Letter 11-1 KS
I’ll write final on the envelope of the last one I send as we did last time, alright? I think that worked out well. If not, or if you come up with a better solution, please tell me. Sending these in bulk is still confusing.
Dear Captain Sue,
I hope this letter finds thee well. It has been many moons since our last correspondence and my heart has weighed as heavy as the ocean that keeps
Sorry, I tried. I did. Are we still doing this?
I hope you’re great.
First off, I looked up the list of books you sent me last time and found we do have a few of them in local libraries, but it took ages until I could arrange a visit. Or order a copy, in one case. Mostly because my parents kept procrastinating. I think they think I’m being childish. I’m not, am I?
I loved the illustrations. Ten times better than any picture. Do slimes and landsharks really look like that? It’s okay. You can tell me if your illustrators Sorry, [Illustrators] are just exaggerating, though I suspect they are not.
I’ll include picture of the pages for reference, if our best friend will allow it. You should get to see them.
I think if one of those things ran at me, I would —— myself. The landshark. Not the slime. The slimes looks like oversized jello. Are they edible? Or is that like asking if snails are edible?
I hope I’m not being disgusting. You really have to tell me these things, o’ great culture coach. I don’t want to embarrass myself when I come to visit. I’ve got my notes on the other things, too. Like not asking every single person I meet what level they are and which Skills they have, no matter how much I might want to do it.
Apparently, it’s like asking everyone I meet for their resumé. You do still know what that is, right?
Do not find my hopes misplaced, madam. Tut tut. Because maybe someday, you will be able to visit me? Not likely, I know. I still wonder. Your nation was born in two generations. What else could happen in one?
On that note, I made into that programme I wrote you about. I know our best friend forgot to pass on most of it, but just know that it’s an opportunity. We’re trying out using a __________ ___________ ______ ______ __ __ __ _______ ______ this time around, but it’s really uncomfortable. The design is still a _________, so the doctors tell me my feedback is invaluable. Yeah, right.
Either way, I’m not sure this is the way to go. I can’t go adventuring lugging a massive chunk of metal around, now can I? How much encumbrance do climbers on adventurers deal with?
It’s different from armor, too. I don’t think it would fare well in water, if we do it in Lighthouse.
I’m hoping the new treatment we’ve been doing for a while now will work instead. I know I can’t tell you much about that either, though. These letters must look like mazes of white bars to you, right?
Sorry. I’ll try to be a little more considerate in the future. Or I might just be more reckless and give our best friend an aneurism. __, __ ______ _______ ____ ___ _ ______ ____ __ _____ _______! __ ___ __ __ _________ ____ __ ___ ______ ___ __ __ ____ __, ______, ___ ___ ___. _____, ______.
Take that!
Fingers crossed for the third option: Alchemy. I know there are hospitals where both our professionals are working together on projects, on your side of the puddle. I think there are a few on my side as well?
I’m really hoping something good will come out of those in the next few years. Any day now, I keep on telling myself. I think it’s beginning to annoy my parents.
Maybe the ___________ isn’t so bad after all. It kind of reminds me of that story with the archer. [Archer]? Whatsherface? With the magical armor she can move with her mind? Dammit, I’ll have to get my parents to take me to the library again soon so I can read up. But what are the chances I could get my hands on something like that? A relic, as you guys call them?
It’s funny, though. If and when I get my hands on one of those, I probably won’t need them anymore. They’re on the higher floors, right? I hope one day, I won’t need any kind of items at all. I’ll become a nudist!
Now, I’m imagining our best friend reading that and cringing. Hopefully, they won’t mind.
Oh, but on the topic of parents. How are yours? I’m not sure if I should be asking. I know how difficult this can be. Some of my classmates had parents who went through similar things and—
You know what? Nevermind.
Just, how is your mom in general? How is your dad? What’s he going to do, now that he is back?
How are you? Tell me!
More to come in letter two. Dinner’s ready and it’s been a long day after the library. The ramp is acting up again. It doesn’t descend down all the way, sometimes. My dad freaked out. He wants to call the manufacturer.
I bet it will be fine. But make sure to answer my question though, okay!?
Love,
Karen
P.s. Do you have ice cream? I can’t remember right now and I’m looking through our letters. I don’t want to ask my parents because it’s embarrassing. I remember asking them if you even have toilets and them making a fuss about it, calling me racist. How was I supposed to know?
If so, tell me what your favorite ice cream is. I just had some for dessert and got brain freeze.
P.p.s Oh, I’ll attach a recipe on how to make it. But if it’s missing, our best friend will probably have borrowed it. I’ll see if I can get them to give it back, then, and send it with the next bulk.
Love, Karen. Again.
