“Go on Gabe. This is your time to shine.”
Simon’s words echoed through the abandoned streets of Daerlym. He, Gabe, and Professor Alrik stood before the opening he’d made in the massive stone doors of the citadel. He’d quickly step away from the door after completing his spell just in case the magic set off any defensive wards. So far there hadn’t been any sign of retaliatory magic, but the trio was still wary. The magical pressure that had been growing the closer they got to the citadel increased significantly after the hole was formed, so they knew something in the building was still active.
“First off, this looks nothing like Professor Alrik’s vision. Secondly, that vision also depicts me with a potentially fatal wound, so I resent your casual disregard for my life.”
“Eh, it’s like you said. There are no glowing magical symbols, so you should be safe. Besides, with your attuned soul, you stand the best chance out of all us in case there is anything nasty lying in wait.”
Before Gabe could offer another rebuttal, the Soul Weaver spider scurried past the trio and disappeared into the citadel.
“Well,” Professor Alrik said after a few moments. “It appears that it is safe. Shall we?”
The hole in the stone doors beckoned the trio like the mouth of some ancient, dormant beast. Gabe hesitated momentarily, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the weight of the magical energy that hung thickly in the air. Each step he took felt as though he was wading through a dense fog, the powerful remnants of ancient spells threatening to cloud his senses.
It was immediately evident that a great battle had taken place within the building. Scorch marks, like inky black tendrils, snaked their way up the walls, and the stone floor was cracked and fragmented in places, as though the earth itself had tried to swallow the building whole. The once-grande archways and corridors were now cloaked in darkness, broken only by the occasional glow of a patch of fungi.
Gabe, taking the lead, stepped cautiously over the cracked floor, all of his senses alert for any sign of movement or danger. Every so often his fingers would brush against a wall, feeling the lingering spark of residual magic.
“Looks like this place was the epicenter of a major conflict,” Simon remarked, glancing around the vast entrance hall. The remnants of banners displaying a sigil composed of seven interlocking symbols lay tatters and torn, their colors faded with time.
“Indeed,” Professor Alrik murmured, eyes scanning the ruins with a mixture of reverence and sadness. “The intensity of the magical residue… I’ve never felt anything like it. I wonder…”
Professor Alrik paused, his gaze focused intently on the ground. They had reached a large chamber where the air was saturated with the residual magic. The room was dominated by a magnificent, but now shattered, crystal chandelier that hung precariously from the ceiling. Broken shards were scattered all over, reflecting the dim light from the scattered patches of fungi that grew in the corners of the room.
Simon and Gabe watched as the professor closed his eyes and began to chant in a low, rhythmic tone. Suddenly the room was awash with a bright golden glow. Wispy figures composed of translucent golden light began to emerge, phantasmal echos of warriors long gone. The magic in the room combined with Profesor Alrik’s spell and colored items began to coalesce on the figures. One held a sword that glowed with the red-orange of forge, another had a circlet upon its head that emitted a deep purple light. Professor Alrik continued chanting until close to a dozen ghostly figures were occupying the room.
The scene that unfolded was one of chaos and immense power. Figures draped in robes bearing that same seven-symboled sigil clashed with others bearing a sign of a seven-pointed star. The phantoms moved rapidly, dodging, parrying, and casting spells that sent bright streaks of light across the room. One of the robed figures rolled under a spell cast by the one holding the glowing red sword, causing the spell to impact against the wall and explode into a fiery conflagration. The illusionary light traced the scorch marks on the wall before fading away.
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In one particularly intense moment, a mage, distinguishable by the bracelet made of bronze light on their left bicep, stood in the center of the chamber with their hands raised towards the heavens. A brilliant orb of light formed above them, pulsating and growing in intensity. But just as the mage was about to release their spell, another figure rose out of their shadow, a pitch-black dagger in hand that they used to stab the mage several times in the back in rapid succession.
The phantasmic echoes played out their battles, retracing their steps, their spells, and their final moments, until gradually, they began to fade, their forms becoming more and more translucent until they vanished entirely, leaving the room in darkness once more. The silence that followed was palpable. Gabe, Simon, and Professor stood still, processing the ghostly reenactment that they had witnessed. The strain of the spell was evident by the weary expression in Professor Alrik’s eyes and Gabe silently cast Aura of Vitality, the soft green light of his aura extending out and washing over the professor.
“Thank you, Gabriel. I was not sure if that spell would work and it certainly took more out of me than I expected. These phantasmal echoes… They are a mere fragment of the past, but they offer valuable insight into what occurred here.”
Gabe swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the spot where the mage had been assassinated from behind. “They fought with everything they had. Professor, does the journal say anything about what happened here in the citadel?”
“Not exactly,” Professor Alrik replied shaking his head as he opened up the journal. “The final entry spoke of the continued conflict between Daerlym’s Council of Elders and Branot’s group, but the actual battle that took place here in the citadel must have taken place after it was written. Here it is.
28th day of Jiunten
My hands tremble as I pen what may be my final word. The war between the Council of Elders and Branot has consumed all semblances of serenity within our underground home. There’s a bitterness in the air, a poignant ache of lost unit and shattered alliances.
The Council continues to approach those of us who have refused to join their war. The offer remains the same, an artifact to restore our magic in exchange for taking up arms against Branot. What is even worse is that there is no longer enough Starmetal for a unique artifact to be crafted for each person. Instead, those who take the offer are forced to use one that has been pulled off the dead. Oh, how the mighty have fallen when such propositions become the lifeline of our existence. But I, too, and weakened and the absence of my magic has begun to cause fissures within my very essence. My mind is a mirror reflecting the agony of our people, fracturing further with every moment removed from my lineage. I do not know how much longer I can resist the call, even if doing so will lead to my death.
There are whispers of a solution devised by one of the Elders who still live, a new way to bind our powers without succumbing to the abyss. May this hope, fragile as it is, not be a mere illusion, for it is this slender thread to which I cling, as the storm rages and our fates entwine in inevitable conflict.”
“It seems like this is where the Council of Elders stashed all their spellsteel artifacts that weren’t in use,” said Simon. “So it stands to reason that once all of the other cities had been cleared out, Branot brought his forces here to claim them for himself. However, that begs the question, which side eventually won the conflict?”
“I suppose we will find out,” answered Professor Alrik. “It is possible that both sides wiped each other out and that is why the Vlatiyrx civilization died out.”
The three stood for a moment, each lost in thought until a sudden movement caught their eye. The Soul Weaver spider scurried in from the next room. It tapped its front legs repeatedly before turning back and heading the way it came, only to stop once again and turn back to face the others.
“Looks like we’re back to following the spider,” grumbled Simon.
“He’s been helpful so far. Might as well see what he wants to show us,” said Gabe.
Once they started walking, the spider turned back around and continued skittering about. The deeper they ventured into the citadel, the more pronounced the magical pressure became. It weighed on them, dense and almost suffocating, and yet there was an allure to it, a pull that drew them inexorable forward.
As they walked, they noted that the destruction became more intense. Walls had massive cracks as if some great force had tried to rend them asunder while statues lay shattered on the ground. The spider led them through a labyrinth of corridors and chambers, each more impressive and foreboding than the last. Finally, they rounded one last corner and Gabe stopped abruptly. There, at the end of the hall, was a stone door. Etched into the wall around the door was a dense script of metallic symbols which caused the whole wall to shimmer with reflected light. Gabe had no doubt about it, this was the door from Professor Alrik’s vision.