Chapter 214 – Floor 35: Part 1

Congratulations, you have successfully created a kingdom for the Harboured. You have been rewarded with the first verse of a Celestial Spell.

Celestial Spell: A Starless Night.

As the Speaker invokes this incantation, the air thickens with an otherworldly chill, and an oppressive silence envelops the surroundings. The last glimmers of light flicker and fade, leaving only the sounds of distant whispers and the beating hearts of the terrified.

Floor 35 – The Wrongs of the Past.

The Kelestrians will become aware of a new power rising amongst the Harboured. They will not want to see their former slaves regain any remnants of their civilization. They will seek to stop you. Defend the Harboured from the Kelestrians.

Reward: The second verse of the Celestial Spell.

In the heart of a desolate land, where the earth cracked beneath a relentless sun, and the horizon was dominated by a mountain called the Ashen Peak, lay the city of Haven. A kingdom that defied the barrenness surrounding it.

Its cobblestone streets wound like tendrils through a patchwork of vibrant life, an oasis sustained by the efforts of magic. The roads were lined with plant life and trees that came from unknown origins. It was said that their Sovereign had given the seeds to the Harboured to grow, having pulled them into existence with his supreme magic.

At the center of Haven loomed the Citadel of Artistry; its tall spires reached skyward like fingers grasping for the heavens. Crafted from dark stone, the fortress was adorned with intricate glyphs that shimmered softly in the light, each rune a testament to the ancient magic of the Harboured that pulsed through the city.

This wasn’t just a place for the city’s Artisans to gather, train and create their magical Artifacts; the structure was also a part of Haven’s enchantments. It was a focal point for many of the magics being worked throughout the town.

A shimmering river, born of magic itself, sliced through the city. Its waters sparkled with an ethereal glow and the Artisans made sure that there were many parks and gathering places to watch the river flow. It was sourced from a gigantic chunk of blue crystal that poured water down from its surface.

The river meandered past the market square, where food, clothing and other goods were being sold. The stalls were full of objects, and the atmosphere was alive and vibrant. No one in Haven went hungry, and even the poorest citizens were cared for.

The air throughout the city was thick with the smell of spices and the sweet perfume of flowers, blooming defiantly in a land of desolation. Each blossom was a miracle, nurtured by the enchantments that coaxed life from the harsh earth.

Surrounding the market and the citadel were buildings constructed of sturdy stone and timber. Each had protective runes carved into their exteriors that glowed faintly even in the brightness of day. These glyphs were part of the enchantments of Haven, strengthening the materials, keeping out the heat of day and the cold of night, and providing light for the residents.

Each night, these runes cast a warm, inviting light throughout the city, creating a mosaic of soft colours that danced along the streets, practically guiding the inhabitants home. A bridge arched gracefully over the enchanted river, a marvel of craftmanship that would have been unthinkable to construct a decade ago.

The residents could feel the surge of magic beneath their feet as they crossed the bridge from the river below.

Haven existed in the shadow of Ashen Peak, and the mountain had changed over the past decade. There was now a path carved into the side of the mountain, steps that led to the summit. The Artisans had even installed rest areas along the length, places to stop for food and water before carrying on.

Why anyone would want to climb the mountain was easy to understand. At the summit of Ashen Peak was a simple yet imposing temple. Hewn from smooth obsidian mined from the mountain itself, its shiny exterior reflected the sun, allowing the residents of Haven to see its glory from down below.

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The temple’s entrance was framed by two towering pillars of the same material as its exterior, and they led to a chamber that was both simple and terrifying. Inside, the chamber was lit by the red glow of magma funnelled through trenches reinforced with magic.

There was only a single source of sunlit, a slit in the temple’s exterior that allowed the sun to touch the imposing throne at the end of the chamber.

It was under this light, at the heart of this sanctuary, that the Dark Sovereign sat. The atmosphere within the temple was heavy, and outsiders would think that this was the dwelling place of a demon or monster. But, to the Harboured, this was the home of their saviour.

Mathew, The Enduring, Apostle of the god of Unyielding Declaration, sat on a throne made of obsidian and let out a sigh as he read the message. He was alone, without the eyes of the Harboured upon him and he could relax for the moment.