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Letter 11-2 KS
Dear Valkyrie,
That has to be better than Captain Sue, right? I’ll keep trying to find a nickname until you point out one you like. My tolerance for embarrassment is pretty high right now, so do not try my impatience, immortal.
But, uhm, I’ve got some bad news. Your ring broke. The one that glows? Or it stopped working. I think it maybe just be out of battery life, but I’m not sure if it even has a battery life. How does magic work again?
Just kidding.
If you could even answer that question, I bet out best friend would forget to deliver it. Typical of them.
But funny story: I wanted to show it off to a friend (the ring) so I turned off the lights and put it on and (cue: dramatic reveal) nothing happened. I was confused and they were awkward, so after a bit of fumbling around, I wondered if I had gotten the wrong ring. I went back to turn on the lights and—
Long story short: I wheeled over their foot. My dad had to drive them to the doctor. He did not know that I had a friend over.
Hahahahahahahahahaha!
Ha
Ha
Oww.
I’m still groaning today.
My parents dropped some hints that they wanted to talk to me. That is a conversation I would rather have avoided. Forever.
But we all tried to get the ring to work using our limited mortal options (see: shaking it really hard and smacking it a few times) and it won’t glow anymore. So it definitely stopped working. My mom said she would bring it to a friend who was an expert at the university, but just in case, I thought I write you as well.
Any tips?
That question is also directed at the other thing, fyi. (=for your information)
I bet now that your dad is back, your parents are making a united front as well, huh? Have you ever snuck a friend in and gotten caught? I remember you mentioning that your new house was smaller than the last, so that might be hard. Though the other one was old and creaky, so it probably would have been hard either way. Do you have magic and Skills that could help with that? Do your parents have Skill that help with the opposite?
Tell me more! I duley need the distraction right now. Talk about climate.
Love,
Karen
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Letter 11-5 KS (Actually 11-2.5)
This is just an update: So my mom brought the ring to her friend at uni and she said she couldn’t do anything. Apparently, some enchanted items have battery lives like a lot of things do.
Who knew?
Now, I’m worried about my other things on my shelf. Will they also run out if I show them off too often? How long are their battery lives? Do they run out even if I don’t use them? Do I have to store them at an ideal temperature or something? Is there any way to recharge them?
I need answers.
I know you mentioned some of these things are basically junk that you found on the lower floors, but they’re still magic. Real life magic. It’s sad to see them stop working. You need to send me a letter explaining magic theory sometime. Or rather, item theory. With statistics, please, if you can find them. And if you think our best friend will remember to pass them along, of course.
Didn’t you mention there are a bunch of [Archivist] or something silently taking over your cities? Ask them. You know, while you still can. Before the coup. Librarians taking over a city. I can’t wait to visit.
For now, I convinced my dad to send the ring back with this letter package. Despite the complications. I also included some money. Or rather, I gave him money to have exchanged so he could include it.
You still have my coins from last time, right? I can send more if you want to show them off or give to friends or something. You send so much stuff, I feel kind of guilty accepting it most of the time.
But, uhm—if you can—could you look around and see if you could use the money to have the ring fixed? I’m not sure they even can be fixed. Wouldn’t you guys have mountains of magic items lying around then?
Come to think of it, what do you even do with the broken ones? Do you guys have recycling? Do you throw them away? Do you have trash dumps?
I was almost about to ask if you just dump your trash into the Towers but then I remember how sacred they are to you. You were a Theocracy not too long ago. I probably sound like an idiot foreigner even suggesting it. Plus, you guys have much less trash that isn’t biodegradable. Sorry.
Wait, no. You probably have magic recycling.
Now, I can’t help but imagine a [Druid] or something turning a trash dump into a forest.
Does that exists? Please, tell me it exists. Or that is has happened at least once. I would love to see it someday.
But anyway, I got off-track. If have the time and means, please have the ring fixed and send it back. Even if it junk to you and there are thousands of them, it has sentimental value. If it’s broken, you can either send it back or keep it if the price is too high to send it back. It would still have sentimental value, either way. And thank you for sending it again in the first place.
Love as always,
Karen
P.s. I’ve gone to the library like twice a week these last few weeks. I think I will be running out of stories soon. Send more references and suggestions, please! Or tell me your favorite one?
And have your climbers been up to anything recently? Any new discoveries? You told me about that one group that was on a quest to find the Dwarf and found a bunch of clues. Have they made any headway?
What about that crew who sailed into the storm through the ocean portal? Have they returned?
Tell me. Or write to me, please. Then tell me it all again someday when I come to visit.
Love,
Karen
P.p.s. If it turns out your people made contact with your “God,” do you think our best friend would even pass it along?
Hm …
Love Karen. Last time. I promise.
