6 : 234 : 09 : 49 : 13

My head aches. A steadily rippling discomfort racks the interior of my skull at every step. I try to shake off the weird, tingling feeling, like having a cloud of tiny flies buzzing around nonstop, trying to sneak in through the eyes and ears, but it won't leave me be. In reality, I can see nothing. No gnats. No immediately obvious cause for the haunting sensation.

Am I going crazy? As in, legitimately, ICD-rated insane, and not the kind that can still be dismissed as artistic eccentricity.

Now’s really not the best time for that.

I stride across the broad plaza of Eternal Calm, Sephram next to me. The smooth, pale blue marble tiles of the piazza bask in bright morning light and on the far side ahead of us rises the lordly wall of the royal district of Nikéa, the Sultan's mortal residence in the heart of it. The way the wall catches the sun renders it so dazzling you can barely even look at it—probably by design.

It's a powerful psychological element wordlessly advising you against going any closer, and I sure wouldn't, if I had any choice.

The wall itself is only a bit over twelve meters tall. Doesn’t seem like a lot when you see it spelled there. You wouldn’t think a twelve-year-old is very old, or that twelve beers is too much. If a video game was twelve dollars, it'd be pretty cheap, but if you only got twelve hours of fun out of it, I'd be disappointed. But those twelve meters of clean stone face look more imposing up close than you'd think. Twelve smooth, white-painted meters of sheer adventure, without any footholds or seams. Even the few trees planted around the perimeter reach nowhere close to the wall walk, where armored guys with spears and bows peer down at the filthy peasants.

Getting in is a challenge of its own; getting back out again?

Now there's a headache, even without this incessant buzzing.

“Ow…” I shake my head and rub my temples.

“Hungover again?” Sephram asks me with a deeply judgmental glance. “You should stop drinking. It’s not a very healthy hobby to have.”

“Thanks, dad,” I answer. “But my genius brain happens to consume a whole ton of energy to work its magic, and alcohol packs joules. So, as a matter of fact, purely from the cost-effectiveness point of view, it’s a pretty good deal for me. I barely even get drunk.”

“Human beings don’t work like that.”

“Also, unless someone did the Jesus to our well without my knowing, I’ve had nothing but non-alcoholic this week.” I look up at the wall again, and the robust gatehouse in the middle, built like a castle of its own. “No. This is something else.”

The closer we get to the wall—to the palace complex—the stronger the weird noise probing my head.

Now that we're this close, I'm starting to see the reason too.

Normal people wouldn't be able to tell, but a hazy mist of energy wallows behind the walls of the royal district, stemming from somewhere deep in the earth. A formless, aimless mass of raw, impersonal power. The wall does a pretty good job at muffling it, but even that gargantuan barrier can't fully keep it in. Here and there it leaks out, like the stench of an old corpse in the basement.

What do you know?

Looks like Master Endol wasn’t making it up.

There’s something in there that’s not forty virgins. Something ancient. It’s messing up my sense of self, my sense of time.

Oh screw it all.

It really is one of those.

6 : 236 : 06 : 31 : 45

A bronze tripod stand, about a meter tall, poses on the floor of our apartment.

There’s not a Leica on top, only a small holder, like a light bulb socket. You stick a custom-shaped crystal in the holder and that’s basically enough to make a quick phone call. All the necessary rituals are inscribed in the bronze rod itself. But since I’m here now, might as well set up the whole studio. I set three enchanted brass cups filled with distilled water on the floor around the stand, about a meter away from the center, and draw chalk runes in between each to link them up. Like that, we have a rudimentary light projector.

You could also use a regular hand mirror like granny and reflect the image directly there. It may be cheaper and easier to set up, but it wouldn’t be 3D, or make such a good impression in iMax. See how considerate I am?

All that’s left is to align the rings on the stand to fire up the ritual circle, infuse the crystal with a touch of mana, and voi’la—you can converse with people thousands of kilometers away, as if you were in the same room with them!

Well, provided the other person is near their megaphone, has their setup also turned on, and manages to pick up in time. There’s no ringtone functionality and no answering machine either. But the uncertainty element only makes it more thrilling!

There, our crash course on how to use the megaphone.

Always wanted to have my own. Okay, this is technically from Sephram’s agent kit—but the guy’s a no-mag! He has barely enough mana for a one-way ten-second voice message, while I’m powering holographic high-definition video in real time. He should just give it to me.

We submitted our request for information to the Order’s idle bookworms right after the gangster conference, and it takes barely a day for Master Endol to get back to us with a report. That guy has nothing better to do, huh?

Barely a minute after I've readied the hardware for the video call, a ghastly blue-glowing, semi-transparent projection of the emiri scholar appears to pose in the room in front of us in 1:1 scale.

The image is a bit noisy. It's because of our cheap low-grade crystal, not me.

But look, I can stick my hand through him! Ghaa, how grisly!

