Return of the Tower Conqueror

  Beyond the Beyond

Green pastures spread in-between the domed hills, the golden rays of the star above glazing gently the wavy blades of grass swaying under the gentle strokes of the warm wind. Tall mountains rose in the distance, misty toward the tip, and broad across. Gushing rivers belted out of them, somewhere from their depths, and carved out their roads through the pastures. There were eight rivers in total, each glistening and clear, six to seven feet deep, full of life, and all eight rivers, eventually, pooled into a bottomless lake, Ayal.

On the strangely sandy shores of the lake, surrounded by a pine forest on one end and endless grasslands on all others, with rivers either churning flat or through twenty-feet-tall waterfalls, a single home stood, some ways from the water, built entirely out of the hardwood and black brick. The singular chimney atop the roof spat out strange, white smoke that barely heaved ten feet before vanishing, leaving no trace of its existence.

The cabin had but a single, rectangular window, one pointing toward the southmost end of the lake, where the tallest cliff arose and the tallest waterfall emerged.

Within the cabin, most space was taken up by hung shelves, a hearth that billowed ghastly, white fire gently and gingerly, a single bed tucked in the corner, made of softwood and wool, and a long, ancient-seeming table set beneath the window. On top of it, countless papers lay astrew, most waiting for the ink on top of them to dry, and some simply forgotten until they are discovered yet again.

Sitting on a singular chair, heaved over the desk, quill in hand and strands of hair jostling gently beneath, nearly touching the stacked parchments, was a woman appearing to be in her late thirties; she, however, had aged hair, as white as snow, and a pair of bejeweled, jade eyes that restlessly stared at the characters she was swiftly writing.

Characters were runic, some broad and some narrow, a written form of the now nearly-extinct language, Tongue of the Forgotten.

Vada-besha leaned back suddenly, sighing as she set the quill aside and began rocking gently on the chair, back and forth, the creaking sounds almost like a melody at this point. It was difficult, beyond difficulty, really, writing in the Runes; one word consisted of, at minimum, eight runic characters-- such as that a simple sentence like 'They cast the sword from glazed meteorite' took up full page and a half to tell.

Every book here, every tome hanging on the shelves, was written by her-- all written in the Tongue of the Forgotten. Yet, over eight hundred tomes, composed of over sixteen thousand parchments, said as much as two ordinary books would have, written in the Language of the Peoples.

She didn't regret it, though; she'd continued the work of her Father, Ada-besha, and his Father before him, Eda-besha. The line of Scribes in charge of recording histories of Time, sworn to the long-forgotten customs and traditions the rest of the living had long since moved on from.

She glanced to the side and gently lifted her left arm, trailing her index finger in a swirl; a trace of white light burned the surrounding spacetime, seemingly opening up a tunnel into the abyss. A few moments later, a mirror-like surface gleamed back at her, but rather than reflecting her tired face, it showed her one of the many Trials, of the many Crucibles, of the many souls. Therein lay the solitary Thief of the Generation, strewn on the floor in the pool of his own blood, half his bones cracked, half his organs malfunctioning, his breath barely abreast.

She stared enviably at the boy, longing for the long-lost days of her perils and vanishments. Days uncountable and years innumerable later, she'd found herself here, settled in the untamed paradise of Qytas, as far away from civilized lips as one could get without digging into the world itself.

Though laborious, she preferred her current days far more; though she longed for the adventure, she hardly missed the accompanying misery and endless anguish that came from it. Even if finding treasures after a hard-fought battle was a feeling one could never replace, so was looking at the hundreds of your loved ones lying listless after that very battle. Most called her a fool for settling, for never pursuing the 'Trial of Altius Ignis' and scorned her for her cowardice. Yet, of her generation of the men and women that stormed the Trials... only she still remains, safely afoot.

Even if she wanted to reach beyond the innumerable dimensions dividing her from the boy and help him, she was unable to-- and she knew that nobody else would. A lie was sprung and shared among the Monoliths of Creation, one so insidious and bedeviled it made her stomach churn-- that all above had come from below. That the Lords of the Skies were once all Children of the Dirt. The truth was heartbreaking, though, and one she wished she could spread throughout every Trial.

She shattered the mirror-- too long, and others might discover her. Even if she was charged with recording the Trials of the Thief, it was an empty position; whether she stayed true to his story of falsified it, nobody cared-- all they wanted was the ability to posture before the countless souls, to stand tall and proud and proclaim how they are keeping records in accordance to the Forefathers' wishes, using a dead language and the dead language that only the Highsoars could translate into digestible stories that masses would sell their families for.

Frowning lightly, she closed the book and stood up, walking out of her tiny cabin. Standing on the edge of the lake, looking over it, was a handsome youth draped in lavish clothes and a gold-gilded cape and a crown of resplendent gems. Hiding her frown, her expression swiftly turned stoic as she walked forward and knelt before the youth.