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Letter 12-2 SK
Dear Karen,
My Dad—Is—Annoying.
Ignore everything I wrote in the last letter. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt can only be stretched so far.
I can’t believe anyone could be like this. He has nothing to do all day so he hangs out around the living room and makes my life miserable. I can’t even go to my room or from my room to get a snack or leave the house without him accosting me. And then he wants to talk about things.
How is school? How are my friends? Who are my friends? Are they all rule-abiding citizens? Do I know about peer pressure and if not, do we need to talk about it? Do I know about the number one rule of defense: Kicking them in the nuts? Like only guys can be jerks, or what?
What now? I have no idea what to do if a girl pressures me into anything! Next thing I know, I’ll be high on alchemical fumes in some back alley near the docks. Ahh! My wonderful future is ruined!
But in all earnesty: He wants to know what my hobbies are and where I am all day. Why? So he can annoy me at the rink or when I go jogging, too? Silver stones, if he suggest we go running together I’ll throw myself off a cliff.
And the worst thing are his mood swings. One moment, he will be moping around the kitchen. The next, he’s telling me to keep my back straight or make my bed before I leave the house in the morning. Instead of asking me where I’ve been, he wants to know. Wash your hands before dinner. Wait until everyone has a full plate before you start. Be punctual. Be respectful. Remember to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ every time.
I’m not some Private on his stupid boat. He needs to stop ordering me around like I am. And he needs to stop moping around, doing nothing. It’s like he can’t decide who he wants to be.
I can’t wait for him to find a job. Or for summer break to begin so I can spend all day out of the house. I could go into the Tower. Maybe I’ll even go on a low floor expedition with some friends.
Don’t worry. If I do, I will be sure to tell you all about it. A field report with interviews, accounts, illustrations—the entire shebang. I bet our best friend is looking forward to it.
And then I will finally graduate and might move into a dorm.
Freeeeeedom!
I can’t wait.
I’ve been looking at pamphlets and brochures and there are a lot of climbing programmes out there. But there’s also an increased push for research and doing the entire five years. Academia, as you would call it. I think I might want to go into that, but I’m not sure. It would be awesome if I could become an [Enchanter]. Then I could learn how to make items of my own for you.
What would you want me to make first?
I’ve also been toying with the idea of maybe going to another city for school. It wouldn’t even have to be a Tower city. Of course, I would prefer if it were—I would love to explore another Tower—but I could also imagine going to another harbor or town without one. See how that’s like. It could be an exchange year to get experience. I have to inform myself.
But it’s my last year and a lot is changing. It’s terrifying, but also exciting. I can’t wait to write you about it all.
Love,
Captain Sue
P.s. You do know that’s from a children’s book, right? I’m starting to feel embarrassed signing with that.
P.p.s
HE EVEN “TALKED” TO JIMMY! NOW I CAN’T EVEN GET INTO THE BASE WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION! WHAT THE HELL?!
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Letter 12-3 SK
Just got your letters. I think that worked pretty well last time. Just put ‘final’ on the last page and we will know if something went missing. Or if our best friend borrowed it. Thumbs up to you.
Dear Karen,
Yes, we have ice cream. Yes, we have toilets. We also have this _____ ______ _____ ____ ____ __ _________ and _____ _____ ____ _____. Oh, no. Our best friend must have forgotten to deliver that. Too bad. It was incredibly important.
(Yes, you deserved that)
I honestly have no idea what my favorite ice cream is. I haven’t gone out for it often and I don’t want to write anything simple down like yogurt or strawberry. Tell me yours and I will try it? If we have that flavor.
And I guess my last letter answered how my dad is doing. I know I shouldn’t keep doing this, but take what I wrote with a grain of salt. He is annoying, especially the stunt he pulled with the base, but it’s kind of nice to have him around. I guess.
He says hi.
(He actually says more than that, but I’ll spare you the details. Unless you don't want me to?)
My mom is great. She’s actually working on what you mentioned: collaborations on your side of the puddle. Finally. You people are so xenophobic, you know? And yes, I’m aware of the hypocrisy. But we made the first step and we’ll always be able to lord that over you.
Ha!
Sometimes, I wonder about the things our best friend forgets to deliver and wonder what we’re missing out on. Maybe your idea of things changing within a generation isn’t so bad. Either way, I can’t wait for you to visit.
Sorry if this next part sounds a little “bullet-point-y,” but you just write so much I don’t want to miss anything and make you send a second letter asking again. The delay makes that unbearable.
I’m glad you’ve found more books. You’re still going to the public libraries, right? It’s weird to me how many books yours even have. Our libraries are either private, in schools, or “underfunded.” I think I’ve seen the book in the picture you sent me before. I’ll have to check. Is it any good?