He was contemplating the information that had just been delivered to him by the silver wristband. The Celestial Incantation, while incomplete, was more powerful than anything he had ever received as a Floor award.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a situation to test it out. If he was correct, it had the capability of destroying the Temple around him and the entire city below. Putting the Spell out of his mind for the moment, he thought about the rest of the message.

If it were true, then the Kelestrians will become aware of his actions shortly. Mathew wasn’t sure how powerful they were, but he didn’t want to face them unprepared. The Harboured knew this day would come and had taken steps to protect their city.

Mathew stood from his throne and walked down the long chamber toward the entrance of his Temple and Palace. He hadn’t argued with the Harboured when they said they wanted to build it. He had a role to play here, just like them.

He had been ordered to be their Sovereign and it was easier to just go along with it than fight every decision. They wanted a Temple, so they built it; Mathew just provided a lot of the initial tools and materials.

He had spent the 10,000 Aether years ago, and his inventory was nearly empty now. But the Harboured had everything they needed for their magic, and their skills had improved along with it. Their failure rate, which had been 1 in 10, was much closer to ten to twenty percent.

Mathew exited the Temple and looked out at the sweeping view from the Ashen Peak. He breathed in the warm air and once again marvelled at what the Harboured had accomplished in such a short time. It was hard to believe that they had been living in caves and eating scraps a decade before.

What would this place be like in another decade? Or a century?

After taking in the view for a moment, Mathew focused on the citadel at the center of the city. Concentrating on a specific spot, a balcony at the top that had been assigned to him, he whispered the Word of Power.

“Shift.”

Mathew disappeared in an instant, and a small, wooden cup fell to the ground where he had been. Reappearing in his room, he walked swiftly to the door and out into the hallway. These corridors were spacious and filled with art in various styles common to the Harboured.

Paintings made with muted colours, sculptures made from stone carried from the Ashen Peak, and tapestries weaved from the grasses found in this desolate land. The walls seemed to vibrate with energy, the very physical essence of the Harboured magic.

They had told Mathew that they had only brought out the ‘memories’ that resided in the objects they found, but Mathew thought they had injected life into them instead.

He passed the offices and quarters of the Artisans on the lower levels, then the workshops and storage areas, before he finally reached his destination. No one bothered him on the way, although his presence always brought work to a halt as they bowed respectfully before carrying on.

The Harboured had grown more used to him over the years. Even his dark armour didn’t fill anyone with terror as it once did. They just took it as a quirk of their Sovereign.

Mathew entered a grand hall with soaring, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes that shimmered with magic. The walls were crafted from warm, polished stone, and sunlight streamed in through stained glass windows forged into this very citadel.

Here, the sound of the workshops above was dulled by the thick stone and creative design, leaving it nearly silent. In this hall was a gathering of the top Artisans who were gathered around in groups, discussing their craft or meeting with visitors from amongst the population.

Mathew found the person he was looking for.

Hilo seemed to have grown younger in the last decade rather than older. Perhaps it was because of the weight he had put on from being able to eat his fill or the fine clothing that provided a warmth that the Harboured had been denied for years, but Hilo had a bounce to his step and a smile on his weathered face that never dimmed.

Mathew took a moment to study the elaborate tattoo that covered the old man’s face. Black would shift in colour slightly as the light hit it as if it had a metallic sheen on its surface. The Harboured were born with them, a trait from their bloodline.

Hilo’s tattoo was elaborate, filled with lines and swirls that extended across half his face.

Apparently, the tattoos grew as the Harboured aged or if they practiced their magic. Mathew had seen it for himself. The children would bear only small lines or a single shape on their faces, while the Artisans here all had intricate tattoos.

The conversation stopped as Mathew approached them. The Artisans, several hundred of them, bowed as he did so. Waving them off, he walked to Hilo.

“Hilo, the Kelestrians will soon be aware of us. I intend to keep them away from Haven for as long as possible. Are the preparations complete?” Mathew asked, and Hilo nodded.

If it weren’t for the helmet over Mathew’s face, the Harboured here would have seen a wide grin appear on their sovereign’s face.

The Kelestrians weren’t going to know what hit them.