The realisation, as scholars would come to call it, would later be an unspoken rule upheld by the tower administrators. At the time of writing this book, not a single floor of the tower has been affected by this phenomenon, though time might just change that.
Flip
-As it so happens, the last recorded realisation led to the first true genocide of a floor, changing the floor for the rest of time. Silverveil too, experienced near-annihilation at the hands of players, though lack of sources and data make me unqualified to elaborate on that point.
Since the time of its realisation, the 76th has been a leading figure among tower politics; its strong grasp on agriculture and production, making it an economic powerhouse among all realised floors.
Feyrith clasped the book shut, his eyes tired from the lack of light around him. He placed the book in a pile next to him, stacked high with other similar-sized books. Another one to the pile of useless information.
He felt a light migraine make its way up to his head, frustrated by the lack of progress he had made in the past month. He would have thought that being inside Silverveil before the reckoning would have made the access to information on it easier. A family tree, perhaps? Or even some small details from the mysterious war he keeps hearing about? Nope, none of that, only the same books he found publicly available in-game.
Even then, he had tried looking through them all, reading them one by one on a faint hunch that at least one of them would have a sort of extra information.
His head titled to another pile, also right next to him, one of the books he hadn’t read yet. Two more months of this and I might go crazy.
Feyrith leaned forward and flicked on the bulb of the small torch he had with him; a soft orange light illuminating the space around him. His eyes singed for just one second as they adjusted themselves to their newly found bright surroundings. As he took a glance next to him, eyeing another, even larger pile of books sitting there, he reached his arm out and randomly chose one from the top of the pile.
‘Aeyis Euna: The Church of Uriel’
“This is a good one.” He muttered, opening the book up to its first page.
He remembered having read this quite a while ago, one of the few books about the 76th floor that could be accessed from floors below it. One of the few he could access at the very least. It’s a nice coincidence as well.
Feyrith quietly flipped through the book’s pages as time passed.
Creak.
His senses suddenly jumped as a small creak entered his ears. He placed down the book and turned the torch off, being especially careful as to not make any noise.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
His heart began to race, the loud thumps reaching all the way up to his ears. His fingers curled and eyes wary.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of footsteps headed towards him, louder and louder as time continued to pass.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Time froze for Feyrith as time ticked away, the sound of the clock on the wall ringing out in his ears. He closed his eyes and bated his breath, hoping for the footsteps to go away.
“Found you.”
He heard a voice whisper into his ear as chills ran down his back. A hand gripped his shoulder tightly. All options of escape blocked out. Slowly opening his eyes, Feyrith met his mother’s gaze, whose livid expression struck terror into his body.
“How dare you skip out on training?” She spoke. Feyrith turned his eyes away, and here he thought he found a good hiding spot.
“Good morning, mother.” He said with a grimace.
“Don’t good morning me.” Sylvia replied as she grabbed Feyrith’s arm and pulled him out from underneath the table.
Tch. Feyrith clicked his tongue and straightened out his clothes, sweeping the hair off his eyes. A bright pierced into his eyes, the yellow rays from the sky above singing his pupils. His back hurt and his posture hunched, Feyrith stretched his body and prepared for the suffering he was about to endure. Just another day of hiding under tables and running away from training.
“This is the 29th day in a row that you ran away from training.” Sylvia spoke.
“I can’t help it if your lessons are boring, mother.” Feyrith replied, his voice cold. There went his plans for this morning. He was hoping for just a few hours of relief before the excruciating event called spending time with Lillian. He had run away for an entire month just to prepare for this day, and it just so happens that it’s the exact one he got caught.
“First of all, my lessons aren’t boring.” Sylvia retorted. “Second of all, we’re going to have to attend the feast of realisation later, so today’s training isn’t going to be that long.”
“Fine then, please lead me to training then, mother.” Feyrith spoke, letting out a deep breath.
He realised that he was acting like a spoiled child, but he had more than a good excuse to do so. Ever since his last meeting with Lillian, he had put all his effort into running away from the reality that would be confirmed later today, something he wished Lillian had mentioned before he agreed to work with her.
