The rain fell in a soft, ceaseless whisper over the mountains of Narethal.
In the distance, spires of the Magic Academy stood like sharpened teeth against the grey sky, their wards pulsing faintly under the dull pressure of an atmosphere heavy with unspoken things. Far below, in a secluded sublayer of the Forbidden Library, Kieran's clone quietly slid open the hidden compartment he'd discovered days earlier.
Dust thick enough to clog the lungs blanketed the chamber within. Cobwebs shimmered like silver threads, impossibly cold to the touch — imbued with lingering traces of magic not registered by the system. There were no scrolls, no tomes. Only a pedestal, and on it, a sliver of carved obsidian the length of a finger.
He paused, narrowing his eyes.
It wasn't just obsidian. It pulsed once — faint, like a heartbeat.
[System Notification]✦ Uncatalogued Relic Detected – Origin Resonance Confirmed✦ Designation: Tower Fragment (Unattuned)✦ Status: Dormant – Requires Codex Key Activation
Warning: Fragment is actively drawing latent memories. Detachment risk: Moderate
"Another anchor," Kieran murmured. "A piece of one of the Nine."
He didn't touch it directly. Instead, he used a specially-prepared glyph-carved glove, woven with Mira's anti-curse barrier strands and laced with Spirit Attunement sigils from Elira.
The moment he lifted the fragment, the air in the room thinned.
And then the voices came.
— "It was not supposed to awaken."
— "You break the script."
— "You are not one of the written."
Each voice echoed through him — ancient, genderless, as if recited from memories embedded in stone and blood. For a breathless moment, the world shifted, and the lines between time and space blurred.
He stood at the edge of something vast. Beyond reality. Cold. Watching.
A silhouette loomed in his mind.
Not a creature. Not a god.
A tower.
Endless. Carved in flesh and bone. Reaching neither up nor down but inward.
A heartbeat.
Then silence.
Scene Shift: Hidden Crown HQ – The Strategic Chamber
Back in the Hidden Valley's subterranean sanctum, Elira stared at the system screens, lips pressed tight.
"There's movement across five regions. Cult activities have increased by 41% within the past three days. We've intercepted two encrypted magical transmissions from unknown languages—possibly linked to the Tower Codex."
Talia flipped through the decrypted rune sheets, her usual confidence dimmed. "These aren't encryption methods. They're mimicry spells. These cultists are forging new languages — languages designed to hide from reality itself."
Kai leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Any word on what the bastards want?"
Elira hesitated. Then tapped a screen.
[Fragmented Message: Cult Cipher - Red Veil Archive]"—The tower remembers what the world forgot. Memory is a prison. Open it, and you will know suffering as truth.""The Tyrant must rise so that the rest may fall."
Silence fell.
Kai clicked her tongue. "So they're waiting for Kieran to act? That's a first."
"No," Elira whispered. "They're inviting him."
Elsewhere – Eastern Salt Basin
Under a moonless sky, a cloaked scout from the Shadow Commanders moved through the desolate remains of the Eastern Salt Basin.
Once a trading hub, the entire city had turned to glass overnight three decades ago. No one had understood why. Now, something under the glass pulsed.
It was a glyph.
A sigil of one of the Nine.
She knelt, recording it via the system link. As she turned to leave, she caught a flicker — a child standing amidst the ruins.
Barefoot. Skin pale as snow. Eyes missing.
The child whispered something.
The scout didn't hear it — but the system did.
[System Update: Cultic Manifestation – Class Unknown]Status: EscapedNotes: Entity speaks in Forbidden Echoes. Avoid direct contact. Memory destabilization in progress.
Closing Scene – A Fragment Reawakens
Later that night, Kieran sat within his hidden sanctum, the Tower Fragment hovering before him, wrapped in nullifying sigil-cages.
He placed it beside the Codex.
The two relics resonated. A single rune blinked into visibility on the Codex's spine — shaped like a thorn, wrapped in a spiral.
The book opened again.
One page.
Faint words appeared.
"The first of Nine: The Pale Spire, where memory is rewritten in screams. Beneath its roots lie the thrones of the forgotten gods — their names scraped from every age. It does not stand above the earth. It sleeps beneath it, and in dreams, it speaks."
Kieran exhaled.
The book was decoding itself — bit by bit.
And something… was waking.