Princess Catherine languished within the confines of her desolate abode, an eternal prisoner of her father's ill-conceived tower. Time, that merciless arbiter of change, had ceased its relentless march within those suffocating walls, leaving Catherine untouched by its transformative hand. The years had stretched into centuries, blurring the line between existence and resignation.
In her melancholic solitude, Catherine found solace in the company of countless volumes that lined the walls of her secluded abode. She had devoured each book, word by painstaking word, until their tales had become imprinted upon her very being. Every tale of love, of courage, and of triumph—she held them all within her mind, an intricate tapestry of narratives etched in the recesses of her memory.
Her days were spent in ritualistic routine. She would sit by the mirror, bathed in the pale glow of enchanted sconces. There, she would meticulously brush her golden tresses, an act that transcended mere grooming and became a form of meditation—an attempt to retain some semblance of normalcy amid the desolation. The strands cascaded like molten sunlight, caressed by her loving touch, as if whispering to her, yearning to be released from their eternal confinement.
The tower itself stood as a monument to her father's overprotectiveness. Its walls, composed of ancient granite, sheltered her from the world and its passage of time. She would spend hours on end, her gaze fixed upon the quartz embedded within the granite ceiling, counting each grain, as if their number held the key to her elusive freedom. Yet with every counting, the realization sank deeper into her soul, that liberation was an illusion, a distant dream she could never hope to grasp.
The heartache of centuries weighed heavily upon Catherine's fragile spirit. With each rotation of the intricate clock that adorned the tower's chamber, she witnessed the slow, measured passage of time. Its many ebon arms, like twisted tendrils, pointed incessantly towards the future, a constant reminder of the days slipping away, counting down to the next solemn opening of the tower's gates—a day that brought her no solace, only further sorrow.
Within the depths of Catherine's weary heart, a fragile ember of hope persisted, flickering against the currents of despair that threatened to engulf her very soul. It was a tenuous thread of longing, interwoven with the cruel fabric of her existence. She clung to it with a fervor born of desperation, knowing full well its futility.
The memory of her beloved knight, a tender flame that once burned brightly within her heart, haunted her thoughts like a ghostly specter. He had come, seeking to free her from tower's cold embrace, only to be extinguished by the merciless hand of fate. His valiant attempts to reach her had ended in tragedy, forever sealing his fate within the annals of her sorrow.
Yet, despite the harrowing truth that whispered through the hallowed halls of her confinement, she had naught but this elusive hope. It was her sole companion in the desolation, a solitary beacon of light in the engulfing darkness. She clung to it with a tenacity that defied reason, for it was all she had amidst the dreary repetition of her existence.
Thousands had followed in her lover's footsteps, knights, warriors, even simple peasants drawn by tales of her beauty and the chance to become her savior. But they, too, met the same grim fate—fallen heroes swallowed by the tower's cruel machinations. Each attempt ended in tragedy, leaving only a trail of whispered regrets and dust scattered upon the path leading up to the tower.
Centuries had passed since her lover's ill-fated venture, and even if she were to be freed from her tower prison, the bitter reality loomed over her. Her beloved, her knight in shining armor, was but a specter of the past, lost to the mists of time. The hands of fate had severed their union, and no amount of liberation could bridge the chasm of centuries.
Would she dare to entertain the thought of another knight, a courageous soul who might brave the tower's treacherous trials? It was a question that whispered through the corridors of her longing, echoing within the chambers of her heart. For despite the overwhelming odds, the glimmer of possibility still danced in her eyes, forlorn yet unyielding.
The tower, as ancient and foreboding as ever, stood firm upon its solitary cliff, a stoic sentinel amidst the passage of time. Within, Princess Catherine donned her enchanted regalia, her garments shimmering with a forgotten elegance, and prepared herself for the brief respite that awaited her. A bittersweet anticipation welled within her, for she knew that as the hands of the intricate clock aligned, her window would slide open, granting her a fleeting glimpse of a world she yearned to be part of once more.
She stood before the imposing clock, its various faces bearing the weight of countless years. The hands, like a delicate ballet of time's passage, slowly converged, aligning in a solemn unity. The symphony of ticking filled the air, resonating within her being, as if the very heartbeat of the tower synchronized with her own.
With each incremental movement of the clock's hands, the anticipation within Catherine grew, a mingling of hope and melancholy. The tower had become her refuge, her prison, and the window opening was a tantalizing reminder of what lay beyond. She longed for freedom, for a world that had become but a distant memory.
As the final alignment of the clock's hands neared, the air grew heavy with an electric energy, as if the very fabric of existence held its breath in reverence. And then, with a resonant toll, the bell unleashed its sonorous cry, piercing the stillness of the chamber.
It carried with it a melancholic echo, a reminder of the countless tolls that had sounded before. It was a harbinger of the bittersweet moment to come.
With that single solemn toll, the window began its ascent, as if pulled by an invisible force. The heavy stone, worn by the passage of centuries, grudgingly obeyed the merciless magics of the tower. It moved with an eerie grace, revealing a sliver of light, a tantalizing portal between the confines of the tower and the vast unknown.
