Astral Threads, Ch 19: Tower Reach (Patreon)

A dusty, black-cloaked figure rode on a bare-boned grey gelding as he approached the gates of Tower Reach. One sleeve hung empty in his robes, which were too loose on him and tattered at the edges. The clothing had clearly been fashionable once, but whatever reinforcing or repair enchantments existed on them had been worn away by time or battle, leaving little beyond the basic durability of the material to resist the wind. From the frayed sections that flapped in the breeze, it was clear that the element had won.

The rider’s face was mostly hidden by the hood of his cloak, but what could be seen was pale and thin. If he hadn’t still held an aura of power around him and if his level hadn’t been clearly visible to anyone able to Analyze it, he might have suffered under the hands of bandits or the town guards. Despite his appearance, however, there was a crackling field of spatial energy just barely present around him that was easily felt by anyone paying attention.

The walls of the city were a hundred feet high and half that thick and every block was engraved with intricate white runes that laid out a powerful enchantment to reinforce them. The guards at the gate were far too professional to miss the rider’s approach. Their helmets held enchantments that gave the ability to Analyze even concealed information as long as it was under Level 250. Reading the traveler’s status caused them to snap to attention, their backs as straight as a board as they saluted with a fist pressed to their hearts.

Micas Hastern. Human. Dimensional Mage-Tower Magus. Level 191.

It wasn’t clear what had happened to this descendant of the Hastern family, but the guards were well trained. Their postures showed no flicker of surprise as they added a bow to their salute. Whatever misfortune had found the once-proud mage, it was not their place to inquire. They only filed away his new level to report to their superiors, where it would be added to the records that were kept on every ranking mage in the city.

As for Micas, he ignored the guards completely as he rode through the towering gates, his face bleak. He’d been considering how to approach the heads of the family over the last months, ever since he’d found himself injured and in the middle of the Broken Lands, a wasteland far to the west that was caused by some magical disaster or war that had taken place ages in the past.

Scraping himself together after his battle with the Horned Hunter and staying alive in that mana-twisted waste had taken all of his resources, and he still hadn’t been able to regrow his missing left arm. Rage seethed in him at that embarrassment, as well as a desire for revenge.

The road beneath his gelding’s feet was forgotten as he stared into the distance, but it was the result of long years of engineering and structured enchantments. It bent into curved streets that cut back and forth through the city, a defense to keep invaders from riding straight to the center, but each curve was precise and the stretches between them were as straight as an arrow’s flight.

At one point, the stones here had been simple paving stones, each about two feet across and the same deep. They’d been placed here long before Tower Reach held its current name, when it was only a small town on the edge of an empire three times larger than the current kingdom. From here, that empire had reached its hand to the west until it ran into the Broken Lands and came to a halt.

That influence had made the city a power in the region, since little else resembling civilization had been nearby. Enchanters, warriors, and craftsmen had gathered here, using it as a base to expand their skills as they ventured into the wild. Many years later when the Kingdom of Aethra formed, Tower Reach already held a name of its own, with its own school of mages to make it famous, and the very stones that built it had long been transformed.

A series of treaties over the years had solidified its place in the kingdom, as well as its independence from political oversight. Unlike most cities of the kingdom, there was no external governor appointed to oversee taxes. That position went to the head of the Alabaster Palace, who acted as governor in his own right. There was also no tariff on incoming goods from the kingdom.

What the kingdom got out of the deal was less obvious, but rumors consisted of everything from enchantments to powerful magical support. Other rumors suggested the balance of power swayed heavily in Tower Reach’s favor and that the mages had promised not to destroy the kingdom if they were wise enough to leave them in peace.
Either way, it was proof of the authority that Tower Reach wielded and one of the reasons that students came from all across the kingdom, and even neighboring kingdoms, to attend the Alabaster Palace.

No one knew exactly where that palace had come from, but it had presided over the heights of the city for more than three thousand years, resting atop the hill that overshadowed the rest of the city. It was a quarter of a mile higher than anything else around it, its existence a towering collection of shining white buildings, terraced balconies, gardens, open courtyards, pavilions, and lakes.

The arrangement was placed so densely across the hill that at first sight, it looked like one towering conglomeration of buildings rising together above the city. Only on a closer inspection was it obvious that a hill was beneath, the courtyards and gardens revealing themselves from among towering walls and delicate spiral staircases that led from one roof to the next. Here and there, pristine balconies shone in the sun, opening onto glass-fronted doors and vivid tapestries that led into rooms no outsider would ever know.

But as majestic as the Alabaster Palace was in all its shining wealth and splendor, it wasn’t the true power of the city. That honor went to the tower that reached into the sky above it, extending from the very peak of the hill.

The Magus Tower.

The birthplace of the Tower Magus subclass.It was from that tower that the city took its name. From the very top of the palace, it rose another three hundred feet into the sky like an angled spear point piercing the heavens. In three places, a section of the tower was missing, making it look like a sword had chopped it off and it had survived to grow again. The tower had been rebuilt around the damage, making it broader even as it stayed as a single piece, but the cuts had been left at the height where they had been made. Now, it held three terraced roofs that resembled slanted chisels as it rose above the city.