Yes, we have resumés too.
Congratulations! I’m glad you made it into that programme! Even if I have no idea what it is about. Our best friend forgot to deliver a lot of that. Something metal and external like an armor was all I was able to decipher.
Climbers often have to wear armor on expeditions, but they choose options halfway between convenience and effectiveness. Of course, if you go climbing in Lighthouse you have to adjust to the water that is on most floors. I’ve been hearing a lot about new types of gambesons, however. They’re using _____ ____ ____ ___ _______ ___ _____ _____ ___________. The end result is supposed to be better than full armor and able to stop most low-level arrows with ease.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
They’re ridiculously expensive, though. Maybe I’ll save up to buy two sets for when you visit.
Good luck with your programme. And yeah, we’re all always hoping for the next breakthrough from [Alchemists]. At least, until ___ [__________] ____ __ _____ ____. Though I doubt they can’t make limbs regrow, so, “Eh.”
And the story you mentioned is, of course, that of the Lady Allison Reed with her indestructible sapient armor Marionette. That’s one of the greats. Do you know the story of how she got it in the first place?
She found it in the Ruins of Anevos. (As a disclaimer: I’m bad at telling stories, Karen, and I’m writing this off the top of my head, so I will include a copy. Hopefully, our best friend will remember to deliver it.)
Now, the Ruins are a massive city structure spanning up and out from the center of the Tower of Anevos. You can find hints of ruins in all Towers. The Necropolis in Trest. The Horizon Cities in Ostfeld. The ancient ruins found in the Gardens in Hadica. There are even underwater cities in Lighthouse.
But they’re all dwarfed by the ones in Anevos. Some people say they are larger than all five Tower cities combined, and still more. You could walk for years and have not seen it all.
Climbing on her own in the branches of a titanic tree, Reed found a deserted palace. She searched the chambers and avoided ancient traps and squatting monsters until she broke through a magic seal to the “Royal Chambers.”
There, sleeping in their bed, lay a skeleton under the covers. The former owner of the palace, she assumed. It looked like it had been dead for centuries. The room was lavishly decorated, but near the dressing table next to the bed stood a mannequin with, presumably, the skeleton’s old armor.
The moment Reed stepped into the room the armor attacked her to defend its sleeping master.
Each part, each link, each fiber of the armor could move on its own and flew through the air rather than tread on the ground. It separated and formed back together again and was as strong as a man with [Greater Strength]. Each part was nigh-invulnerable. And even when Reed managed to harm the armor with her most powerful arrows and Skills combined? Like flesh under a healing potion or a [Summoner] with their constructs, it simply put itself back together again.
It drove her through the halls and out of the castle. The moment she was down its stairs, it turned and left.
Insistent she would never find the palace again if she were to leave, Reed stayed longer than she had intended and hunted for other magic items and supplies she could use to subdue the armor. She wanted the palace’s riches for herself. Not just the goldware, jewelry, and other treasures—but also the cultural knowledge and accounts of having explored it thoroughly.
The armor was keeping her from doing that completely. The most important room was barred to her.
So she returned and challenged it again, but there was no subduing it. Not with nets, traps, or magic. And there was no escaping it either. She was beginning to think the real treasure of the palace was what had survived it—the armor itself. But she wanted everything it had to offer.
So she failed and was driven off. In reflection, she noticed something strange: As the armor had chased her through the chambers of the palace, it had been willfully destructive of all that was in it.
She had taken care not to harm the treasures around her. It had redirected burning arrows into priceless tapestries to set them on fire and gone out of its way to crash through walls rather than follow through her open doors. It was as if a part of it wanted to destroy that which it was sworn to defend.
Still, it let itself be distracted by any roaming monsters which infested the palace and slew them rather than focus on Reed.
Rather than use that, Reed exterminated every single monster inside the palace and brought their crystals and heads into one heap in front of the bedchamber. The palace burned behind her. She had torched every single room and corridor on her way there and smoke filled the ceilings.
She challenged the armor a third time and it accepted.
During the fighting, she managed to slip a single burning arrow past its defenses and into the last, magically protected chamber—the bedchamber of the owner itself. The armor went still as it watched its master’s bed and bones burn. After a last, token protest during which Reed thought she had misunderstood its intentions, the armor surrendered and bowed to her as if in thanks.
It followed her out and never left her side again.
At least, not until she was injured almost a decade later defending the northern border from invaders and was forced to retire. But you probably know more about the Fletched Border than I.
With her resources, Reed could have pulled enough strings to afford a high-grade healing potion and healed her hand, but she chose not to. Apparently, she had enough of fighting. A lot of climbers do, eventually.