"Your Majesty," she greeted in a somber tone; it was only then that the youth turned, appearing to be in his early twenties, gold-haired and red-eyed, with squared jaw and upright chin and a pair of straight eyebrows.

"Vada," though she shuddered inwardly over someone beside her family calling her so casually, she endured it. "This place... truly never changes. Just like you. Perchance, is that why you chose it?"

"It only seemed convenient, Your Majesty," she replied. "This lowly one hardly has such high thoughts."

"You seem awfully interested in the boy," the man said, some harshness appearing in his tone. Vada-besha shivered, her heartbeat quickening.

"Your Majesty--"

"He is an interesting character," the man said. "Though hardly worthy of your time. You are to write a story, Vada, whatever it may be. Not his biography."

"..."

"Do not force me to change appointments," the threat in the man's tone was evident, though she didn't dare utter a sound.

"Eh? Oh sweet hell, you're here... AGAIN?!!" an annoyed voice caused Vada-besha to rejoice, while the man seemed to have suddenly been doused in a sea of frigid water, his expression turning to one of utter loathing and annoyance. Appearing next to Vada-besha, and swiftly heaving her up to her feet, was yet another maiden, one seeming even younger, laden in disinterested and playful attitude. The pair of eyes stared at the man in front of her with undisguised disdain and the equal levels of loathing the man showed toward her.

"Ar..." the man mumbled.

"Huh? Did you just call me 'Ar'?" the woman blasted immediately. "Fuck you, you stinky little shit! Do you want me to carve your tongue out and feed it to my pigs? Shit, do you want me to go visit your mommy and daddy and scold them for how terribly they've raised their shitty son? Fuck, you piss me off, little shit. How many times are you gonna hit on her, huh? You have an entire harem of whores at your tiny cock's disposal, so why the hell do you keep coming here? What did I tell you the last time? Visit once more, and I'll cut off one of your fingers. Right? Wasn't that the agreement?"

"You wouldn't dare, Ar!" the man screeched suddenly, much to Vada-besha's pleasure. The otherwise playful atmosphere suddenly chilled, prompting both her and the man to freeze in place.

"That's twice," the woman said as she lifted her arm and stretched it out; like a magnet, the man flew over and landed within the woman's grasp, her fingers tightly clutching his neck, her pair of eyes boring into his terrified soul. "Luckily, I didn't dilly-daddle for too long. I was gonna make a public statement, but may as well make an example out of you," the man suddenly felt searing pain in his chest, as though there was a pin of fire carving out his skin. He began to scream in agony, trying to thrash about and free himself, but to no avail. It felt as though all of his nigh-infinite strength was seeped out of him by the woman.

"The Thief is off-limits," she said as the man's clothes disintegrated, leaving him wholly naked, scorching-red characters carved across his chest and abdomen. "It's a Divine Writ, little boy."

"You---you can't--"

"Can't?" the woman tilted her head as a tiny twink of Mana dispensed from her. A mere second later, the man's entire right arm was disintegrated into the shower of blood and gore. His eyes and lips gaped as he stilled for a moment, before yanking out a scream from the depths of his soul. "I can do anything I fucking want. Now shoo. And listen carefully, Yak," she said chillingly. "Next time you come to bother V'," she leaned in closer, her voice turning into a whisper. "I will obliterate you, your fuckin' soul and all. Got it? Good. Now fuck off." she gently yanked her arm to the side, yet the man was blown off like a cannonball, quickly vanishing from the two's sights. "Aah, the pest's finally fucked off."

"... was... was that really smart?" Vada-besha asked with some reservations. After all, that was the Prince of Truths. "He might rally..."

"Ah, he's a baby," the woman shrugged indifferently. "Besides, even if he rallies, so what? You really think I'm gonna lose against people who haven't fought in so long they probably forgot how to do it? Bleh, fuck them. So, you took my advice and looked him up, eh? Nice, nice, it looks like you got hooked. He's a pretty interesting cunt. Nearly died, though, so that kinda disappointed me."

"He temporarily fought twice-awakened..." Vada-besha rolled her eyes.

"So? When I was his age, I was carving some real big cunts a new one."

"Yea, yea, yea. If we measured others by your standards," Vada-besha said as the two women walked back into the house. "Nobody would ever be good enough for anything."

"Ah, you really need to make this place bigger," the woman said. "I've got nowhere to sleep."

"..."

"What?"

"You're not moving in with me."

"Eh? Why? It's a really cozy place, there's nobody else here, and you get to perma watch that guy thanks to yours truly."

"..."

"I know you too well, V'," the woman grinned. "Alright, I haven't slept in literal years. Ah, yeah, later today, my Master will be coming. He's a ghost so, don't worry, he can't touch you."

"..." Vada-besha merely stared emptily at the woman who casually stripped to her undergarments and lay in Vada's' bed as though it was her own. In the end, she sighed; after all, Ar'dyzar was a Divine. If she wanted to, she could do anything she wanted, regardless of her wishes. She'd just crippled the Prince of Truths himself-- how can a tiny Scribe measure up to that, titles and all?

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