Its central section was the tallest, its top cut off at an angle that slanted down to the left. Fifty feet below that, the top of the second slice fell away in the other direction to the center, revealing terraces and balconies that had been built there when the tower was reconstructed, opening onto rooms within. To the right, another seventy feet lower, the third slice revealed more balconies and windows as it slanted away to the edge of the building.

The final part of the roof was taken up by a cerulean waterfall that cascaded down to the Alabaster Palace below, where it crashed into a magical shield that scattered the water in every direction, surrounding the palace in a constant rainbow of water and sparkling light. Droplets ran down the walls of the farthest edge, reflecting the sunlight as they formed rivulets and ran across rocky protrusions, where they fell again and became a thousand smaller waterfalls that ran toward the base of the hill and the river below.

For all of its beauty, the inhabitants of the city knew better than to touch that water. It was so highly enchanted that it burned like the strongest acid, making it one of the main defenses of the Magus Tower and the Alabaster Palace.

Only a single path led up through the spray to the arched doors at the entrance, a half mile covered by artful, winding arches with sprawling vines that dangled purple grapes and bright white blossoms that blocked the water from above. On that path, a petitioner or incoming student could walk from gazebo to gazebo beneath the splendor, the might of the school they were approaching pressed into their minds from the very moment they saw it, marveling at the grace that shielded them and the power that turned beauty to death.

All of this majesty was ignored as Micas rode along the streets, his head down. He had grown up here and no longer saw it, even as he rode past white arches and buildings in the city that slowly became more similar to the Alabaster Palace as he approached the base of the hill. Teleporting was forbidden here, so even he had to take a slower route. He rode to the base of the hill and abandoned his horse, dropping its reins without a thought as he began the long walk to the palace. The family had many small mansions on the western side of the city where they retreated for privacy, but this time he had to come here.

Instead of watching the path, his attention was on the words of the oath he’d made to kill the Horned Hunter and torture everyone he cared for. They ran through his mind like venom from an acid worm. It was what had sustained him as he fought his way past mana storms, stone giants, and tainted blood wolves. Now, it burned him as he debated whether to go to his great-aunt or his great-uncle first.

His aunt would see him healed, but his uncle would understand his desire for revenge and perhaps help him get it. As he made his decision, he walked past the entrance to the Alabaster Palace and instead took the more hidden path to the Magus Tower where his great uncle waited.

Aldric Hastern no doubt already knew he’d arrived.

---

Aldric was standing by the window, looking out at the city below, a place where he spent many of his waking hours. At his level, one place was mostly as good as another, but he found it helped him to focus his mind when he could see the life of the city. He had known for weeks that Micas was returning, but he barely glanced at the doorway as his tattered nephew stepped through it.

Micas’s arm was still missing, his robes were shredded, and the look in his eyes spoke of a fractured mind. All of that was clear to him in an instant, his Wisdom and many traits making his sight as keen as a seer’s, even without the time he’d spent scrying the boy.

It was safe to say that he knew Micas’s story far better than Micas did, down to the details that he’d forgotten and the words that he’d spoken at inns along the way. He also knew that he’d stubbornly refused to change his clothes or to regrow his arm out of his own choice, although the boy wouldn’t admit it. He could have stopped at any church along the way and paid a sufficient price, or just offered their family name, and he would have been cared for.

Instead, he arrived like this.

It made Aldric question the way he had raised his descendants over the last century, and to consider whether he should change his approach. Perhaps a different method would result in a higher quality. Certainly, the elders of the last few generations had lived up to his expectations more thoroughly.

It was also possible that Micas was simply a failure, a mix of possibilities and erratic behavior that sometimes sprang up in any litter. Either way, something would have to be done. His approach through the city had been too obvious and insulted their family name.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked without turning around. His tone was mild, but the power in it resonated more strongly than the walls of the tower around him.

Micas went pale, struggling to breathe as he froze in place. He had been trying to approach more closely, but he hadn’t made it even a quarter of the way across the room.

“There was a strange...being,” he forced out, his voice crackling past a half-obstructed throat. “The Horned Hunter of the Moons. He was helping...protecting...Jeric Hastern, your grandson from the last generation, the son of Alister, your son who held that unique class....” Micas’s voice choked off in a strangled cough, silenced before he could say anything more.

“You will not speak my dead son’s name,” Aldric said. “His life was short, but he was better than you in every way. He at least aided my research.” His tone was still mild and it seemed he had no intention of turning around.

“Continue, but with more respect.” His finger flicked the stem of the wine glass he was holding and Micas found his voice again.