“Begin to circulate your mana.”
Feyrith flexed his hands and took in a deep breath, circulating the air through his body. A cold feeling began to emerge from deep within his body, an icy sensation enveloping his entire body. He felt like he held a tap of water inside of his body, a sensation both familiar and unfamiliar to him.
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Mana.
He concentrated on that tap, an image of it placed squarely in his mind. The world around him began to disappear, turning to a void of darkness.
Then the tap began to flow.
Like a rushing waterfall, a rush of ice pelted Feyrith’s body, spreading across its entirety almost immediately. Cold, so cold.
It was frigid, up to the point of being unpleasant. Feyrith heard that he was lucky that his mana reacted this way, as others regaled their experience with mana being more heat based, being burned instead of frozen.
He felt every crevice of his body enveloped by the cold sensation, and slowly willed it elsewhere. The flow of mana condensed into his arms and hands. He flexed his fingers, numb and unfeeling, barely manoeuvrable even with the strongest of wills.
“Now, move the mana to your right palm.” Sylvia’s voice instructed.
Feyrith did as he was told and willed his mana toward his right palm, the frost gone from his other arm. The surrounding darkness began to shift, a wave of nausea coming over him. Bookshelves began to appear, lined up in a straight line, with several rows as far as his eyes could see. This was neither a trait nor skill Feyrith possessed, not something to add to his already large talent for magic.
It was a flaw, a flaw that had always plagued Ciel, both in his previous life and even now. This library filled up his mind and contained all the knowledge he possessed. There was a reason he could keep up treasure hunting for hours at a time without writing any of his discoveries down. A curse he could call it, but also the only thing about him that was worth something. He walked down the shelves of books, his physical body still looking through the dusty shelves to find one he more recently constructed.
He pulled out a red-covered book, grasping in his arms. An arcane circle appeared on his palm, dyed a crimson red.
“Cast now.” Sylvia spoke.
Feyrith pumped mana into the magic circle, treating it as another limb on his body. The cold began to leave his right palm, a part of him becoming empty. Festus.
He did not utter a word, only speaking in his mind, as a brilliant ball of fire appeared in his palm. Step one, complete.
“Right, now try with your other arm.” Sylvia spoke.
Feyrith held his breath and attempted to follow Sylvia’s instruction. He tried to create another pathway, one leading to his left arm, yet nothing happened. Neither heat nor cold penetrated through it, his mana was stuck in place, unable to move.
The ball of fire disappeared as Feyrith opened his eyes, looking at the concerned gaze in Sylvia’s eyes.
“Silent casting is already amazing, more than I could do at your age.” She slowly said. “Yet I can’t help but be a little concerned about your difficulty in multi-casting.”
“It isn’t easy, but seeing as you did everything else with such ease, it’s odd that this is what stops you.”
“My apologies.” Feyrith spoke. Another failure with multi-casting. No matter how much he trained, even if everything else was perfect, this was the thing that stumped him.
“We’ll try again a few more times, and if it fails consistently, we’ll move on to combat training.” Sylvia spoke. Feyrith took in a nervous breath. Not combat training again.
“Hah. Understood, mother.” He replied, hoping for the best. With that, a glint shone in Sylvia’s eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped out on training.
A blast of wind was hurled in his direction, Sylvia showing a wicked grin. “Maybe a little urgency will help you figure it out?”
-
“What happened with you?” Lillian snickered as Feyrith stepped into the carriage. His body was battered and beaten; eyes black and swollen. If it wasn’t for his clean and neat clothing, he could have passed off as a serf or slave.
“Don’t ask.” Feyrith replied, clutching his head. That mother of mine. “How has your day been?”
“Good enough, though I’m a bit injured here on my arm.” Lillian replied. “Not as much as you though, poor thing.”
The carriage began to move, slowly rocking down the road and leaving the royal palace. Feyrith watched as Lillian pulled out a grey pouch, retrieving a notebook from inside of it.