“Could I be allowed a semblance of dignity?” the illusory Master Endol requests.

Oh yeah, rule number one: no fun allowed. I forgot.

“Fast work, as always,” Sephram says to the Sage. “I’m loath to trouble you like this, Master Endol, but we have precious little idea of what we’re dealing with here. Anything you could tell us would be much appreciated.”

“Mind not,” Master Endol answers with a slight shake of head. “It may not be part of my responsibilities as an emissary of peace and education, but I have already pledged to support the Order by any non-violent means possible. Also, I can hardly consider myself an uninvolved outsider in affairs concerning the future of life.”

Both of us pause for a beat.

“The...future of life?” Sephram repeats and raises a brow. “This 'vault' in the Sultan’s palace doesn't simply refer to his treasury, does it?”

Of course not. I do miss the good old times when the bad guys were only after coffers of gold.

“I’m afraid not,” the Sage says. “Your earlier report stirred certain old memories in me, which my dear friend in the Dominion’s Central Archive was able to confirm as less than imaginary. And unless I have erred gravely, the hidden goal of our enemy in Nikéa goes back to the very roots of the Covenant, the system upholding our current way of life.”

Sephram glances at me. “Does this conversation require a degree in magic to understand?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I console him. “I zoned out completely too.”

Thankfully, after his time in the human realm, the Sage is accustomed to dealing with ignorant children and shows no frustration. I wonder what it would take to make this guy lose his cool?

“I shall explain,” he says. “However, before we go into detail, you should know that some of what I'm about to tell you is considered advanced technical knowledge, not to be shared with the inhabitants of the lesser realms. Could I have your verbal agreement that none of this is divulged to outside parties? I belive it is necessary that you are made aware, yet if the Dominion's authorities were to find out I've told you, I could be forced to terminate you all and then commit suicide. I would rather not see our companionship end like so.”

Good god, I'm out of here.

“I'd ask you not to tell, if only to avoid putting you to the spot,” Sephram answers. “But if you've judged it necessary for us to know, then so it must be. I do solemnly swear to keep what I learn here to myself. Will that do?”

“Very good.”

“....”

“Zero?”

The guys look at me.

“Oh, I was just thinking how to best use the fact that you've told me to blackmail favors from you.”

“...”

“A joke! A joke. I won't tell a soul.”

The two already looked like they wanted to murder me. They really have no sense of humor.

But let's get back on with the show.

“For your mortal convenience, allow me a brief summary of our collective history,” Master Endol kicks off with his tall tale. “At the beginning of the current age, before their Exodus, the Old Gods raised five great towers around the planet, set along key nodes of the global leylines. We called them, ‘Heaven’s Pillars’.”

An icy wave passes down my spine and I shudder. Guess the night’s turning windy.

“The precise purpose of the Heaven’s Pillars is not known to us, alas. The Makers left us no instructions regarding them, but by studying their effects and energy emissions over time, it was assumed they exist to stabilize the elements and preserve conditions hospitable to life. In short, these towers were designed to manage the role the Gods themselves held whilst they still walked among us.”

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“News to me,” Sephram comments with a bit of a helpless face.

“I am not surprised you wouldn’t know of them. The events I refer to took place over eighteen thousand years ago. Many a mortal civilization has risen and fallen since then. By today, most of the towers themselves have been reduced to ruin, toppled by planetary cataclysms and upheavals over the eons. Even I had nearly forgotten they were once there.”

“You say that as if you were there to see them,” I chuckle.

Master Endol isn’t smiling. “I was.”

Shuddering.

“It has been long, but there’s no need for us to rely solely on living memory. The locations of some of these towers has been preserved in the Dominion’s records, which span an even wider length of time. And certainly, my query to the archives was returned with the answer I already anticipated: where the modern era Sultanate of man resides once stood one of the five, a Heaven’s Pillar.”

“Exactly where the Sultan’s palace is,” Sephram guesses the punchline.

Master Endol nods.

“Indeed. It cannot be a coincidence the city lies where it does. It is probable the Nikéans' ancestors placed great spiritual and religious value to those ruins, and chose them as the site where to assemble their ruling house. Such has been common practice among the cultures of the world, now and in the past.”

“And the drug trade and the war were simply a means to an end, to gain a way into those ruins?”

One creative approach to archaeology.

“So it would appear. The palace itself would have no need of a ‘core’. However, buried in the foundations of each Heaven’s Pillar is purportedly a chamber for the central power reactor, complete with a core unit. The tower part itself is ultimately only an antenna to expand the Pillar’s area of effect. Its loss does not mean total destruction yet. As long as the reactor underneath remains intact, the Pillar maintains its base functionality as a world engine.”

Here I was wondering why the gods would build something so fragile it can’t even last 20,000 years. Was “indestructible” just too tall an order? Or maybe it was by design? When the towers are ruins, power-hungry people will forget them and leave them alone? Then why show them off at all? Why not bury them underground from the start? Is there a specific reason they needed to have air contact?

