[The Twining] 19. An Endless Climb (Patreon)

Isen stood back on the roof of the dark fortress, his gaze fixed on the column of dark stone that jutted far up into the lightless murk. It was unlike any structure he had ever seen, like someone had taken a long metal pole, cored it, and segmented it into sixteen vertical pieces, then pulled them slightly apart. The result was a hollow tower that was filled by a streaks of slow-moving violet radiance, like almost-frozen lightning, visible through the gaps between the sixteen slender sections. Each section was just under five feet wide and half a foot thick, with a two foot gap between adjacent sections. Isen estimated the distance from one section to its opposite was around 30 feet.

He’d waited five days, the limit before he started to feel pangs of hunger. He didn’t trust his ability to swim far enough out to catch prey and return, since for better or worse, no monsters lurked in the waters near the Compass of Legacy. At his slower speed, he’d need to travel hours each way and successfully hunt an aquatic creature, probably of the second tier since weaker monsters were rare.

At least, he wasn’t desperate enough to try that yet. All he felt when he looked at the tranquil waters was a sense of foreboding. Peering up at the spire, however, he felt the glimmer of opportunity. A possibility of survival.

He placed the dagger in his mouth, then started to climb. The towering structure was smooth, hard to grip. Isen wasn’t an insect—he couldn’t cling to the smooth surface by his fingertips. However, he found that the divine bear’s sinew was long enough to wrap around a single section of the spire. If he pulled back on the sinew while bracing his feet against the tower’s exterior, he could slowly walk up, shifting the sinew up between steps.

The sinew cut into his hands, but his tempered body held out. Soon, the main structure was little more than a small rectangle below him. If he fell from this height, he might save himself by conjuring an energy ball and slowing his fall with a blast of air, but he wasn’t confident in his chances.

When he stopped his ascent to take a breather, he was beyond grateful for his improved body. If his feet were slick with sweat, he didn’t think he’d maintain his grip on the spire. His hands ached and he felt the sting of chafing, but he thankfully wasn’t exerting enough force to pull the sinew through his palms. If they became bloodied, it’d be much harder to hold on.

The dark span of the spire was featureless, giving the impression that he was just re-climbing the same section of the tower. But there were other landmarks to look at. The mystical purple lights that smelled harsh and metallic, with a burning afternote. The black rocks that shone like stars, slowly narrowing around him as the ceiling drew inward toward the spire.

While contorting his body around a protrusion of rock, he slipped. His stomach dropped and he lurched forward, hands grasping the smooth sides of the spire’s section. His attempt at catching himself failed, the slick exterior gliding through his fingers. The sinew pulled tight, and the dagger popped from his mouth, whipping around the section and going slack.

On instinct, he pulled himself inward, his abs flexing as he swung his legs around through the gap between sections and into the spire’s glowing interior. To complete the maneuver, he briefly let go of his grip before grasping the edges of the wall section, his arms spread to their limits.

He was fully on the inside of the tower, just barely hanging on by his fingertips. One wrong move, and he’d plummet all the way down.

The slowly shifting streaks of lightning behind him felt pleasantly warm, nonthreatening. They tingled gently as they caressed his back. But a terrible sense of danger filled him.

He pulled his body closer to the wall, inching away from the radiance, his arms and abs burning. Gasping, he hooked his heels around the sides of the section in a precarious maneuver that sent his gut churning. Now, he had four points of contact with the wall rather than two.

He removed one hand from the spire, his heart in his throat as he shakily swung the dagger. He tossed it around the curved wall, then swapped hands, grabbing the blade with his left. He took shallow breaths as he prepared to swing himself around. He slid the blade into his mouth to keep one hand free.

His muscles protested the awkward, demanding position while he gathered energy in his left hand. When he couldn’t hold on any longer, he launched the energy ball, propelling himself past the wall. He twisted, pulling the sinew rope taut while desperately planting his feet on the structure’s exterior.

His feet slammed into the wall. His arms shook from pulling the sinew so tightly, but he’d successfully flipped back to the exterior. He exhaled a shaky breath in relief, then continued.

After climbing for what felt like an eternity, the rough ceiling was consistently only a foot or two away from the spire. It was too narrow a space for Isen to continue walking up with the sinew.

