in. It seemed that the passage of time had caused the natives to adapt the original meaning of the tower to their own perspective. While Asher didn't mind these alterations, he couldn't help but notice Winston's tightly clenched fists, a clear sign of barely contained emotion.

Excusing himself from the lapinians, Asher called Winston to accompany him on a pretense of gathering firewood. As they moved away from the group, the weight of unspoken words hung heavily between them, promising a conversation that would undoubtedly shed new light on the true nature of the tower and its enigmatic creator.

Clover and Sarah watched their retreating forms, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension evident in their expressions. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, as if aware that long-held truths were about to be challenged