Oh hell, I don’t know.

Sephram only cares about the little things.

“So this 'core' Hume is after is some kind of...magical power source for the tower?”

He’s a medieval man. Cut him some slack.

“What we speak of is a source of nigh inexhaustible energy, crafted by the Old Gods themselves,” Master Endol answers. “Unraveling its secrets could greatly accelerate the Kingdom’s scientific development, giving them an unfair edge over the rest of the mortal lands. I am not surprised they would go to such lengths to obtain it. And it may yet get worse. Should your foe have his way, it becomes probable they will turn their eyes upon the other realms next. And the Millennium Accord of eld is, in the nearby future, broken—by man.”

“How do we know the core’s even there anymore?” I interject. “Maybe the Sultan has it? He’s sitting on a potential weapon of mass destruction, while an enemy army is about to come knocking. Now would be a good time to pick it up. If his ancestors didn’t already pawn it off, that is.”

Phantasmal Master Endol shakes his head.

“Had a Celestial Relic such as the core surfaced before in the human realm, your history would have undergone profound changes by now. Nikéa would not be as impoverished or shunned as it is. No, I am inclined to believe the core remains in its place, if the Sultan indeed even knows what lies under his dwelling. Let not the fact that the tower didn’t prevail the test of time mislead you into thinking the structures are feeble. What scarce few descriptions we have of the Pillars’ innate workings were made using extrasensory perception. No one, to my knowledge, has ever been physically able to enter the reactor part. There are various mechanisms in place to prevent entry.”

Like what? Spike traps and rolling boulders?

“So how do the bad guys plan to get in?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“I could do with an educated guess.”

“I would rather not lead you astray in your investigation via baseless conjecture. Your own guess is as good as mine. Forgive me, but it is the best I may offer at present.”

So we’ve made practically no real progress even after all this talking?

“No, that’s fine,” Sephram says. “We know what Hume is after and we have a rough idea on why too. The rest is of no consequence. All we need to succeed is simply beat him to it.”

I turn to frown at the guy.

“Did I get this right? You want to steal the core from the palace before Hume gets there? Though nobody knows how to even get in?”

“What other choice do we have?” he asks with a shrug. “The only reason Hume would have to call off the invasion is if his primary reason for the war is not here anymore.”

“We could warn the Sultan? Maybe?”

“Without disclosing taboo knowledge of the Heaven's Pillar? How?”

“...”

Okay, that could be a bit tough.

“The Sultanate is hardly innocent in this,” he carries on. “It’s their continued mismanagement of the state that has allowed crime and corruption to spread and helped Hume take advantage of them. No, I wouldn’t risk passing celestial technology to either side, if only it can be helped. Even without our enlightened scholar to tell us so, I already know mankind is not ready for this. But if we let Hume go through with his plan, whether he be successful or not, the cat will be out of the bag. An all-new age of strife will be upon our small realm. I'm afraid the only way we have left to prevent the worst is to take out the problematic element itself from the stage, before anyone else can get their hands on it.”

“And you weren’t thinking about maybe helping yourself to the Sultan’s treasury while at it?” I ask. “Stuffing your pockets full of gold and priceless jewels to pad the paycheck? Pick up a little something extra for retirement? Curated artworks and precious relics to decorate your holiday home? I've heard the Sultan has black pearls and rubies the size of bleeding tangerines—would make a lovely gift for your date, wouldn't they? But why stop there? Why not check out his concubines while you're at it? The Sultan's harem is said to be an assembly of human beauty beyond compare. Doing a bit of hands-on research there never crossed your mind, did it?”

“...Err, no?” Sephram answers with a deeply furrowed brow. “I believe I insinuated nothing of the sort.”

“Oh. Was I the only one who thought that?”

Sephram and Master Endol’s projection give me deeply condemning looks again. They’re getting good at that.

“Hey, a little too late for the moral high ground act,” I tell the two. “Stealing is still stealing, no matter what you take, or for what reasons. The vault is in the Sultan’s basement, so that makes the core technically his property too. That's how humans work. I didn’t invent the law.”

“Technically,” Master Endol says, “the vault belongs to no one. It was built for the universal good of all life.”

“And that’s a sophism.”

“...No? It is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Sophism is an argument built on a false pretense, while what I said was perfectly factual.”

“It is whatever it is, Spock. It’s on their turf, it’s theirs. We're thieves if we do this. And thieves do as thieves do.”

“I am your teacher, I taught you the definition of sophism!”

“Oh no, we seem to be losing connection! Bzzzt—whzzt! Master Endol...! Come in, I’m losing you…! Master Endol! Aaa-brbrbrb!”

I hop over to the stand, yank out the crystal off of the projector and kick the cups aside. Our pointy-eared Sage disappears from the room.

“Should’ve invested in fiber optics.”

Sephram tries to hide it, but I spy a smile and point.

“A-ha!”