Of course, a few years later one was gifted to her by the cities as thanks for her services so she could regain the full use of her hand, but then she had already sent Marionette on its way: to serve the next person in protecting the country. Apparently, that is what it has sworn to defend now.
Which is kind of comforting, knowing it is out there. That our cities will be protected until we’re all bones and dust. And then, if it wants to set them in flames like it did its old palace, who are we to complain?
But that will be a long time off.
That’s definitely one of the greats. I bet you could tell it better to me after just one time of reading the story, though. I have to go to sleep soon, so I’ll answer your other letters tomorrow.
Good night.
Love,
Who or What is a Valkyrie?
P.s. My mom wants to take us out to a fancy dinner this weekend. Good news? I’m excited.
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Letter 12-4 SK
Dear Karen,
I’m sorry about your light ring. And about you hurting (?) your friend’s foot. Are they alright?
You probably freaked out, but the way I’m imagining, it’s a little funny. I laughed when I read it. Did you apologize? I bet you already have and it’s alright. At least now, you’ll have a funny story to tell in a year or two.
And by the way, you sent far too much money with the letter. Even if magic items could be repaired, it wouldn’t cost this much. This is almost as much as an even better item would cost.
I’m sending the money back. And—you could probably already tell—the ring as well. Magic items can rarely be repaired. I asked around, but there is nobody I know who could discover how to repair this in the near future.
If you want me to, I’ll search around, but I could just as well find another one to send as a replacement instead? I actually already set a few things aside that I found in my last treasure chest to send you, though none of them are light rings. Hopefully, our best friend will pass them along.
I’ll include notes with explanations on what they do. Think of it as an early birthday present.
Note: My mom tells me to divvy them up with each letter in case one goes missing, so I’ll do that instead. Smart.
And I’ve got good news, speaking of my mom! Her team got chosen to work with a university. Guess where? ___ ________. On your side of the puddle! She has to choose somebody to send.
We have already gotten half a dozen gift baskets with letters delivered to our house from the people working with her. They all want to get in her good graces and are steadily out-doing one another.
Part of me hopes they will leave me alone …
… but part of me wouldn’t mind a few gifts of my own, you know?
That was what she wanted to talk with us about during the dinner. We had lobster, by the way. Tower lobster. They’re huge. Clichéd to eat it during a celebration, I know, but so good. My parents are both smiling all the time now. This is great news for my mother and her team.
Maybe your idea of things changing within a generation really is going to pass. Are you sure you aren’t magic? Because it sure seems like it.
Love,
Valkyrie
P.s. I looked it up myself. A little fitting, I guess. A little macabre, too. A lot badass. I like that.
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Letter 12-6 SK
Dear Karen,
My parents are fighting again. I don’t think they know I’m home. I overheard them through the door. The papers are signed already, she said.
She chose herself.
Seems like they’re taking turns leaving me.
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Letter 12-7 SK (Final)
Dear Karen,
I’m sorry I haven’t sent my bulk of letters yet. I already got your second package without having sent mine and it was a bit of a wake-up call. You really write a lot, you know? I’ve barely gone through them and I don’t think I’ll have time to answer them all before I send this. I haven’t even answered all of the last letters you sent me.
We’re busy backing, you know?
Mom’s leaving soon. There is going to be a celebration with a bunch of people we know. A farewell party. My dad got a job offer from an old friend in Hadica, another Tower city. Seems like we’re moving there.
Love,
An exhausted Landshark. I almost forgot how hard packing is. Especially if you haven’t cleaned up your room since you moved in.
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Letter 13-1 KS (Final)
WHAT?
Karen here. I just got your letters. I skimmed them before reading them all. I tend to do that. Sorry. I had my dad bring us straight to the post office after so I can send this before the rest. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not write more. You’re moving? Your mom is leaving? What?
I need details! I need answers! Write more!
Reply ASAP. (that means as soon as possible)
P.s. I’m so sorry your mom is leaving. Write me, okay?
P.p.s You wrote you would send the light ring back, but it’s not in any of the letters or the packaging. Did you forget? If not, I worry our best friend might have confiscated it. That would really suck.
P.p.p.s Sorry about the shaky handwriting and all the addendums. I’m writing this on the go. But my dad tells me you can hand in an appeal to get confiscated things back. I’m not sure which of us has to do that, but maybe keep it in mind?
Note: Sorry about talking about some stupid ring while all this is going on. Ignore that, alright? Focus on what’s important. Sorry.
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Letter 13-3 SK (Final)
Dear Karen,
Hadica sucks. My dad talked it up the entire trip. He promised there would be an ice rink nearby. “Nearby” is forty minutes away and it’s more than twice as expensive as the one back home. How hard is it to get a few students with ice spells to maintain the place part-time?