“Jeric’s daughter, the girl that the matriarch wanted...” Micas released a cough as he spoke, but he didn’t dare to protest. “She’s protected by him. So is Jeric, who somehow got a monster class...Earthen Marauder. Probably from the Hunter. That one is an abomination, some inhuman race with an affinity for fire or stellar magics. I could sense it on him. He used the energy of the moons to attack me. And he’s in control of an ancient relic above Highfold, something that has enchantments coming to life larger than anything I’ve ever seen, even here.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” Aldric said gently. “I told you to explain yourself. Why did you swear an oath to destroy the Horned Hunter, when you should know I would be curious about him? And more importantly, do you realize that in your self-absorption, you swore to torture those under his protection, which includes Jeric with his strange class, his wife, and his daughter, as well as everyone within the valley around Highfold?”

“I...” Micas stammered, his response torn between demanding that his grandfather help him and fear of the man in front of him, whose power was on a level he couldn’t even comprehend. “I wanted to uphold the Hastern name. I wouldn’t destroy the valley, but the monster must be controlled. He has seized a location of power that could bring great benefit. Jeric is nothing...an ant. He deserves to be punished for evading the family.”

This time, Aldric glanced over his shoulder, his eyes flat as he studied Micas. His words held no question this time.

“Perhaps the education in your generation was too lacking, or perhaps you have simply gone astray in the search of power, twisting in on yourself until you consumed that spark of truth that should have guided you.” He tapped his finger on the stem of his glass as he let out a sigh, and then he shook his head once, just an inch from one side to the other and back.

“I had hoped there was something left that could grow again, to return some value from the effort spent on you, but it seems that there is nothing within you. You have lost the spark.”

Micas tried to protest, his hand rising as he opened his mouth, but his body froze before he could move more than an inch and no sound appeared. Only his eyes were free, darting around the room as he tried and failed to break free.

“How do you think that reflects on me?” Aldric shook his head as he raised a finger. “I can’t have an empty shell running around with my name.”

A small, light grey storm of dust sprang up in the room and began to swirl around Micas’s robes, causing the frayed edges to billow. As the material flapped in the dust, however, it disappeared, its structure disintegrating as it also turned to dust. Aldric turned back to the window as the dust reached Micas’s feet and began tearing away the layers of his boots. It was moving slowly, but relentlessly.

“Do you know that I was once offered the chance to become a World Spirit and I turned it down?” Aldric took a sip from the glass in his hand. His voice was soft now, reflective as he looked back into the past. “It was nearly two thousand years ago, during the early expansion of this kingdom. An alternate path, according to the World Core. I rejected it, of course, since it came with too many limitations, but the offer to become an avatar of a natural concept of the world, to fuse myself with it, was very tempting.

“The things I could have seen...and the years unnumbered that would stretch before me now.” He shook his head gently. “But there are other ways to power, even if they come with a greater cost. You have only to harden your heart to pay the price.” He glanced over at Micas, whose legs had been consumed by the disintegration cloud. It was larger now and darker, reaching his waist. His eyes were bulging, his body locked in position, but he was still not allowed to speak.

“I have told that story to very few people,” Aldric said pleasantly as he took another sip of his wine, some light green vintage that sparkled in the sun from the window. He held it up to examine the color as the light refracted through the crystal. “You should be honored to count yourself among them.”

A few moments later, the cloud reached Micas’s shoulders and then his neck. Its color was a dark brown black now, but its size had stopped expanding at six feet. It was strictly confined within a tight spiral surrounding the mage.

“It’s always difficult choosing one descendant over another.” Aldric added as he turned around again and looked at Micas, whose face was all that remained as the cloud began to devour his neck and hair. “Don’t worry, though. You can still aid my work in some ways, with the energy that remains to you. The World Core might be able to seize the experience I need to level, but I will not allow it to seize yours.”

A ruby red crystal the size of a skull appeared in Aldric’s hand, its facets engraved with a curling Outsider script that ran like swirling ink along the sides. The engravings moved as if they were alive, flowing across the surface in darts and flickers.

The cloud swirled upward as he finished speaking. Micas’s cheekbones and eyes dissolved into a grey powder that spiraled upward. A moment later, the last strands of his hair and skull disintegrated as well, until there was nothing left of the mage except the six-foot wide cloud that was now a dark grey.

As Aldric raised the crystal into the air, a tendril of dust stretched outward from the cloud and spiraled through the air until it touched it. It sank into the surface like the crystal was made from air itself. The curling enchantment on it darkened and flowed faster, spinning across the surface as the rest of the cloud was pulled toward it.

A moment later, the cloud was gone and the crystal pulsed with a bright red glow before it fell somnolent in Aldric’s hand. The man glanced down at the crystal and then it was gone, back to wherever he had summoned it from. He returned to looking out the window as he raised his wine glass to his lips and took another sip. This time, he let out a low sigh as he peered into the distance, looking toward the distant mountains around Highfold.

“A monster class, and now commander of an ancient artifact that has some relation to spatial magic. That is almost fitting for a grandson of mine. I wonder what you will be if I let you grow,” he murmured, his voice so low that only he could hear it. Rays of light flickered through his eyes like lightning, each of them a possible future. “After all, what’s yours is mine. And it’s never too late to bring you back into the fold.”