“Hmm mhm mm.” Lillian hummed, her legs moving up and down as she flipped through the pages of the notebook, a childish grin on her face. Feyrith watched the various drawings and notes pass by with each turn of the page, eventually stopping at a rough sketch of a temple.
Thump.
The carriage suddenly jumped, titling to the side for just a moment, before the coachman stopped and opened the cabin doors.
“My apologies, young miss, young master.” He said with a bow. “A sudden crowd of serfs came through the pathway.”
“Please do not worry coachman, just carry on.” Lillian responded.
“As you wish, your highness.” The coachman replied, returning to the front of the carriage. The carriage began to move once more, rattling forward through the path.
After a bit more time, the carriage stopped once more, the cabin door opening and the coachman escorting Lillian and Feyrith out. “We’ve arrived, your highness.”
“Thank you, coachman.” Lillian spoke as she and Feyrith walked away from the parked carriage and toward a large temple in the near distance. The Temple of Uriel.
“We’re here.” Lillian spoke, the temple coming into view.
Marble walls, and a grand entrance area. Filled with numerous pieces of greenery, flowers, and plants of myriad colours.
Atop the temple’s spire was a large granite statue of Uriel, standing regally atop the large building.
“Shall we head in?” Lillian asked.
“There’s no guide though?” Feyrith cocked his head in reply. Also, why did we come separately from mother and the royal couple?
“Who said anything about needing a guide?” Lillian spoke with a grin.
“You…” Feyrith muttered, his eyes widening. No wonder they came here separately from Sylvia, Therian, and Adelaide. He had been tricked; this wasn’t their planned visit to the temple. This was a ploy for them to meet Uriel.
“You actually bribed a church?” He asked.
“I wouldn’t say bribe.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s more like I convinced them to let us walk in and out as we please. With money.”
“My apologies for ever doubting your brilliance, your highness.” Feyrith spoke with an exaggerated, regal tone, taking a deep bow.
He had lost some of the details of Lillian’s plan the day she told it to her. It was either due to his own incompetence, or what he suspected was a self-defence mechanism developed by his brain.
The two walked into the temple, greeted by the wandering clerics and priests.
“Your majesty, welcome.” A skinny-looking man, donning the common red and bronze uniform of the temple’s priests, greeted the pair. He seemed to be familiar with Lillian, greeting her first before Feyrith.
“Greetings, Priest Delem.” Lillian spoke.
“A greeting to you as well, princess.” Delem bowed. “Nice to meet you, young master Feyrith, I’ve heard much about you.”
“Much honoured, Priest Delem.” Feyrith spoke.
“Now, shall we head to the goddess’ chambers?” Delem asked.”
“Please.” Lillian replied. Delem bowed, then led the pair down a crowded corridor, eventually reaching a jet-black door.
“Go ahead, your highness.” Delem opened the door, allowing the pair to enter. Then he closed it shut, leaving the two alone.
The room was small, short wooden benches facing a large altar, elevated by the means of a few steps. This was a place where Uriel would descend to communicate with her priest, the one truly holy area inside of the temple.
Left alone, instead of sitting down and waiting for Uriel to arrive, Feyrith walked up the steps of the altar, watching Lillian hold her hand over the wall behind it. There wasn’t a puzzle or secret activation sequence. All she did was hold her hand over the wall, and it began to glow brightly. Light flashed for a moment before disappearing.
There was now an empty hole in the middle of the wall. Through it, a beautiful garden.
The pair walked in and took in the sights. The cramped room led to a large, wide garden, with plenty of fresh air and sunlight. This garden did not show up when you looked at diagrams or maps of the temple. It was not a hidden room, but instead a pocket, a rift inside space itself.
As they continued walking, the air abruptly stiffened, the pair suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Feyrith felt a fierce, suffocating aura from behind him, a frigid breath running down his back. As he turned around, his eyes laid upon a majestic figure.
Flowing pinkish-blonde hair, a flower tiara adorned on her head, and beautiful pure white feather wings protruding from her back. The expression on her face didn’t scream welcoming, and the sharp pike spear in her hand didn’t help with that.
“What are you two doing here?”