Footfalls approached, heavy and distant, but real and fast approaching.
Altha stirred from his rest, pulling himself back from the edge of unconsciousness.
He dragged himself upright with a groan.
And by now the ice had thawed completely, leaving only steam and water around the fallen creature.
He moved quickly, every muscle in his body screaming.
He reached into the pool-like fountain and hauled the Rusted Rose Butcher as the Spire called it.
The creature was heavy. Its weight, dead and dragging like sorrow. And as the creature's head lolled, the rose slowly unravelled, its petals falling limp like torn fabric.
Inside—nestled where something else might once have been—lay a crystal, shifting between hues of crimson and verdant green, pulsing softly.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp
The sound drew closer now, close enough to drown out his own drumming heart.
He grabbed the gem. Tossing it from hand to hand as it steamed in his grasp almost burning his skin.
The gem shifted colours with every toss between his hands, like a soul undecided as he ascended the stairs.
He sprinted past the weathered archway veiled in ivy, past the towering, vine-choked pillars—sentinels of an age long extinct. Past even the 3D Arcane Circle that pulsed blue at the centre of the courtyard, casting slow-turning shadows as he passed.
His heart thundered in his ears as he rushed to the library. Wary that death may not lurk far enough behind.
He vaulted through the chamber doors of the great hall and closed them softly as if noise alone might invite his premature destruction.
The library was exactly as he'd left it.
Still. Silent. Watching.
A cathedral of memory carved from forgotten bone. As dust floated in the shafts of moonlight, and every stone whispered old names.
The walls bore cracked murals—once-vibrant gold leaf now peeling like old scabs. They depicted divine wars, celestial judges, and kings too proud to kneel—each condemned to eternity in poses of eternal repentance.
Massive columns lined the hall, thick as trees, their runes spiralling upward like prayers unsent. Statues of stone sentinels perched above—some cloaked in the folds of authority, others armoured for battle. Their blank eyes looked down, always down, always judging.
Altha dropped to the floor, tired. His body aching.
"I heard being an Astral improved your body. So what gives? Why do I feel so... fatigued?"
Slowly he drifted, his mind and senses fading into abysmal silence and darkness.
His body finally gave in.
He lay there, aching, every limb heavy with ash and weight and memory.
He fell asleep...
{Dreams. Dreamers. Dreaming.}
Dreams were peace.
Dreams were silence.
Dreams were alive.
He dreamed of a world where he could be happy. Or at least, not mad. At least, not sad.
{Nightmares. Dreamers. Weeping.}
Nightmare fought.
Nightmares Howled.
Nightmares survived.
Nightmares walked with you through life and created demons.
{A demon in him. A demon in her. A demon in every boy and girl. A demon in us that looked out from behind our eyes—and saw the demons lurking in others. Just below the skin.}
---
The darkness waned in the vision of a celestial body, pale and luminous.
The moon hung high in a starless sky or almost. There still remained one soul drifting in the empty cosmos, solemn and unblinking, burning the last of its celestial embers.
It was night and the moon hung high in the sky. The air was cold against his skin. But there upon his hands, something warm. Something red, something damning.
Looking down, guilt clouded his heart. Fear beat in his chest. Anguish leaked from his empty eyes.
Then he heard a voice:
"Crafty Altha"
"Clever Altha"
"Careful Altha"
---
He woke gasping. The echo of that breath bounced around the chamber like a falling prayer.
Altha sat upright, skin clammy, vision swimming. Only silence greeted him.
The light through the stained glass painted shadows across the floor.
He sat slumped against the chamber door, back pressed to the cold stone, the crystal of shifting red and green glinting softly in his right hand. It pulsed like a slowed heartbeat.
All around, the world was quiet.
Yet a figure cloaked in robes of red and white interlaced with gold stood near each of the three library doors, motionless.
Their faces were shadowed beneath heavy hoods. Not speaking. Not breathing. Whispering but unheard.
Altha blinked—And they were gone.
Were they ghosts? Illusions maybe...? He didn't know. Only that it had been years since he'd seen things that weren't there. A bitter lesson indeed.
Only the hush of dust and forgotten gods remained.
He didn't move, barely exhaled.
"Hmm… again," he whispered, voice rasped and low. "It's been so long since I…"
The words died mid-thought, replaced by a silence deeper than before. His eyes lingered where the figures had been. His fingers tightened slightly around the crystal.
Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but despite the unease gnawing at the edge of his mind, the rest had done him good.
The pain was mostly gone. His limbs no longer dragged like they were made of lead. He felt... lighter. More aware. Yet something clung to the air.
His dream—no, that nightmare—still pressed against his ribs like an echo he couldn't shake. It had felt too real, like he'd touched something true on the wrong side of reality.
As things stood, the only productive thing he could do right now was to study his tomes.
But brooding on it now would get him nowhere.
There were problems to solve.
Too many.
He straightened, sitting cross-legged as he took a steadying breath. Time to do something useful.
He figured if this place was built by some sort of arcanist then unlocking much of what is and what could would heavily rely on his own understanding of the language of the Arcane.