It’s smaller, too, and crowded. But the people there don’t have the same respect as the ones back home. They leave their —— everywhere and the lockers look like they haven’t been maintained since the war. The food sucks. Some people bring food onto the ice and it makes me want to smack them. The supervisors take forever to tell them off and even then, they’re so lax about it.
I want to check out another one in different district of the city, but it’s even further away.
He also promised there would be cool canals in which you could travel around by boat. “You could get a boat and never have to set foot on land again,” he said. But that’s only a small part of the city. Yes, there are canals everywhere, but they aren’t used like that. And those which are, are overcrowded with stupid couples on dates. It’s the romance destination for the entire city, apparently.
I can see how it might be romantic with just two people alone, but it’s not so romantic when you just need to lean over to bump into the next couple one boat over.
The other canals are all full with screaming children.
Then he talked up the Bazaar, but that’s also overcrowded. Take a farmer’s market, multiply it by a hundred but force them to stay in the same space, then multiply it by a hundred again with fifty times the space and scatter it across the entire city and you’ve got the Bazaar.
The Guide says it’s supposed to look like a “ring, interrupted only by the main roads through the city and the river,” but it’s more like a bee hive fell down and broke into a thousand pieces.
They are people with stands everywhere. It’s like one, massive Sunday market, but all they sell is food, and soaps, and spices, and monster parts, and old clothes, and a billion different flavors of tobacco: Anything and everything that smells like the inside of a candle shop.
I can’t get rid of the smells, no matter what I do. It’s like some kind of Skill covering the entire city, which I suspect it is. A billion tiny vendors with aura Skills to advertise their wares.
And I actually went through that stupid book my dad bought about the city. Hadica has almost twice the population of Lighthouse, but the city isn’t nearly twice as big. There are districts where they build houses four stories high and the streets are barely wide enough for three people.
Can’t they just build outward? They already have districts and towns outside of the walls. The war is over. And there are rolling fields everywhere you look beyond the walls, aside from a few stupid forests. They’re all practically farmers anyway. Or [Gardeners]. Who cares.
And there’s a massive empty plaza around their Tower with lawns and a few loot tents.
Even that is overcrowded! The parks are, too.
Argh! I feel like I can’t stretch my legs without bumping into another person. I need space.
Why couldn’t we have moved into one of the suburbs? No. My dad had to move into a tiny apartment in the middle of the city. I can’t wait for school to start, because campus has to be better than this.
It’s connected to the Climber’s Guild, which is like a literal maze.
They kept their wall up here after the war—not that they actually did anything during it—but then they built all the public buildings around, and up, and into the wall until they had one massive, superstructure that goes around the whole thing. This one is really a ring, only interrupted by the mansions of the rich.
It’s probably the only place you can walk for ten minutes without seeing another person. Aside from the Tower, which is where I spend most of my time preparing for the entrance exams.
Normally, I might have been excited about it, but oh, did I mention I’m going to the same school as my dad will be working at? His decision. It’s not like I had time to go over any options. I might end up with him as my teacher.
I freaking hate him. I want to go back to Lighthouse. I miss my friends. I miss mom. I miss you. Why did she have to choose herself for that project? What kind of an asshole thing is that to do to her team? It’s not like anything is going to come of it anyway. They want to work together to explore the Towers, but there’s nothing to explore. The only stories in there are the ones we fabricate.
And our letters will be even more delayed now. You’ll probably only get this in two months, won’t you? That sucks.
When you do, tell me something good. Anything good that’s happening in your life. Please.
Love,
Hate.
P.s. I included some random pamphlets and brochures about the school and the city, but our best friend will probably confiscate them, won’t they? Typical. Hey, best friend. Go fuck yourself.
P.p.s: I kind of kept the light ring for myself. Is that alright?
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Letter 14-1 KS (Final)
Dear Pen Pal,
I’m really sorry you’re in such a bad spot lately. Having your dad come back, your mom leave, having to move and leave everything else behind—I get that you’re in a bad mood. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the mood that you wrote some of those things, but I noticed them anyway. Like how there are no stories in the Towers other than the ones you fabricate.
You’ve sent me nothing but stories of adventures. I thought, when I visited, we could go on one together?
Either way, I convinced my dad to let me explore the university library instead of a public one for once. We arranged a visit. I found an essay at random that one of the people had written there, though it wasn’t hard. They’re there like sand on the beach. “The Five Silver Factories,” was the title.
I know I’m naive and tend to day-dream. I just thought … something. I don’t know. That you were telling the truth? As somebody who actually lived there and went into the Towers on a regular basis, I thought you were proof that not all of the books in the Tower section at the library were fiction.