As the window opened, the outside world poured in like a breath of life, caressing Catherine's face with a gentle touch. The sunlight, filtered through the dawn's sky, painted the chamber in soft hues of gold and amber. A tender breeze carried whispers of distant lands, of stories untold, mingling with the fragrant scents of sea and earth.
Through the opening, Catherine beheld the spectacle that lay beyond the tower's confines. The expansive panorama unfolded before her, a masterpiece of nature's artistry. Her gaze was drawn to the distant shoreline, where the ceaseless waves caressed the earth in an eternal dance. The coastline, altered by the passage of time, bore witness to the fleeting impermanence of all things.
And there, amidst the ebb and flow of the sea, an enigma waited - a new colossal structure that defied comprehension. It stood proudly, mysterious and imposing, commanding the attention of any who dared to look upon it. Was it a monolithic fortress, a testament to human ambition, or something altogether otherworldly? Its purpose remained shrouded in the depths of the unknown.
The window's opening, a fleeting connection to the outside realm, carried with it both solace and torment. It was a moment of respite, a brief glimpse of the outside world from the confines of her tower. But it carried an inevitable cost that accompanied any attempt to breach the prison of her father's folly.
And so, on this day, as the clock marked a new beginning, three men stood at the threshold of her path. They stared up at the towering structure, perhaps driven by an unquenchable determination to reach her, or perhaps harboring doubts and fears that mirrored her own. Catherine knew that their presence signaled both hope and tragedy.
The wind whispered through the cracks in the tower, carrying the unspoken wishes of the princess and the ghosts of the fallen. The window stood fully open, granting Catherine a fleeting connection to the world she yearned for, baring her soul to the heartache that inevitably waited in the fates of the three men looking up at her window.
The first of the three men approached the imposing pair of enchanted granite statues that guarded the start of the path leading to the tower. These silent sentinels, embedded with an ancient magic, had posed their riddle since time immemorial, its enigmatic words echoing through the ages. As the man attempted to offer his response, his voice was snatched away by the capricious wind, its answer lost to Catherine's ears. And yet, the outcome was clear without hearing the man's words.
The briefest flash of judgemental light seized the man, engulfing him in its ethereal glow. Where the radiance had touched, all that remained was a haunting silhouette of dust, promptly dispersed by the remorseless breeze that swept through the path with a touch of cruel indifference. The cruel consequence of failure, a fate suffered by countless others who had dared to challenge the guardians of the tower.
The two remaining men exchanged hesitant glances, their expressions tinged with both trepidation and determination. They spoke in hushed tones, their words drifting on the wind like wipers of uncertain resolve. And then one of them, undeterred by the tragic fate that had befallen his comrade, stepped forward to face the granite statues.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Once again, the statues came to life, their stony gazes fixed upon the approaching challenger. With an air of ancient wisdom, they posed their timeless question, its words stolen from Catherine's ears by the ever-playful wind. And yet, to her surprise and disbelief, the statues relented, their stony countenances softening in acquiescence. It was a sight that had not been witnessed since the day her beloved had sought passage through these very guardians, only to meet his tragic end on the tower's final cruel riddle.
As the man advanced towards the towering door at the base of the tower, he passed from view, Catherine's gaze blocked by the imposing structure. But she strained her ears, listening intently as the knight faced his next challenge - a question she had not heard in centuries. Astonishment kindled a flicker of hope in her heart when she heard the resolute tone convey the proper answer.
Left to her solitary vigil, Catherine clung to that glimmer of possibility, entwined with apprehension. As the knight ventured through the labyrinthine corridors of the tower, Catherine's own mind meandered through the intricate passages of her thoughts, entwined with anticipation and fear.
An unspoken unease settled upon Catherine's heart. She knew all too well the price of failure, for it echoed through the timeless corridors of her existence. For the final riddle, incorrect answers not only cost the life of her would-be savior. It was the price demanded from her own soul. In that pivotal moment, their fates stood poised for a dance of entwined destinies, much like the intertwining of her own and her lover's centuries ago, when he faced the crucible of that ultimate, deadly question.
Uncertainty clutched at Catherine's thoughts like a specter in the dimly lit chamber. Would the knight, her potential savior, even manage to traverse the perilous path and survive the treacherous riddle that awaited him? Doubt consumed her, distracting her as she stood in front of the door to her forlorn prison. Could love truly blossom between them? Could he harbor genuine affection for a stranger, for a woman trapped in a prison of her father's making? And if they were to escape the tower's clutches, could she endure in a world she knew nothing of, a world that had surely transformed in ways unimaginable?
Lost in her introspection, Catherine's thoughts were abruptly shattered as a mechanical click sounded from the door, freeing the final physical barrier of her prison to swing open, revealing an unexpected figure - a nobleman clad in an eccentric attire of gray and white, adorned with a peculiar bowl-shaped hat. Her surprise mingled with a glimmer of hope as she prepared herself to administer the final, cruelest of riddles.
Magics and manners both demanded that she announce herself. "I am Princess Catherine," she started, her voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation, "former heir to the Solferin Kingdom, and bearer of the Soli..." Before she could utter another syllable, her visitor interjected, interrupting the flow of her introduction.