Maybe the tomes held the key. Maybe they could help him crack the library's organization system. Maybe they'd help him understand what this place had become—and who it had been built for.
But first—
There was still the matter of understanding himself. For how could he act with precision, if he didn't even know what he is?
What he could be.
He summoned the Outer-Altar again. The air shimmered—cool and reactive—as soft grey symbols bloomed before him, hanging like suspended glyphs in a dream.
---
> [Profile]
[Attributes]
[Aspects]
[Remembrances]
[Inner-Existials]
---
The list hovered before him—five options, each more cryptic than the last.
His eyes drifted between [Attributes] and [Remembrances].
He chose [Attributes].
The crystal in his palm pulsed, red overtaking green, then green devouring red.
> [Attributes]
[Eldur Crest]
Though no name can cage its blaze. Born from the gaze of the Ashen Pyre—He who is the Sun, the Fire, and the Death of Stars—this mark is not given, but endured.
Those who dare to behold His form and live are forever changed.
Their eye becomes a cinder, a furnace of divine scrutiny. It sees not as mortals do, but glimpses the final breath of all things touched by flame.
Some say it whispers. Others say it weeps ash when the stars begin to die.
---
Traits:
[Therma-Vision]:
Allows the bearer to see heat signatures even in total darkness. Living beings seem to glow like lanterns when the eye is active
[Mote of Embers]:
Generates small, floating cinders in the form of ash from your eye. Which can ignite and scorch whatever they touch.
[???]: ???
---
[Oculis Profunda]
There is only one rule in nature: To not lose yourself to things too deep.
---
[The Witness]:
The ability adapt to all illusions—Arcane or otherwise—but they also see truths not meant to be seen: hidden wounds, alternate realities, discordant memories, even the shape of souls. You don't choose to see. The Eye chooses what to reveal.
"Take a look and see… your lonely reality."
[Memory Echo]:
You can replay a moment of time exactly as it happened, even if you weren't there, so long as you acquire something with a strong enough emotional signature tied to the events. These 'memories' can be especially strong around places like battlefields, altars, worldlines. But be warned: the deeper the moment's sorrow, the greater the risk of becoming lost inside it.
"The Eye opens not only outward... but inward. Beware which memory it chooses to show you."
[Piercing the Veil]:
You can look into dreams, into other realms, even into the dark beyond. But be careful, sometimes we glimpse too far. Peering into what is unforgotten.
"What you see is not what you wanted to know. It is what you were meant to witness."
---
"She? Who's she...?" he whispered, brows furrowed.
His voice was small—like saying it louder might summon her from the shadows.
---
> [Outer-Altar]: [???]
Traits:
[Deep Empathy]:
Sense the emotions of nearby beings within a certain radius. Feel what they feel—desire, pain, fear.
---
"That could be useful," Altha muttered, glancing around the empty chamber.
"If I wasn't the only person here… unless the knight counts. But I doubt it has feelings left." He paused. "Then again… who knows?"
---
He continued reading.
[Thought Invasion]:
You can read the minds of others.
Pluck information. Memories. Even skills.
But while you hold them, the target forgets them—until you choose to give them back.
But beware:
"Sometimes, ignorance is mercy."
---
"Well, that's oddly ominous sounding. Although what else would I expect from an ability called 'Thought Invasion.'?"
---
[Telepathy]:
You are able to share thoughts and information with other people without having exchanged a single word.
[Mind Fortress]:
Your mind is naturally resistant to intrusion. It cannot be read without your permission. Some doors were never meant to open.
[Sightless Future]:
You can glimpse the threads of what may come—both near and distant. With that sight, you may pull the strings of fate, changing your path... or another's.
But remember:
"The question is not: 'Can I change the future?' Instead one must ponder if there is any future worth pursuing so desperately."
---
Altha exhaled.
"Well then, if you could let me glimpse a way out of here. That would be nice. You hear that ability?"
---
[Altered Vessel]:
Your body was altered—long ago. For that reason, Ether and Cogni were stripped from you, replaced with something foreign: Psyche.
Your presence attracts beings with high Ether-Cogni ratios. They can sense you—and you can sense them.
"That's concerning."
Ether-dominant users cannot sense you quite so easily.
[Telekinesis]:
You are able to use your Psyche to affect your environment and the behavior of energy types around you.
Energy, what a fascinating concept. Yes?
---
Altha blinked.
"Was... was that a question?"
He paused, one eyebrow higher than the other.
"Is the Spire asking me things now? Or is it just being rhetorical?" He pondered for a moment. "Uhh sure, it's pretty curious so far as the word concept is concerned." Altha answered.
---
The words shifted.
.
..
...
....
.....
[Telekinesis]:
You are able to use your Psyche to affect your environment and the behavior of energy types around you.
Energy—what a fascinating concept.
---
"Did- Did the Spire just... did it really update in real-time? Is that normal? Cecily and the others never mentioned anything like this happening... well they didn't really mention much about the Spire to be fair, except Isolde."
"Did Isolde write anything down about this in her letter?"
He read the sentence again at least two more times.
"I mean it's not hurting me so I guess it's fine. That's the end of the list though so I guess Remembrances are next. Let's see what those entail."