I would appreciate it if you told the truth in the future, but I’m going to be going to the uni library more often either way. You always did tell me to take your previous letters with a grain of salt.
Love,
Karen
P.s. Of course, you can keep the light ring. You don’t need to send me things you don’t want to.
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Letter 14-3 SK (Final)
Dear Karen,
Fucking, damn it. I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to lie to you. I really didn’t. I’m sorry. I just—
When my teachers suggested going into a pen pal programme with somebody from overseas, I wasn’t really interested. I would have to put a lot of work into translating every letter, there would be almost a month delay between each one, if not more, and we would probably never meet anyway.
It just seemed like a lot of work to occasionally write with somebody who is 7000km away.
But they kind of forced me to for extra credits, so I gave it a try. And then you wrote back. You had so many questions about the Towers and the stories which seemed almost childlike to me, and there were a few hints about your condition in the letter. I asked. You answered.
I lied.
You probably hate me. Now, I know that you probably get lied to every day of your life and it frustrates you, but back then I just wanted to be nice. I wasn’t thinking. But I also wasn’t lying when I said there no stories in the Tower unless we make them.
Please, hear me out.
Because there are no stories without people. If climbers didn’t exist, the Towers would just be empty halls, caverns, oceans, and ruins full of artificial monsters and treasure. A false world with no purpose.
The truth is, we have barely made any new discoveries in the last eighty years. Not much more than what was made in the forty years before. Fewer and fewer people are going on expeditions. The Dwarf might as well be a myth, just like all the other mythological figures.
The Shepherd, The Man Who Came From the Sea, The Whale-Spider, the Queen of the Underworld, Lady Heswaren—even Marionette. Who knows if that armor is actually sapient or not?
More and more studies are showing that the monsters in the Tower can sense things and react to those sensations, but they do it in the same way that a seesaw goes up and down. They don’t feel. They don’t eat, they don’t multiply, they don’t live. They’re less than the constructs [Summoners] make.
But that doesn’t mean there’s no point to climbing, to fighting them in order to get places where there are treasures and answers. There are still secrets out there. I massively exaggerated a lot of the stories I told you, but stories are always exaggerations. There’s a kernel of truth in all of them.
Is the climbing company I mentioned still searching for the Dwarf? No. They went bankrupt. They gave up months ago. Almost a year.
Are others searching for the Dwarf? Yes. Every day, new teams try. And every day, new teams give up.
But most importantly, do those hints about where the Dwarf might be actually exist? Yes. A million times yes.
Some of them do. The most common theory is that you have to reach the hundredth floor, the tip of the Tower, to meet them, but you would need five armies to even get past the thirtieth.
The farther up into the Towers you get, ___ ______ __ __ ___ ___ ____ ______ _____ ___. There has to be something beyond that. And where does all the treasure come from? Who is the Shepherd that they would fill those chests? Where did the Towers themselves come from? What is at the top? Is there a top? How and why do they bend light to conceal their shape and appearance? Where do all the highly-trained, professional expeditions disappear to every year, on floors where there is no reason for them to disappear? That not one would return? They have to go somewhere.
There are questions, Karen. So many questions we’ve been trying to answer for over a century which we have yet to answer. That doesn’t mean there are no answer. And even if only the dreamers and the idiots are interested in finding them, I would gladly be an idiot. Maybe you could be the dreamer?
One of these days, [Alchemists] are going to figure out how to resurrect the dead, and make everyone immortal, and disease-free. They will be able to fix everything. Our counties will open their borders entirely, if only to each other, and you will come to visit. I’ll have hoarded up a bunch of items for you to use that don’t need mana, or I’ll have made my own as an [Enchanter], or if I don’t get the Class, I’ll figure out how to make spellbooks that don’t need mana. Something.
We could go into the Tower together and look for an adventure. And even if we can’t find one, we’ll make our own. And after a decade or so of that, you’ll be the most powerful, oldest level one [Adventurer] in all five cities.
Wouldn’t that be great?
Reading this, I know it sounds cheesy, but I’m feeling really freaking guilty right now for venting all my frustrations to the only person who already has enough shit on their plate and is still good to me.
I know you’ll probably only get this letter in two months and it eats me up inside that you’ll still feel as betrayed as you sounded like in your last letter for so long. I wish I had a Skill that would let me hand-deliver it. I wish my freaking mom had taken me with her. It’s so unfair that she gets to visit your country and I don’t, while I’m stuck in the city of farmer markets. I’m used to sea-bleached houses and the smell of it on the breeze. Everything is so freaking colorful here, it blends into orange.
I feel like I’m beginning to ramble so I’ll finish this: Please, reply. And keep on writing. You can visit the university library. Please, do. I bet it’s great there. But I also promise I’ll tell the truth from now on. That doesn’t mean I will stop telling you stories, because there are true ones out there.