The rocks were treacherous. The handholds were numerous but slick and sharp, like he was trying to climb a cliff studded by broken glass. He braced his back against the spire, its cold surface providing little comfort.

Just as Isen was questioning his sanity for taking this endless, doomed route, he came upon a gap in the rocks. A tunnel, perfectly concentric, as though bored by a worm. It wasn’t large, but Isen knew he could fit.

He shimmied into it and took another break, resting his hands and letting the dagger clatter to the tunnel floor. He worked his sore jaw.

All he sensed from the tunnel was dim nothingness. Not danger, not opportunity—a dead end. But it was proof that something living had been here. And if there was one tunnel, he hoped there’d be more. Maybe one inhabited by living monsters.

He cycled until he felt strong enough to continue. He climbed much faster after the break… up until he couldn’t climb any further.

The rock had fully snared the spire in its grasp. There wasn’t room for even one wiry teen to pass.

At least, no room on the exterior, he thought, eyes steely as he considered the inside of the spire—the concave, impossible to grasp surface dominated by harsh violet light. But to his surprise, there was something different in the spire—a large disk, two feet thick, that spanned the entire interior. When he looked at it, new words of Legacy filled his mind.

Lift of Legacy. Provides passage between the Compass of Legacy and the surface. Currently nonfunctional.

For several moments, he just stared in disbelief. A passage... to the surface?

So far, he’d been climbing with only a dim hope to guide him. He didn’t fully understand the descriptions bestowed by Legacy, but he didn’t think they were meant to mislead him.

Still, he was reluctant to let his hopes surge. He didn’t know if the dark tower actually led to the surface—it might be destroyed. After all, the lift—he assumed that was the circular disk—was nonfunctional. Going by the literal meaning of its name, he thought the disk might be powered by magic to move up and down the spire.

He took a deep breath and considered his current situation. The way forward on the outside of the spire was blocked by the black rock, but turning back was a non-starter. He peeked through gaps in the rock and saw that the rocks opened up again in twenty feet or so. If he could climb inside the spire for a brief period—or even propel himself up a few feet, then swing around like before—he could continue his ascent.

The unknown threat of the violet flickering luminescence unnerved him. If he traveled within the interior, he’d be exposed to its radiance.

Angry tears beaded at his eyes. Ros, he thought, gritting his teeth. He wished for the beast’s comforting, self-assured gaze… but he also knew that the great monster would never have been able to climb the Compass of Legacy’s impossibly tall tower.

This was an adventure that Isen could only undertake alone. A path to freedom only open to him.

He took several minutes to prepare. He stepped onto the disk, keeping close to the smooth section of the spire, away from the violet light. He kept the sinew looped around the spire section and formed an energy ball within each palm, smaller than he’d ever done before, cupped in the very center where his skin folded inward. His teeth bit into the dagger.

Time to try my luck. He released both energy balls and the blast of wind hoisted him upward, straight through the streaks of violet light. The sinew remained loose around the section of the spire, ascending with him.

When he felt himself slowing, he tugged on the sinew, flipping onto the spire’s exterior and planting his feet, the maneuver much smoother than the first time. He was surrounded by black rocks, so he didn’t need to worry about slipping down, just the discomfort of sharp stone on his bare skin. He leaned back against the spire’s exterior, his body trembling.

He felt weak, woozy. His vision was muddled, like he couldn’t properly focus on the surroundings. All he wanted to do was rest.

You can’t, he thought. You’re so close...

Addled and exhausted, Isen continued climbing, moving more on instinct and reflex than anything else. He barely noticed when he reached a tunnel much larger than the first. He staggered down its length. Something was here, something good, that could help him.

He found it—a shallow puddle of liquid. It smelled slightly sweet. Barely conscious, he pooled it into his hands and drank deeply.

It lacked the healing potency of the radiant lake, but it tugged at the haze over his mind. He collapsed on his side, chest heaving.

Then, he looked up.

He’d stumbled into a chamber with a jagged crystalline ceiling, its apex about three times as tall as the tunnel exits extending on either side. In the corner, a monster lay suspended in a cocoon of threads, unmoving. Blood pooled and dripped slowly from its meaty paw, which hung from the cocoon, strands of silk wafting around its claws.

Something had caught that monster and brought it here. He stared at it, but no mystical words of Legacy were forthcoming. No hints, no revelations—just a corpse in the dark, some greater beast’s lunch.