"Is this not the Tower of Eternal Bonds?" He queried, his thick and unfamiliar accent carrying a hint of confusion.
Puzzled, Catherine's mind raced through the breadth of her vast knowledge, the words etched meticulously in her memory from countless readings of her beloved books. She recalled that tower's detailed, if incomplete description, every last word on those pages, and even the very stains left by the original scribe's quill. In that instant, she gained new understanding of his purpose.
"You seek the Amulet of Enduring Love?" She responded, her very will fighting at the tower's magics that demanded a riddle of her, even as she bit her lip, her gaze fixed upon the misplaced nobleman.
His affirmation echoed through the chamber, uttered with the determination of a man risking everything.
"For my bride."
For his bride? Those words cast an uncanny light on the situation. The magics, incapable of understanding, yielded to the chaotic interplay of events unfolding before them.
In this ephemeral respite, Catherine glimpsed the man's path that had diverged from its predetermined course. The stranger, seeking the Tower of Eternal Bonds, had found himself in the labyrinthine corridors of the wrong tower. A realization, plain and undeniable, took root within her.
The properties of the amulet he sought, written of in her library, hinted at a healing power that could cure any illness. This man likely sought it for his bride out of desperate need. Yet, fate had led him to the wrong set of challenges. Catherine, her voice resonating with a mix of compassion and resignation, spoke the truth that bore heavy upon her. "The tower you seek lies more than two thousand leagues to the southeast."
The words hung in the air, suspended between them, a denial to the man's unspoken plea. But Catherine, bound by her role she had long assumed within this ancient theatre, pressed on. "You stand in the Apex Spire of the Ascendant's Path."
As the tower's name rolled off her tongue, the tower magics recognized it as part of the timeless script for the room, and magic that had momentarily waned surged forth with renewed vigor. Fighting Catherine's will, a tremor coursed through her, a response to the tower's reassertion, as her hand inched momentarily towards the concealed dagger nestled amidst her regalia.
But before the tower's command could be obeyed, before her will crumbled and the last, fatal riddle tumbled forth, the man spoke, again interrupting the uncaring demands of the potent magics. "I understand." He removed his hat, revealing a head of amber hair, and bowed before her. "Apologies for the intrusion," he spoke with a solemnity that mirrored his acceptance of the truth. With measured steps, he retreated from the chamber, with the tower's final, lethal riddle unasked.
And yet, in the silence that followed his departure, Catherine was left stunned by the whiplash of events. By leaving, he had answered the unasked riddle correctly. The tower's magics, which had held sway over Catherine's existence with an unyielding grip, now paused, as if hesitating in the face of the unexpected events. Their invisible tendrils slackened, loosening their hold upon her. In this fragile moment, a choice beckoned to Catherine - a choice that would determine her path as the door her guest had left open awaited closure.
Looking on at the long-desired path to release, Catherine was suddenly grappling with the weight of her decision. Staying within the familiar confines of her prison would be the simplest path — a surrender to the inertia of her existence, risking nothing she hadn't long since lost. But as her gaze wandered across the room, a haunting question nagged at her consciousness: Would her complacency condemn more seekers to perish futilely before her?
Leaving the tower, venturing into a world so vastly transformed, offered a dim hope. The promise of becoming a queen, bestowed upon her by long-dead custodians, would not happen. She also had to acknowledge a sour truth - her savior already had a bride.
The kingdom she represented, if it still endured in the ever-shifting tides of time, would have undoubtedly found new rulers. Any place it offered her would be akin to a gilded cage, a hollow existence as an exotic curiosity. And the world itself had metamorphosed beyond recognition - her survival alone amidst its unfamiliarity seemed an insurmountable feat.
None of the options before her held any semblance of appeal, each fraught with its own brand of desolation and heartache. Her mind churned with the weight of countless uncertainties, the clock's measured ticking echoing in her ears. The bell tolling a second time would herald the compulsion of the magics, forcing her to close the door and seal herself within or beyond the tower.
Johnathan stood at the entrance to Apex Tower, hat in hand, waving to his friend Matthew who awaited him at the other end of the short path leading to the tower.
"Ready the plane!" Johnathan called out, his tone tinged with a sense of urgency.
"You got the amulet, then?" Matthew queried, his voice brimming with anticipation.
"Wrong tower. This is Apex Spire," John replied, his disappointment seeping through his words.
"King Redwood's Folly? That's centuries too young," Matt lamented, his disappointment mirroring John's
"It's still over 1800 years old; the mistake is understandable," John reasoned, his tone tinged with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "We're headed 2000 leagues southeast," John declared, pointing more to the northeast with a determined flourish.
"How far's a league?" Matt asked, his voice curious.
"Heck if I know." John looked back to the tower, musing, "I should ask Princess Catherine while her tower's still open."
With those words, the tower's bell resounded through the air, signaling its closure.
"Too late. We'll call Tom. He should know," Matt suggested, voice tinged with resignation.
The duo began their descent, their path leading them back to a rental car. Disappointment and a sense of missed opportunity clung to the pair like a heavy shroud, as they navigated the winding path back to the world that the tower had long since left behind.