Love,
Your Saga
P.s. I put the light ring on a necklace. It reminds me of home.
P.p.s. My dad is still trying to sit next to me during lunch. Get a hint, man! It’s bad enough that I sit on my own, you sitting next to me would just murder any surviving chance at a social life I’ll ever have.
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Saga threw the leftover stamps and receipt in her drawer and snuck back out of the room. Most of her roommates were still sleeping. Breakfast was long over and lunch would begin soon.
She headed out for a jog. She was late. Normally, she would have done it first thing in the morning, but she had sent that letter off today instead. She was almost shaking in a kind of excitement. Nerves? She wasn’t usually nervous, but she was impatient. It would be almost two months until her friend received the letter and then another two before she got her answer back.
She hoped Karen would accept the apology and things could go back to the way they were, but—
Saga walked the unfamiliar halls of her school building in an unfamiliar city. Classmates passed her in unfamiliar clothes. Her entire life was still in Lighthouse. She knew things had a tendency to change and not change back. At least three years until she got to see her mother again. Probably thrice that, or four times that time, until she got to meet Karen in person.
Dammit. She was glad she could go for a run. She’d probably put an extra lap in today—one of the only good things about Hadica, being able to run laps around the Tower instead up and down the hills. She needed it.
In the distance behind her, somebody was laughing. Two somebodies, though one was more energetic this morning. They normally also went for laps first thing in the morning, two more of her few classmates who did. Or they attempted to, at least. She had never seen them do a full lap.
Had they slept in?
Great. Saga sped a bit. She did not want to talk to people this morning, if they even did.
Especially since one of them seemed overly friendly.
“Hey, Saga!” he called. “Ryan’s a Beer Fest Guy!”
She stifled a scowl, but knew she wouldn’t be able to outpace them. So Ryan was the hot one, then? What even was Beer Fest?
“Good for him!” she called back.
Thankfully, they kept on arguing with each other instead of annoying her, Ryan sounding somewhat embarrassed, and then she shook them off in the crowd and ducked into the warm sunlight of the Tower plaza.
She tapped her shoes on the ground and did a few loose stretches while walking before breaking into a light jog, increasing her pace as she warmed up to it. A group of other joggers passed her in almost perfect unison five minutes later, a few giving her a friendly nod or wave.
She nodded back.
This felt great. Being able to put her mind to the rhythm of her steps and burn off the nervous energy.
Everything would be alright. Everything would be alright. Karen would accept her apology, hopefully, Saga would figure out how to make a spellbook that didn’t need mana, somehow, so her friend could be the magic user she dreamed of being, and they would get her a high-grade healing potion to get her out of that wheelchair.
Her mom would come back. Her dad would stop annoying her. She’d finish two or three years here and then go into Academia to find out more about the Tower and their histories. Her parents would get over their issues and move back in. She just had to keep moving.
She was a quarter-lap in when a crowd around a portal of the Tower drew her attention, then made her slow, and finally stop.
Somebody was pointing. A lot of people were pointing. Saga stared like an idiot. A silver hot fire hovered above the same-color portal, brighter than any magnesium flare, and burned words into the stone like a finger spelling in sand.
Slowly, in the back of her mind, she started trying to translate them, but dammit had she ever been bad at Dwarfish.
Thankfully, the crowd did it for her.
“‘You stand on a shore. Lack? Access? Take a step. Destroy whatever stands in your way. Take what you need to— Climb,” a guy near her spoke. “Signed, the little girl with the big beard.”
She had her knife strapped to the small of her back. She had her spells. And she had a divine call to action.
What more did she need?
Before she knew it, she was pushing her way through the crowd. She had just sent off a letter to her friend telling her the stories weren’t real unless they made them, but this was different. She could feel it.
In her mind, she was already drafting her next letter. Though she knew all their best friends would probably censer the crap out of them until the cities got a hold on the situation. Whatever this was.
Dear Karen,
Remember how I said we would go on an adventure together? Well, I’m going to go ahead, okay? Somebody has to make sure the road is safe. Make sure you can join me as soon as you can.
Love,
Saga
Suddenly, she was in front of the portal and there was chaos all around her. People were trying to make sense of things. Evacuate. Inform the Guild. Follow the words into the portal. But Saga didn’t pay any attention to all that. Belatedly, she realized she needed to think of a destination.
Where?
She closed her eyes and almost rested her forehead on the portal. She thought of drab, windy beaches and cliffsides, and sea-bleached colors. The smell of water in the air. Wide streets, red brick stone, and an old, creaky—
Home.
A step forward. She found herself elsewhere.